The Coffee Shop

Author: zaizai

Rated: G

I wrote this when my boyfriend made me SO angry, I played out this story of me leaving him in my head. I could never actually leave him though. He treats me very good! But sometimes he can be an immature little prick!

I hope you guys enjoy!

You know that feeling when you're dreaming that you're falling? It's kind of like diving head first into a sea of abyss, plunging down, down, down. And you're looking, straining your eyes to see what's ahead of you, but there is nothing. The end is nowhere in sight. Eventually you wake up in a cold sweat, your heart racing, your mind reeling, as though you really had been falling, but in fact, you hadn't moved at all. There you still lay, in the center of your bed, with your blankets wrapped tightly around you.

And there I stood. Looking at her. Falling head first into the depths of her eyes, without any intention ever of looking away.

It was like a dream. I've had many of her in the days after she left. It started kind of like today. I drove to my favorite coffee shop. Waited in line. Ordered my coffee. Sat down at a table. Played with my phone. And then, there she would be: picking up her order at the counter. But unlike any dream, she was not alone.

She looked different. Very different. Her hair was lighter—I couldn't believe she actually went through with it. Her face had matured—she wasn't the child-like girl I'd known at 19. Her clothes were more sophisticated—I wondered if it was a style change or if it was for work.

She didn't break eye contact as she reached a hand to clasp the tiny one that latched onto her coat. That's when I stood up. I waved. I had no idea what I was doing, or what I was even going to say—but I couldn't help myself. She always had this compelling aura that made me act impulsively.

"Hi, Ben," she said, her smile radiating. She seemed happy to see me. But then again, she was pretty good at faking things like this. Not that she was a fake person, but social etiquette came naturally to her; in other words, she knew how to play ‘nice'.

"Good," I reply, hardly able to stammer a word, because the sight of her has made me speechless.

We stood for a minute just staring at one another, letting the shock and disbelief wash over our faces. It had been a long time. Almost nine years now.

Out of the corner of my eyes I see the little one tugging at her coat.

"Excuse my rudeness," I apologize, looking down at the child, "And what is your name?"

I would be a fool to think that the little girl wasn't Lisa's. The little girl had Lisa's eyes, nose, and face structure. She was the little girl I had been hoping one day would be mine. The miniature image of the woman I loved.

"My name is Faye."

I looked quickly to Lisa, who diverted her eyes. My blood was rushing in my ears.

"Faye," I said after a long time, "That's a pretty name."

It was the name Lisa and I had picked out for "our" daughter. It was the name we had agreed would best match my last name. It was the name I had never imagined would ever belong to anyone but the child of Ben and Lisa Benet. But there she stood. Her name was Faye. And I had contributed zero percent to her genetic code.

"This is my daughter," Lisa said, a smile still plastered to her face, but I could see the sympathy in her eyes. She felt bad. For what, I couldn't imagine. She had picked that name, she had loved it—all I ever did was approve it.

"She's beautiful," I say. I think maybe it would have been better to let her walk out of the coffee shop without saying anything. It was a mistake.

I had her. I lost her. It was over.

I would give anything to have changed the past. To have loved her more. To have stopped her from leaving. To have listened to her concerns. To have taken care of her how she deserved to be taken care of.

But it was too late.

At the time, the end was no where in sight.

Thank you for reading =]