The Coffee Shop

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
What's it feel like to run into the one that got away?

Still working on polishing it. Suggestions greatly appreciated.

Submitted: March 23, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 23, 2008



I don't remember the last time I saw her. I remember how her hair was up and blonde and curly. I remember her makeup was fresh and she was so radiant. I remember her perfume. And that's it. I don't remember where we were or what was said. For some reason, whenever I think of her now, that's the single image I have in my mind. She's standing in her doorway, leaning on one side. She's barefoot, wearing a spring dress. The air is so sweet. And then, her bittersweet smile and I'm gone.

So sitting at a coffee shop nearly six years later, my heart stops completely. Four hours into my latest screenplay and she's just taken a seat across the room with her new husband. I wonder if she still takes her coffee the same. I wonder if she sees me. But whatever, I need to finish this, I think to myself. I've no time to dabble, to get distracted. Not even by the one that got away. I glare at my screen and I try to concentrate. I try to fool myself into thinking that my screenplay is more important. Damnit. The deadline is in two hours. My coffee's cold. Fuck.

My finger rubs over the keys, as if rubbing them extracts some sort of magic or luck or both. Alright, I think, just get up, pack your things, walk over and say hello, then leave and find another place to finish your goddamn story. Get the hell out of there. Or maybe I should just duck out. Scurry through the back, catch the Q uptown. How do I even know that's her, could just be some chick I don't even know and I'll just end up embarrassing my sorry ass. I peer over the screen again and then...that laugh. My heart feels like it's being lifted up by thousands of pins and needles. How could such a beautiful laugh hurt so fucking much?

The needles dig in a bit more and I walk across the cafe.

She's sitting farther than I originally thought. And why does it seem like everyone's staring at me as I pass like I'm some sort of hideous monster or terrorist ready to bomb the damn place? Whatever Dylan, just do it and go. Two steps away and her blue eyes find me. And then, his brown ones. Both, with their welcoming smiles. Both, very much in love. If I could have stamped a hole through those linoleum tiles and dropped from the universe, I would've. I so would've. But her arms, fully stretched, weren't going to let me go anywhere. She gasps and the next thing I know we're in each other's arms. I take a deep breath of her perfume and I damn near pass out. Nicole, I love you.

At least that's what I should have said.

A long time ago.

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