The Window of Opportunity:
by Brenda Coshnitzke
To smell a cup of coffee was to fall in love. I had been in a
longstanding relationship with a certain caramel frappe for years until just
recently when I discovered that plain, black decaf suited me better. It wasn't
just my best friend in the morning, it was my lover. If I were being honest
with myself, I would have admitted to being addicted, but I would never say
that anywhere other than in my mind where I was safe from all judgement.
Being left to my own devices with the coffee shop I grew up in was
always my dream, and after my mother's passing, two years ago, the keys to
Nina's Espresso were handed to me. It wasn't as if I was waiting around for my
parents to drop dead - I loved my mom and her death was one of the saddest
moments of my life. Having this shop up and running was my way of keeping her
memory alive when she wasn't.
I met lots of interesting characters who passed through, most just
looking for a relaxing place to spend an hour or two, and some were customers
who had been coming daily for years. I liked seeing new faces almost as much as
I enjoyed drinking a freshly brewed cup of tea.
The café no longer smelled of espresso beans and vanilla creamer; it now
had the intoxicating scent of Windex aftermath. I had just finished wiping
today's history out of the round mahogany tables, making sure they were ready
for tomorrow's long day of battling spilled coffee and cinnamon roll crumbs.
The smell of window cleaner on wood was nauseating to an extent. I had the
suspicion of being semi allergic to it, as I continually sneezed when it was in
the air.
The brewing machines had all been cleaned, along with the dishes, and
anything that needed electricity was shut off for the night. The last costumer
had walked out hours ago, leaving a crisp twenty dollar bill on the counter
which I had appreciated more then he knew. I was tired, and ready to curl into
a cocoon of blankets back at my suburban apartment.
In the blur of searching for my keys, I hadn't noticed someone stepping
up the stairs to the shop until I heard the doorknob jingling. I had already
locked the doors and flipped the 'open' sign to say 'closed,' so I wondered who
could've been that oblivious. I turned around, watching as a man realized the
doors were locked and began walking away. The walls on the side of the entrance
were made of Plexiglas windows, allowing me to stare out as he slowly started leaving;
his head hung low in slight disappointment.
He stopped mid step, almost falling forward from the shift in direction
as his eyes caught my gaze. I couldn't help but squint with confusion,
wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me in the bitter darkness of night.
It peaked my interest as I questioned what he was stopping for, whether it was
for me, or because I was an employee and he wanted service.
His hand went up, slowly but surely, giving me the pleasantry of a small
wave. The hand motion was so simple; yet, the act of it seemed so intense,
causing my throat to tighten and my mouth to instantly dry up. I was never
supposed to become nervous around anyone, my job required me to have healthy
communication skills, but seeing this man had caused my heart to attempt
jumping out of my chest. A smile tugged at one corner of his lips, pulling me
even further into curiosity.
I had learned from years of observing body language from different types
of people, that I was more in tuned to personalities than a psychic. I knew
people better than their friends did; I could almost see the lies they told
themselves and everyone around them. So, to pass the time, I often read people
like a book, just for my own amusement, but my years of being an observer were
not doing very much for me in this particular situation, as I couldn't see
through him.
I forced myself out of the hypnotic trace that his eyes had so willingly
pulled me into, and waved back, only slightly, trying not to look
overenthusiastic. I wasn't sure how to react, because I didn't know what this
mystery man wanted.
He looked excited to get a response from me, probably just happy that I
wasn't a figment of his imagination. It was awkward, for me at least. I had no
clue how he felt, but I didn't enjoy standing in one place while staring at a
stranger. He seemed to be in the same form of trance I had just been in, only
for a moment though. As soon as he snapped out of it, I could tell, because he
had his eyes roaming my figure freely. It made me feel insecure, but I would
never admit it out loud. Anyone would feel self-conscious, having a stranger
look them up and down as if he were a judge, although, I didn't think he looked
like the type to critique.
His mouth began moving, creating words that weren't audible through the
thick glass. I didn't need to hear him to know that he was babbling to me
nervously, not even noticing the slight rain that was drizzling over his head.
I giggled to myself, wondering if he knew I couldn't hear him. When he stopped,
he stared at me wide-eyed and waited for a response.
"I can't hear you!" I yelled pointlessly, knowing he wouldn't
understand. I pointed to my ears and exaggerated my mouth movements, hoping he
would get the general idea of what I said.
I felt a few butterflies flutter in the pit of my stomach, causing
anxiety I didn't think I could get as he held up one finger in a "give me
a moment" kind of way. He reached into the rather large satchel he was
carrying with him, pulling out something rectangular and thin. I furrowed my
eyebrows together, cocking my head to the side and taking a hesitant step
towards the window with interest. I wasn't scared by him, because I had a
certain intellect that would've told me if he meant any harm. I would get a
rotten feeling in my chest when my instincts told me something was sketchy, but
I felt fine.
