I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget.
- Joan Didion, On Keeping a Notebook in Slouching Towards Bethlehem.
Coffee has one of the most beautiful scents in the world. I maybe biased, but up until this morning, I did not harbor this opinion, so bear with my whims. And until 30th January 2013, I woke up to that heavenly smell. Right now, it smells like wild lavender, which - to my knowledge - had been my favorite smell since I learnt how to make candles. I definitely did not miss the bittersweet cloudy smell of coffee before 30th January. But Q left on 30th January. (And took her coffee machine with her.)
是非常美妙的。
Maybe an account of how much I miss my beautiful, coffee-making roommate, isn't the best way to instigate my love story. But that was the start of it all; the morning John Tomlinson entered a coffee shop, with the intention of consuming coffee.
I don't vividly remember the weather, but an average January day in Edinburough is cold and snowy. I remember wearing my least favorite red scarf; I couldn't find the beige one.
So, on that cold morning, I walked to the nearest coffee shop and ordered an Espresso, giving the bitter condiment another chance to redeem itself. 'Wendy' dully entered it into the machine and handed me the receipt.
"Move to the side, sir. You'll have your order in a minute." She placed a receipt and the change on a tray, the coins clinking softly and gently pushed it to the side, I mimicked the direction.
Adhering to regular coffee-shop atmosphere, the air was warm and headily scented. Sighing in irritation, I loosened my carefully wrapped scarf. Leaning against the counter, I watched Wendy. Plain people can only be one type of beautiful and that is from the inside. Wendy wasn't. Even sinking in the boredom of routine, she had a stubbornly set jaw and large eyes which made you uncomfortable.
The only redeeming quality in Wendy is her hair. If you've ever mixed yellow with white, added a tinge of black, a little orange and a fair amount of red and mixed it ardently (like 12 year-old me in art class did), you know the color of Wendy's hair.
I'd used that shade to highlight the sinking sky in my landscape, and it flipped over her dark sweater now. Yes, a, man could fall for Wendy-from-Starbucks, due to her hair.
I glanced behind to see a man was heading for the counter with a strange determination. I'm not exactly sure, why I looked behind and the man had a delectable jaw line. (Do you blame, me for getting distracted) Nervously rubbing a hand over his light beard, he shoved his way to the front and called,
"Wendy." He said it like he didn't believe he deserved to say her name, hesitantly and with a very soft 'y'. Wendy placed a coffee on my tray and widened her eyes at the man, in one fluid motion.
"What?” she choked out. "Are you doing here?" She raised one eyebrow. The man didn't seem to have planned further interaction because he blankly stared at her. Then he sneezed. Wendy pushed his arm and loudly declared.
"Please move to the side, sir." He sniffled loudly and moved closer to me. He smelled vaguely of cooking spices and soap, his sturdy frame leaning on me. I consciously froze, trying to remember the moment in all its expectancy.
"I'm sorry, Wendy." He said after some time, rubbing his nose. Wendy ignored the sincere words and continued reading out the order. Then she looked at him.
"What do you want me to say?" She angrily pressed a button, but her voice was soft.
"And why don't you move ahead, sir." she flicked her eyes towards me and went back to the order. I flushed a little before retrieving my tray and giving the man a sympathetic glance. He sneezed again and I set my tray down on a small table.
Maybe Wendy-from-Starbucks was a different kind of beautiful. And maybe people with exquisite jaw lines were meant to fight their own battles.
是非常美妙的。
I am a mural of impractical habits and one of the stranger shades is "conscious remembrance". I consciously try and remember moments in all their entireness, while they're happening, so I can relive them in full color and detail. I have a special attachment to memories, they give me feelings of belonging and love shared.
When I raised my coffee cup to my lips, I remembered the contrast of brown coffee with the white cup. The couple on the verge of breakup - the boy wears flip-flops in winter, what did she expect really - in front of me. The slightly stifling sensation around my neck due to my scarf and the itch under my left ear.
"Can I sit here?" someone muttered and splayed onto the chair, like a broken bag of glitter. It was he, of course. He flopped his head down onto the table, cuddling into the crook of his arms. I put my cup down.
"How can I help you, sir?" I picked up my cup again and inhaled. He raised his head after a few seconds, and leaned back.
"I have to make her understand." His cold had blocked up his nose and he didn't have enough warm clothes on, except a coat. His shirt was open at the top, exposing smooth skin with a smattering of blond hair. I exhaled through my nose and looked into his eyes.
"Do you love her?" My question seemed to surprise him and arrest his illness, because he stopped sniffing for a minute and gave me an eye-creasing grin. He looked amazing then, with the morning light making his hair glow, and the creases on his face created attractive shadows. It also dawned upon me that he was a lot older than I first assumed.
"Of course I love Wendy," he picked up my fickle coffee cup running a finger around its rim and completed dryly, "She's my daughter."
The moment Wendy-From-Starbucks became Wendy-His-Daughter, fear; hope and excitement surged through my veins with indecent speed.
Sometimes, when you meet a person, irrespective of gender, you feel expectant about their role in your future life. It's like you're standing on a high building with a particularly enchanting yo-yo in your hand; you let it go wild or keep it close and sometimes, drop it.
是非常美妙的。
"...And Wendy isn't taking the divorce very well. She refuses to speak to me." He sneezed for the third time since he spoke to me and I stared at the empty cup of coffee, trying to take in the scent. The couple on the next table had apparently gotten over their fight, indulging in finger kisses and brushing noses. Feeling routinely jealous, I worked my fingers into the knot of my scarf and slid it off in a fluttering move.
"Why did you get divorced, Gerard?"
His face fell abruptly at the question and he stared at the table for some time.
"I needed to clear the...air."
"It's ok, you don't have to tell me." my smile must have been bitter because he touched my hand and gently reprimanded,
" It's not about telling you, John. It's just something I'm still dealing with."
It took me a minute to fully understand his words and breathe properly while he touched me. I twisted the scarf around my finger again and then wound the scarf round Gerard's neck.
"Go get her, tiger." He gave one tremendous sniff, treated me to another heart-stuttering grin and loped off to the counter, my scarf fluttering like a flag.
