It was one of those fun names to write. Where all the lines
connected together nicely, even in my messy, broken-up cursive hand. I was the
perfect barista, but nobody could read my handwriting well enough to take
orders. I put down the sharpie and tossed the empty cup to Nate.
She had her head down, counting coins for perfect change. I
liked the way her bangs brushed her eyebrows, just covering her eyes from
sight.
I cleared my throat.
“So. Do people call you Ezzy for short?”
She jerked up, then looked up at me like I’d said something
offensive. She looked funny though, with her eyes screwed together in
overdramatic fury, and I couldn’t take her seriously.
“No, sir,” she said, abrupt, and dumped a couple of bills and
some change into my open palm. I made a sheepish face in apology, but then she
smiled and trilled out a laughed. Nate slid her drink across the counter. She
picked it up and tipped it at me as she walked out.
[Click "READ MORE" to continue...]
[Click "READ MORE" to continue...]
--
I scent people. By what they order. I remember them by the
tastes and the smells of their coffee. The bitter old men with their blacks.
The young girls with their strawberry fraps, chins dipped in whipped cream
mustaches. The nostalgic who swirl their hazelnut, trying to form shapes in the
cream, and drink with a faraway look in their eye.
--
“Ezzy, yeah?” I said, as I began to scribble her name onto a
plastic cup. “With an iced mocha--”
“My name’s Farah,” she interrupted. She tapped her dark
purple fingernails against the counter.
I gave her a dry look.
It was the same girl. I knew because I’d been keeping track
of her since the first day she’d come in. The first time she was something I
noticed, but didn’t really register. Like the flicker of something at the
corner of your eye. A new girl, Nate pointed out, since in a small town like
this it was hard not to know everybody.
A new regular, I added when she came in for the third day in
a row.
The first time she’d come in a long, green coat that twisted
at her hips into a dress. It would’ve looked ridiculous on someone else – it
was too much of a fairytale dress, too much like a child’s Halloween costume –
but she walked with confident grace, and it hugged her body in the right ways.
Then, her black hair had been long and wavy and trailed down
to her waist. But today, she had it in a choppy pixie cut that framed her
cheekbones nicely when she turned to the side.
“So what would you like to drink, Farah?” I asked, just waiting for her to burst out into that tiny,
musical laugh of hers. It was hard to tell what she was thinking. I couldn’t
see her eyes – they were concealed behind a pair of dark sunglasses. She was
all dark today, black clothes and shoes and hat; I kept staring at the only
splotch of color on her face – her red, red, blood red lips.
Her frown was set as she said, “Coffee. Just coffee.”
I scratched out Ezzy – which I had written neatly for once –
and began to trace out an F onto the
cup.
“How do you spell Farah?” I asked.
She had her head tilted her side as a smile crept up her
face, like she was eavesdropping in on a particularly scandalous conversation.
“However you want to.”
“Cream? Sugar?” Nate asked from behind me.
She shook her head.
“I like it plain.”
“Yeah?” I said, standing up straighter. “Me too.”
She rolled her eyes.
Nate snorted.
--
I watched as she dumped eleven packs of sugar into her
coffee. She was in a jean skirt and tights, with a short-sleeved hoodie thrown
on top. She was Gwen today. Gwen who wore her hair in pigtails and giggled
whenever her boyfriend came up from behind to kiss her on the neck.
Nate laughed at me, but punched me on the shoulder as he
did.
“You didn’t even know her name, dude,” he said in an
annoyingly reasonable voice. “Let it go.”
--
The banana nut muffin sat on the counter between us. Hariah
– as such she was called today – tapped her feet to the song she was humming,
fiddling with the skirts of her yellow sundress as Nate mixed the strawberry
frap – a pink that matched the color of her hair - she’d ordered.
She tapped the muffin.
“This is my favorite,” she explained.
“I know,” I replied, a bit annoyed. “That’s why I laid it
out for you.”
Her eyes popped open. Her lips formed a perfect O. She
gasped. “Special treatment?”
“No,” I hissed. “It’s my job. I remember my customers."
“And yet,” she interrupted, snagging the muffin as she
retrieved her drink. “You can’t even remember my name.”
I quirked an eyebrow at her. Was that a challenge?