He took out a pen as well, writing on the rectangle which I had
identified as a notepad. The gears of my brain were grinding as I tried to
imagine what he could be putting down on the paper, but I assumed I would find
out soon enough. I played anxiously with my fingers while I waited,
occasionally tugging at the ties to my apron.
He looked up at me with a smile across his cheeks as if he had just written
the cleverest string of words in the history of the human race. He stepped up
to the window, laying the notepad flat against it with a smack. I couldn't see
it from twenty foot away, so I gracefully walked towards him, my red Chuck
Taylors slapping against the marble floor with every step.
I laughed to myself, reading the single word 'Hi,' written in large
bubble letters. Being so close to the window, I was finally able to see what
this mystery man looked like, and to my appreciation, he did not disappoint.
Tuffs of remarkably orange hair stuck to his forehead, damp from the
rain which he still continued to ignore. He was taller than me, but only by a
few inches, standing at roughly 5" 9' if I were to have made an educated
guess. His lips were bright pink, shaped as if they were sculpted by gods,
blowing foggy breaths into the cold winter weather. I couldn't help but
question if he were really as pale as I thought, or if it was just an illusion
of the darkness. He was nowhere near the tall, dark, and handsome, average,
good-looking male who would make it on the cover of a Calvin Klein poster, but
he was interesting, and I preferred his individuality. There were faint lines
under his eyes, created by a smile more than a sleepless night. His irises were
a dark color which I couldn't pinpoint, but for now, I would call it green. His
sweatshirt was big, but I didn't think he was a particularly large guy,
although the fabric didn't seem thick enough to keep him warm. I got a chill
just by looking at him wear thin clothes in the early winter breeze. I envied
the cup of coffee that got to kiss his sleepy lips awake every cold and bitter
morning.
I
wanted to respond to him, the handsome man who stood only a few inches away
from me, so I did the only thing I could think to do. I reached into the front
pocket of my pine green apron, and pulled out the small pad of paper I used for
taking orders, along with a purple Sharpie.
Although I wanted to say something back, I couldn't think of anything,
which was a first for me. I always knew what the right thing was to say, it was
part of my job, and the fact that I couldn't agitated me down to the bone.
I decided to reply in the same way he did, with a simple 'Hi.' I wrote
mine with dots on every point to the letters, adding my own version of girly
flair. I watched his face light up with a childish smile as he laughed, puffs
of smoke leaving his mouth with every breath.
I felt slightly like an animal at the zoo, being watched and observed
from behind glass. He studied my features for a moment, with a smile so light
that I was surprised it was still dark outside. It was contagious, that smirk
of his, and the same crookedness fell upon my lips. We looked like two people
who had never seen another human being before, and were only just learning what
it was like to be social. We should have been on Animal Planet.
He broke eye contact with a giddy expression as he flipped the notebook
page and began writing again. I stood on my tiptoes, leaning closer to look at
what he was drawing, but he caught me in the act, and held it to his chest. He
purposely looked offended, mouthing the words "no peaking." I
couldn't help but laugh at his sarcastic and snarky attitude, playing with a
strand of my bleach blond hair while I waited patiently.
At last he put the page up to the window, most of the blue pen ink
running from the rain drops. It was barely smeared, but I could still read it
fluently.
'I'm Ed,' it read, a small crooked heart drawn at the end. My cheeks
burned a crimson color of pink from looking at the heart as a warm tingly
sensation started at the tips of my ears and made its way down to my toes,
consuming me. I had never smiled as much as I was then, and I was surprised
that one stranger could have that kind of effect on me.
'I'm Nina,' I wrote, using a different fount for my letters involving
swirls. I pointed at the ceiling, indicating for him to look up. He craned his
neck, staring up at the café sign that read Nina's Espresso.
'It's yours?' his next note asked. I could tell with every passing
second, his notepad was getting wetter, and that made it harder for him to
write.
I wrote the simple reply of 'yes' and showed it to his smiley face.
Before he had the chance to respond, I wrote a quick note with sloppy hand
writing, not bothering with a cute fount.
'Aren't you cold?' I held the slip of paper up to the Plexiglas, tucking
a piece of hair behind my ear.
His eyes looked up as if he were attempting to look at his eyelashes as
he shifted his weight between legs. He was obviously so caught up in our short
worded conversation that he didn't stop to think about the weather. It was
amusing to me, how oblivious some people could be, but on him, it was
endearing.
'Kind of, but I'm okay, it's worth it.' This time when he held it up, I
could see a part in the page that had a rip from his pen catching a wet spot.
