#25: The Appointment

She'll be here, she'll be here, I keep telling myself.

I sit on a couch, drinking some kind of latte-of-the-day. I'm reading Kerouac, hoping that will give just the right impression. Saturday nights are filled to the brim here, but I have perhaps the only empty seat next to me, reserved by my over-stuffed backpack.

She'll be here, she'll be here.

She finally walks in. She changed her hair a little, which seems to be something she does every week, and now it's more red. She wraps a black apron on and slips behind the counter saying, "Sorry" to the manager who's face would be more comfortable tapping a watch.

I read and I wait.

I listen to the conversations around me. Someone's failing math. Someone's breaking up with her boyfriend, but he won't find out for another couple weeks. Someone's planning a road trip, an escape from this town, maybe never coming back.

She pulls shots, mixes drinks, smiles. Repeats.

Three and a half hours and the place is still packed. It's loud, even with the carpets and soft furniture. Even with the people in the next room concentrating on chess, it's loud.

Finally, I see her making a drink for herself, her apron still tied around her but taken off her shoulders. She has fifteen minutes.

She steps from behind the counter, looks around at the full coffee house.

I move my backpack. I motion to the now empty seat and smile.


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