--
“Isla?” I tried. She shook her head. “Idina? Imogene?”
“Nope,” she said, popping the p at the end. Her hair was
pulled back today, with a large violet sticking out on the side.
“I’m almost done,”
Nate called from behind me. He shook the whip cream can. “Your time is running
up.”
“Isolde!” I said. “Iridessa! Ingrid!”
Nate came up to the counter.
“Iago!” I spat out.
She snorted as she took her drink from Nate.
“There isn’t a name more outrageous than Iridessa,” I said.
She tugged the sharpie out of my hand – our fingers touched
– and wrote something on her coffee cup. She held it out for me to see.
“Who the hell would name their kid Ianthe?” I said. Her
handwriting was pretty.
She threw the marker back at me.
“It’s Greek,” she said. “Ee-ann-thee.” She pulled the flower
out of her hair and twirled it, smiling down at her piping cup of hazelnut.
“It’s a pretty name, isn’t it?”
--
Nate threw a wrapped box at me.
“Happy birthday!” he said, wriggling his hands around in the
air in mock celebration.
I opened the package and glared at him. It was a book of
baby names.
.
.
.
I thumbed through it during my break.
--
Jolene meant serious business. Her legs were crossed neatly
under her pencil skirt, and she was dressed smartly for today. Her hair was up
in a tight bun.
She didn’t look away as her boyfriend prattled on, not
letting her speak when she tried to interject. Every time he cut her off, she
took a long sip of her green tea mocha. She was nibbling on her muffin when her
face twisted into a sour look. She jumped out and shouting, “OBJECTION!”
Her boyfriend jumped back.
She picked up her drink and dumped it on his head, only taking
her muffin with her as she stormed out the door – pushing her glasses up her
nose as she went, and wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket.
--
I had a list of K-names ready, but K-name didn’t make an
appearance today.
--
I was closing up shop when I tripped over something on the
sidewalk.
Something that turned out to be someone.
I didn’t recognize her at first. No crazies today. Just a
girl in a t-shirt and jeans with her hair up in a ponytail. It had been twelve
days since I’d last seen her. She laughed when my face hit the ground.
“Screw you,” I said. She laughed again as she offered me a
hand to help me up.
She tilted her head toward the door. “Closed?"
I shook my head and unlocked the door.
--
Every once in a while, she’d look down at the muffin and
bite her lip.
“Can I eat it now?” she asked anxiously.
“Yeah?” I said slowly. “You already paid.”
“But then it would be weird,” she said. “Because what if I’m
in the middle of stuffing my mouth when you finish my drink? Do I put the
muffin down and then take the drink? Or do I nod in thanks and grab the drink
and run away? Or--”
I put a mug of hot chocolate in front of her.
“Oooh!” she said, and abandoned the muffin for the mug.
“It’s--”
“HOT.”
“Yeah.”
She sipped more cautiously.
“Hmmmm,” she said thoughtfully, then hopped onto the
counter. I did too. “Hmmmmmm,” she said again. “HMMMMMMMMMM.”
I cast my eyes to the ceiling.
“What are you thinking about?”
She put the mug down.
“My ex. The guy I dumped the other day. He was cheating on
me, but the thing that gets me is that… he didn’t even remember my name. He called me Sarah.
Sarah! That is the most plain, ugly, disgusting, mundane name of all time.
Do you realize how many people are named Sarah? In a lifetime, you’ll probably
encounter thousands of Sarahs. I…”
“I don’t know your name,” I pointed out, but then I felt
stupid for saying it. It implied things that I didn’t really have the grounds
to imply.“I don’t know yours either,” she said, not missing a beat.
“Liar,” I said. “I wear a name tag.” I reached for my chest, but it was bare. “I don’t wear a name tag.”
She gave me a knowing smile, then returned to munching on her muffin.
A silence fell between us, and I began to count on my fingers. Twelve. V. Today we were at V. I thought of the flower in her hair.
“Violet?” I asked.
She looked up.
1 comments:
WOAHH. Today in my mind I created a girl character who changed her name everyday too...I am absorbing cho brain waves (>^^)>~~~ zhu zhu zhu.
But i really did like it! The girl is quirky and cute. There wasn't a plot line, the interaction between the two characters made up the story itself! And it was a very well developed interaction! :)
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