I didn't know this man, yet somehow, the roundness of his cheeks and the
softness of his eyes felt like home. I didn't come into work that morning
thinking I would be having a conversation without actual words, but there I
was, physical evidence of the saying "expect the unexpected." I had
the strangest urge to get to know him - Ed - and without a doubt, I wanted to
see him again. He seemed fairly interested in me as well; if he wasn't, he wouldn't
have been there, continuing this pour excuse for communication. He intrigued me
in a good way, and I hadn't had that amount of excitement in my life since I
broke my arm, falling down a flight of stairs in another one of my accidental,
clumsy, demonstrations.
'How is it out there?' I wrote.
When he squinted to see the words I made smaller than previous letters,
I could finally decipher what his eye color was. A deep blue outlined his pitch
black pupils, as if I were looking into the Atlantic Ocean. I took a carful
glance at them, accumulating an unfamiliar, warm, lavish sensation in the pit
of my belly, like butterflies, but with more passion. It was bittersweet, the feelings
in my stomach, making me feel half sick, and half excited. No one had ever given
me that strong of a staggering feeling within minutes of first meeting.
'Wet,' he replied with a smirk, a drop of rain hanging on the tip of his
nose, scared to fall onto the cold ground. I laughed at his snarky answer,
covering my mouth as my nose and eyelids scrunched up with amusement. It was
stupid for me to be laughing, because there was no one around to hear it, but
secretly, I was glad Ed wasn't inside the coffee shop, or else he would have
heard me snort during my fit of giggles.
'Maybe you should get somewhere dry,' I suggested with honesty.
Although I didn't want him to leave, I was sure his clothes had let the
rain soak through, and that would surly cause him to catch a cold. I enjoyed
talking - writing - to Ed, but if he got sick on my account, I would feel
dreadfully guilty.
'Maybe I don't want to,' he returned, with a second note following right
after, reading 'can I tell you something?'
'No,' I replied sarcastically - at least, I hoped he took it
sarcastically. Of course, I wasn't being serious; he could have written his
grocery list and I would have read it with true interest.
He had a cheeky grin as he traced with his pen. His handwriting was
horribly sloppy, which I found to be engaging, but I could tell he was trying
to make this note easier to read.
I took a notice to his hands, which gripped the pen and notebook. They
weren't very long, but short and chubby with small fingernails. My fingers were
the polar opposite, long and thin, and I couldn't stop myself from wondering
how they would feel if he were to hold them. I decided it would be nice, but
the tingling in the pit of my stomach would most likely hospitalize me from
being so unbearably strong.
He pressed the notepad up to the glass, and although his handwriting was
improved, the ink was so drippy that I could hardly read it. I had to take a
moment of staring at the page before I could understand what it was.
'I think you're really cute.'
My cheeks instantly began burning with honey glow, heating up the
freckles that were sprinkled across my face as if I were standing in front of
an open fire. It felt, for the smallest second, like I stopped breathing. I
couldn't feel my heart beat for a moment, but once I could, I realized it was
pounding aggressively. I could hear my pulse, and it was so loud that I thought
he may have been able to as well.
The people in the streets stopped walking, the cars stopped driving, and
the world stopped spinning. It was just me, a random blue eyed boy, and a piece
of glass to separate us. The butterflies in my stomach caught on fire, burning
in a never ending red flame. I felt like I could float away on a cloud of
mind-blowing exhilaration that could only go up.
I didn't want to keep him waiting in an awkward anticipation, so I
ignored the giddy feeling I had coursing through my every vein, and I wrote a
quick, one word note.
'Ditto,' I corresponded, this time using cursive.
I could see it in the way he held his breath that he was undergoing a
moment similar to the one I just encountered. His pupils dilated and puffs of
smoke stop escaping his lips as a response to the word I composed. I knew what
he was thinking, and it was something that would forever be known as the best
feeling in history. I could only hope that the heart-pounding nirvana would
stay with me forever.
'I have to go. Are you open tomorrow?' he inscribed on the page.
I felt a ping of disconnect at the thought of him leaving. Somewhere in
my mind, I figured we would be here forever, writing little nothings that
couldn't be whispered through the translucent divider. It was an adolescent
thought, too immature for my twenty-three year old mind, but I only wished it
were true. Of course we would have to leave eventually; I would have to go home
to feed my turtle at some point, but I thought we had a little bit more time. I
was overflowing with disappointment, my heart no longer beating at the same
rate. It felt like he had already left, although he was still standing only
inches away.
Even though I only had the pleasure of spending roughly five minutes
with him, and we hadn't spoken a single word, I was grateful for having met
him. This small window of time had brightened up my day, my week even, and I
had a good feeling that it wouldn't be the last time I heard from him.
