Coffee Spills

What I hear and see and think about at the coffee shops I patronize.
Brisk. Fresh. Well-balanced. Occasional nutty and bittersweet overtones.
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Saturday, November 27, 2004

Boyfriend in the Coffee Shop

What a surprise when a college boyfriend stepped into the coffee shop that
morning. Maybe five or ten pounds heavier, but the goatee and quiet mannerisms were the same--the standing back to assess the situation, about 5 '10", smiling bright gray/blue eyes glancing around, and wispy dishwater blonde hair peeking out from under a baseball cap. Closing my book, I stood up to put on my coat and noticed he was gone.

Carrying my paper coffee cup to the counter to add a little cream before leaving, I realized he was standing next to me at the condiments while waiting for his order. He said to the clerk, "Thanks for your help." That voice. Yes, it was him. Definitely him. I wanted to watch to see if his sports car was in the parking lot.

Of course, it couldn't possibly be him, common sense whispered in my ear. After all, the former sweetheart is older than me and lives in another state. The young man standing there was perhaps twenty five--young enough to be my grandson. But for a moment . . . I wanted to kick him in the knee.

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