Oops ...

Part One

Oops

When we met it was an accident.

Literally, it was an accident . . .

The day we met was cold and rainy, and the only thought on my mind was to get out of the downpour.  So when I saw that warm and welcoming door to that equally warm and equally welcoming coffee shop I made a straight beeline for it.  I didn’t look, I didn’t think.  My sole focus was on getting inside before I started to resemble a drowned rat.

And that’s how I ended up barreling into you.

That’s how I ended up dumping your full cup of steaming coffee and burning you.

“Oops.”

I remember how pissed off you were.

I remember thinking just how wonderful my day was starting out – sarcasm is key here.

I apologized a lot, I know I did.  I’m pretty sure, in that moment, my entire vocabulary consisted of ‘Oh crap, I am so, so sorry!’  I know I tried to help you clean up, running up to the counter and grabbing up an excessive wad of napkins.

Thinking back on it now, I’m pretty sure the amount I took was way more than overkill, but I’d just burned you with coffee.  Trying to help was my only thought.

But you didn’t want my help.  In fact, you pretty much told me to ‘Back off’.  You didn’t even take the napkins; didn’t even ask for my contact information for when you sued me.  You just hefted that worn red backpack higher up on your shoulder and carried on out the door.

You left me stunned, in silence, as the entire shop paused to watch the unfortunate burning.

“Um . . . okay,” I remember saying, finally shaking myself free of my shock.  I went up to that counter and ordered a large cup of black coffee.  I tried to forget the embarrassing event.

But that dumb cashier – although, now that I mention it, I should probably be thanking her for her nosiness – had to bring it up.  She told me to ignore you; that you were always that cranky in the morning.  She told me you were a regular and to just steer clear of the shop between eight-thirty and nine to avoid anymore incidents and awkwardness.

However, I was never one to do what they were told.  Call me a rebel, call me whatever you want.  I just knew I had to make up for burning you . . .

. . . Especially since I’m pretty sure most of that coffee nailed you in those precious family jewels.

ͼ—ͽ

The next day I got to that coffee shop at exactly eight o’clock.  I came prepared, with a wallet filled with singles – twenty of them – and a book to pass the time.  I told that same cashier that I would pay for whatever you ordered; it was the least I could do for burning you so seriously.  She looked at me weird, I remember, but agreed to it, saying that I could pay after you’d left.

So I sat down at one of the tables and pulled out my book, getting through three chapters before you entered.  I tried to act casual; tried to act like I was there to read and drink coffee, not to stalk you – I was most certainly not a stalker!

My acting must have been up to par because you didn’t notice me, slowly making your way up to the counter and placing your order: an apple muffin and a large black coffee, one creamer on the side.  You stood there, leaning against the counter and waiting for your order to come up.  It took exactly forty-two seconds – okay, yes, I was counting – and when you went to pay I knew the exact second that you found out it was already taken care of.