I was in a haze after a late night at the Seventh had messed with my wits. I had been had foolish enough to accept a drink from Jason, and I was paying for it. It had been Barardi 151. Should have known. But then I’d missed the unmistakable stench and color of the shot in the moment of it all, the heavy, pounding music pressing against my temples.
Now, I was walking, every step away from the gathering of acquaintances behind me, every step into the unknown streets of the Fort at quarter past eleven. A row of street lights drew a straight line in front of me. I followed it as true as I could. One foot in front of the other. Not so difficult.
But then there was a rumble in the distance, and it carried with the wind right to my ears. I turned, and in the bleak sky, I saw a flash. I quickened my gait, knowing what would be next.
Then a light, harsh and violent on the side of the road. The vision of it blurred and then settled. It shone like the salvation of the damn world. It was definitely my salvation from the coming rain. The Starbucks sign that flickered slightly on the window might as well have been a cross, considering how relieved I felt at seeing it.
I got in and took a seat by the window, noting the other insomniacs who littered the cafe. There was a chubby man and a woman with a long braid and glasses in the table closest to me. They looked like call center agents, looking to get lucky with each other. It would probably end the way they wanted too.
Across from them, in a center table, was a young looking man, no older than I was—or so it seemed to me— with his head buried in a book. I took a quick peek at the title. Haruki Murakami was all I could make out with my failing eyes. Good writer, I noted.
Then beyond him, initially hidden from view, right next to the jars of suga, sat a woman. Or a girl, her hair auburn, eyes haunting blue. But she was no Caucasian. She was a Filipina. Usually, I hate the look, the artificial distortion of natural beauty, but it worked on her for reasons I can’t place. I must have been sleepy. It was already hazy, after all.
I went over to the counter, where I was greeted by the barista, a woman in her early twenties. She had strange placing when it came to her features, almost alien like. They just seemed out of place to me. And top it all off with a mole on her forehead, and I don’t think I was very respectful with the way I stared. She didn’t seem to have noticed though.
“What will you be having, sir?” she asked Cheshire-like.
“Mocha frap for Joseph. Oh, and make that cream-based”
I went back to my table. By now, the rain had begun falling. It wasn’t the strong typhoon I had expected, rather the drops plopped down lightly onto the ground as angels would from heaven. And it was like the world hissed in peace.
I think I may have drifted, me just staring out at each drop as they appeared out of the gloom of the purple sky, each one of them like comets on re-entry. But instead of destruction, they brought stillness and calm. I might have actually even fallen asleep before I heard the jolting sound of someone calling my name.
I turned over to find the barista holding up my drink and looking at me in that sort of “Thank you for choosing Starbucks, sir. Please feel free to keep ordering as much as you want. We are open twenty four-seven. We have a good selection of pastries if you are hungry, albeit a bit overpriced. But don’t let that discourage you” way that all café employees seem to have.
“Thanks,” I said as I got there. By now, I was definitely feeling sleepy and conversation was probably not going to be my strong suit, which is why I didn’t expect what would happen next. I was over at the milk counter, where the sugar and the cinnamon jars were, taking my sweet time as I usually did—a horrible trait that had been brought to my attention of late, when she spoke to me. A voice like a whisper. I thought I’d imagined it.
I heard her clear her throat and speak again. “Excuse me,” the auburn haired girl said, smiling. Then I realized I’d been blocking the way. I apologized. When she passed me, I caught a whiff of her, a strong heavenly scent that staggered me. It hung heavily on the walls of my nostrils.
“That’s a great smell.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Your perfume. It smells really good,” I said. I wasn’t certain why I was starting up conversation considering the state I was in, but here I was.
Surprisingly enough, she didn’t ignore me. “Thank you. It was just recently given to me. God, I can’t even remember the name.” She laughed then smacked the top of her head with her palm.
“Well, it sure woke me up.” I said, giggling a bit.
She picked up the sugar, held it about five inches from her mug, and poured a clean line into the black, swirling beverage. “Must have been a long night then at 7th High.” The way she said it, she’d almost tipped her head to one side in pure anime fashion.
I was about to ask her how she knew, but noted the polo and tie I was wearing. I gestured at them with a smile.
“So why aren’t you still there?” she asked. “At this hour, the girls have got to be just the right amount of drunk, sweating all over you and whatnot.”
I told her there weren’t any hot girls tonight. She’d almost laughed at that.
“More like you weren’t having fun, so you snuck out to be with yourself,” she said, then took a sip of her drink. Her face cringed. And she extended her hand to me like she was giving me her coffee. “I think I messed up my drink. Now, it’s just too sweet.
I ventured a taste and found that she was quite right about what she’d done. She had ruined it.