'Yes,' I wrote simply, using the rest of the space on the paper to draw
a large frowning face, letting him know that his departure would not render me
happy.
He started scribbling again, more words than he had before, and all I
could do was wait with an inquisitive mind. I tapped my foot impatiently, half
of me wanting him to hurry, and the other half wanting him to stop so this
could last forever. The page ripped, too damp to continue writing, but he was
determined to finished, so he started again on a blank slate. I was desperate
at that point, being tricked into thinking I would receive the next letter
sooner than I did.
'I'll be back then. Can I give you something before I go?' his last slip
spelled.
I nodded, instead of wasting my energy on another one word answer. A
remarkable coldness swept through my body, causing my face to become a rare
pale color with the thought of him coming back to see me. It was cold in the
way of sticking my hand inside of the snow, where the temperature was so
intense that it would feel hot like the sun. My cheeks burned while freezing at
the same time. I enjoyed being around him, but actually having to communicate
through the spoken word was nerve racking. Writing was easy, in the same way
texting was, which is why not many people made phone calls anymore, but I
wouldn't let that stop me from doing what I knew would be the best option:
seeing him again. I wanted to meet Ed in a better atmosphere, where he didn't
have to stand in the rain, and I knew, after that, I would want to meet him
many more times.
I pondered on what he would want to give to me without coming through
the door. There weren't very many choices, and my brain couldn't think up a
guess. If I could have only known, then my mind would have been at rest.
He continued to tear pages, and it seemed like he would never get to a
piece that were dry enough. My heart rate increased every second that he left
me waiting, my need for immediate gratification overpowering my patient virtue.
He only got damper, as did the paper, and the longer he took, the more he
looked like he had just emerged from a river.
He gave up after attempting to write on ten pieces of paper. I was more
disappointed than I ever remembered being; it was peculiar how a boy I didn't
know could affect me like that. My hand almost trembled with the need to know
what he was going to give me. I could see the same feeling in his eyes, which
made me believe it was something important, only furthering my infatuation with
what I would have received.
His expression lit up as it did the first time I posted a letter to him.
His smile made my heart melt into a puddle of both excitement, and hope, making
me believe that he had a solution. Without a second thought, my hands were
clenched together into one fist against my chest, my smile so wide that I was
afraid it might tear my cheeks. He took one step closer; to a regular person,
it would have looked small and pointless, but to me, it was as big as the first
step on the moon. We were only separated by seven inches or so, and being so
close to him made me never want to leave.
He splayed his hands out flat against our divider, bringing his face
closer until the tip of his nose barely grazed the surface. As he took a deep
breath, he blew heat across the window, fogging it up. I knew what he was doing
then, and I couldn't help but crown him as the cleverest man I had ever met.
His large finger began tracing, one small bump, and then another which
connected at the bottom. He drew a heart - that was what he wanted to give to
me. For the second time in five minutes, I could feel my pulse stop beating,
but it lasted longer than the first time. It was as if he tore my heart
straight out of my chest and put it there in front of my face, on the window.
My breath got caught in my throat as he put on the grin of a proud three year
old. In an attempt to saver what few moments we had left, I gently placed my
long thin hand against the window where his was. I could almost feel his
warmth, and it made a piece of me wish I had opened the door just so I could
snuggle him, but I was getting ahead of myself.
I closed my eyes, trying to heighten my sense of touch in the way blind
people had overactive senses. If I could have been there until the world
crashed and burned, I would have been happy with that. I didn't even have to
meet him beyond that glass; that was good enough for me, as long as we never
left this position.
When I opened my eyes, I was expecting to see a mop of hair the color of
a Moroccan sunset, but he was gone. The heart he left for me was gone as well,
having faded away while I was busy trying to touch him through the window. I
stood there stupidly with one hand on glass, while people stared as they walked
by.
I had a pressure in my chest, the same way I would get when someone
would text me at three in the morning, saying 'we need to talk.' My stomach
dropped like it would when I got on a roller coaster that was too fast for me
to handle, but I was stuck, locked in by the safety bars and forced into riding
the full two minutes.
I stared out at the rain puddles, all of them being illuminated by
flickering street lights and apartment building windows. I was incapable of
moving, and I didn't want to. In all the years that I had worked there, I had
never stood this close to the window at night, so I had never taken the time to
notice just how pretty it was. I had Ed to thank for bringing that beauty to my
attention.
I was never a strong believer in love at first sight, but that was
before I had any experience with it. I always thought Romeo and Juliet was lame
and unrealistic, but now I could see where they were coming from. I couldn't
stop myself from going to bed that night, thinking that this was the start of
something beautiful.
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