I looked forward to our morning
tryst at Starbucks. It was our time to share, to relax, before a day that would
separate us as we went about our daily duties.
Coffee cup
in hand, I said, “So you’ll meet me outside of work at 7:00 p.m. to drive downtown.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes,
tonight: Madame Butterfly; tickets; bought 4 months ago.”
“It’s not
on my iPhone.”
“So, if
it’s not on your iPhone it doesn’t exist?” I pulled the tickets from my purse
and slowly slid them across the table. “These exist. See. Real.” I tapped them
vigorously with my index finger. “Tonight. Be there. Seven P.M.”
“You have
lots of friends who would jump at the chance to go even at the last minute. Why
don’t you call one of them?”
“Ah! So,
it’s not about this being absent from your precious iPhone, it’s about the
opera. You just don’t want to go.”
Smirking,
“Guilty as charged. I admit it. I don’t want to go.”
I sat back
and stared at him. How many times had this happened? And not just about the
opera either. I prepared to begin my standard guilt producing lecture when a
faceless form glided by our table.
Now lots
of faceless forms glide by everyday when you sit at Starbucks but HE was
different. First of all, I knew it was a HE even though I hadn’t even looked
up. I was too absorbed in inflicting this latest guilt trip. Second, there was
this scent. Familiar, yet unsettling. From where? From where?
“Jenny.
Jenny.”
He broke
into my moment and the scent was gone. Refocus.
“Thomas,” now
looking directly into his concerned eyes, “You know what? I’ll go to the opera
alone.”
My eyes
wandered across the shop to where a man sat; a newspaper covering his face
except for the hairline. I felt a tingling in my fingers like they had run
along that very hairline many times.
I got up
and began to walk towards him.
“Jenny,
Jenny….” a voice trailing away as I approached my destiny.
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