“Let’s call this drink now by its true name: Diabetes,” I said.
She exclaimed. “Exactly!” And laughed heartily. I’d never had a stranger laugh like that with me before. What a weird girl, I thought. She asked me to sit with her, so I did. Strangely enough, I didn’t find it awkward which would have been my usual reaction.
We talked a bit more about things in general: the weather, the book I’d spotted on her table which turned out to be The Hunger Games. She was catching up on it before the movies got started, she had told me. Then I saw a napkin on her table with words scribbled from it. From where I sat, I couldn’t discern what was written. All I could tell was that it was in script.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Oh. It’s just something I do when I’m sitting in Starbucks. When I spot people I find interesting, I write about them.” She seemed embarrassed as she explained. She went into detail about it, how she can’t help but wonder about these people, where they’re going, what they’re doing. And how she leaves the stories behind when she’s done. I swear, it was like she’d come out of a movie.
I smiled and reassured her that it was an amazing habit.
“Thanks” was her only reply.
I finally got the nerve to ask her if she was waiting for someone. Honestly, I had hoped for a different reply. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend. He kinda works at HP. They had a meeting, so he had to stay late. But we’re meeting tonight since tomorrow is you know.. Actually not tomorrow. In five minutes. Anyway, I actually went to 7th high earlier.”
Then it struck me so fast I practically staggered back. She had been wearing a jacket this entire time, a green striped no-zip with a singular button near the hood for fashion’s sake. But underneath, a black cocktail dress with a white line running down the side clung tightly to her form. She’d been there, from the place I had been. And the irony was hilarious. At least, to me.
“Seriously?” I said, not so much as words but more as a chuckle.
“Yeah” she remembered. “Just to kill time. But I kinda got bored with it. I guess, I was looking forward to this. You know, meeting up with him.” She was beginning to speak in that desperate tone she
had when she first told me about her habit. I couldn’t help but think of it as incredibly cute, especially when her dimples resurfaced as she said the words “it” and “him”.
Oh god. Him. I had to remind myself. A meme popped into my head while she spoke. The words FRIENDZONE immediately came into view in bold, red stamped letters on my face. It was a horrible feeling. However, terrible it was though, it also felt good for her to confide in me even in such a small way. A stranger. I guess, that’s what we were. Two strangers, looking to get away from that mess of a place. But while I was running away from something, she was running towards something.
“I was outside though, looking for a cab” she continued. “Then I saw this guy. He seemed so lonely. I don’t know why. All he was doing was smoking a cigarette. But I couldn’t shake the image of him crying or something. It’s weird.”
“That is weird.”
“But now I know why.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Well, it was really bothering me. Then the strangest thing happened. He walked into the café I was at and took a seat by the windows. And I saw it. It was his eyes. They were sad. They’re very sad. I mean, he seems funny enough, but he’s hiding so much from his friends.”
I was speechless for a moment that seemed to drag on forever. And there was this look on her face like she’d killed me or betrayed me and that she’d wished she hadn’t done it, but she had to. She absolutely had to. And the word that popped into my head was pity. Then her eyes wandered away onto the street and she broke the silence.
“I have to go. My date’s here. You should go back.”
“It’s not really my crowd.” I still managed a smile. I always smiled around pretty girls. “And they all have their special someones.”
At this, she looked at me like I’d missed the point of it all. “Yes but just because you don’t have the right person sitting across from you, doesn’t mean you should be alone. Not today. If I’d thought like that, then I wouldn’t have met as interesting a person as you.”
She handed me the paper napkin with the words scribbled on it and headed for the door. But before opening it, she turned to me. “Happy Valentines” Her dimples flooded my world from where she stood. Outside, she met with this pasty white Chinese guy who wore horn-rimmed glasses. They hugged then kissed in a slow peck. Nothing too brutal.
I looked at the piece of paper in my hand. The first thing I read was the title, written in exquisite hand-writing. The Man with the Sad Eyes, it said.
I got up, went to the bathroom to wash my face, and made my way for the door. By the time, I’d gotten out of the CR, she and her boyfriend were gone.
“Happy Valentine’s Day” the barista said to me.
I wasn’t much in the mood for talking, but I smiled and said the same words back.
Generally, the character in the story is based off a friend of mine. I changed very little about her personality or her appearance. The part about writing stories about random people is a true statement. This is something she actually does. The differences lie in the little details. She doesn’t have a boyfriend currently although she had had one, and we did not meet at Starbucks. But the things the main character notes about her in the story are the things I noticed about her initially. We also have never had a conversation like this. These are things I just think she would say to the main character. Like the character in the story, she is very outgoing and is not afraid to meet new people even if the circumstances are typically awkward.
