Coffee
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It was warm for a winter day, even in El Paso, where the temperatures were often over fifty degrees in December. The sun was shining brightly, and the soft breeze was cold enough to remind me that it was still winter, whatever the temperature may be
I sat, staring out the window of Denny’s, my usual haunt, looking at the dusting of snow on the mountains and sipping my coffee. For a Saturday afternoon, there was little else I could wish for between the beautiful weather, the gorgeous scenery, and the bottomless cup of absurdly strong coffee. That’s what I thought at that moment, at least, right before she walked in the door.
From her uniform, it was obvious she was a waitress. Between never having seen her in there before, and the cautious look in her eyes, it was also obvious that she was a new employee starting one of her first days on the job. She smiled at me as she walked past to go to the kitchen; dazed, I only stared at her. By the time I got my mouth to form itself into a smile, only the door she’d walked through was there to see it, still swinging gently from her passing.
Even from that brief glance as she walked past, she was fixed firmly in my mind: long, dark hair, tied back in a pony tail that, though beautiful, did her little justice; a warm and slender face, eyes lit brightly from that quick smile; a slight figure with enough curves to be seductive, but still the light frame of a runner or dancer.
She returned through the door, and stood behind the counter, trying to figure out what to do first. As she looked at me, I raised my coffee mug to her, even though it was still half full. She turned to get the coffee pot for a refill, and I quickly downed what was left in my mug, unmindful of the scalding temperature as it scorched my throat.
Now’s your chance, I thought to myself as she poured my coffee. Unfortunately, my mouth was still in excruciating pain from draining the coffee so quickly, and all I could stammer out was something akin to “Mmmph ahhgh glurrrrg.” She laughed, a light and playful laugh that made me smile in spite of myself, probably making me look further as though I were mentally challenged than I already did.
“Are you okay?” she asked. I took a second to make sure my toungue was working properly, thankful that she waited for me to speak.
“Yeah, just … that last cup was a little warm. Are you new?” I asked, though I knew full well that she was; I was simply trying to keep her at my table as long as possible, though I wouldn’t have been able to tell you why.
“Yeah, second day. That obvious?”
“No, just never seen you before. You’re doing good so far.”
“Thanks, but I just came on the clock. Let’s see if I break more dishes today than yesterday before we say anything though.” We both laughed, and I knew I’d be drinking more than my fair share of coffee that day.
And I did. I drank my share, and her share, and your share. And I came in the next day after work and did the same thing, and every day after that. It surprised me; most waitresses would’ve thought I was stalking them, and grown quite leary of me within a couple of days. She was different, and seemed to enjoy my company (for some reason) more and more as time passed.
It was some time later that things changed, as they normally do in spring time. The leaves were turning green, the wind was picking up, the rains were starting, and the temperatures rose higher and higher. I came in one day as I always did, and waited patiently for her to arrive. Much to my disappointment, she didn’t — another waitress came in her spot, an older woman who, though somewhat attractive, was also about as cuddly as steel wool. I drank a single cup of coffee and left, wondering what had happened to the woman I’d grown quite fond of over the period of a few months.
Of course I’d never gotten her phone number, nor did I learn her last name. And why should I? She was a constant; she was always there at the restaurant at a given time, on specific days of the week. Eventually, I found out she’d left for a different job, with better pay and better hours. I was happy for her, though I missed her greatly. I also stopped going to that restaurant as frequently, and my stomach was thankful I’d stopped the constant onslaught of their bitter coffee.
Quite by accident — literally — things changed yet again with the season. As summer brought it’s triple-digit days and nights of monsoon rains, I found myself at a red light one evening in a torrential downpour. I could hardly see the lines in the road, and though initially shocked by the impact, I wasn’t terribly surprised when I got rear-ended. It was not good driving weather, and it was only because I’d run out of (of all things) coffee for the mornings that I’d been out.
Though the accident itself wasn’t much of a surprise, the beautiful, slender face in the car that had hit me was. It was my waitress, and her expression changed from a grimace of fear and regret to a bright smile when she realized who it was she’d run into. Finally, I had the nerve and the chance to find out her phone number, and found many excuses over the next couple of days to call her — an extra fee for this, another ding here that I’d pay for anyways, just wanted to let her know, so on and so forth.
That was two years ago, this summer, and there wasn’t a chance I’d let her get away this time. I invited her out to coffee for the first date, and by the third date we’d decided that we would do much better as husband and wife than as customer and waitress. Now, every morning as we get up for work — of all things, she’d quit her job as a waitress for a job as an auto insurance claims adjuster — I pour her cup of coffee for her, and she tips me with a kiss.
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