I blow the steam off my coffee. I take two gulps, wince and add sugar packets. I don’t drink this shit. It’s too bitter no matter how much sweetner’s in it but I need to stay awake and alert. Normally, I’m not up at this ungodly hour on a Sunday but I want the first words out of my mouth to speak of my adoration for her.
I’m not sure if I should sit or stand. There are a lot of empty chairs here at this little coffee joint. This damn little coffee joint. It’s always packed with hipsters and selfish NYU freshmen. Not always, I can see that now. But usually. I take a seat, sip at my mug and get back up to grab a wooden skewer. I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be. I circle the table, glancing at my watch. Ten more minutes to nine. 9am. This is the time I decided that I was going to tell Sarah that I am hopelessly in love with her. I feel like Johnny Whitworth’s character in ‘Empire Records,’ ready to confess his love to Liv Tyler at 1:37pm. Was it 1:37pm? I think so. Why can’t I remember? I just watched this movie a few days ago. With Sarah. Damnit.
Diana hated ‘Empire Records.” I should have known at that moment she told me how much she despised that movie that we were never meant to last. After she dumped me, I wondered why life would have been like if we were still together. Would she still be banging her boss? Would she still feed me her lies and bullshit stories? Would I still be believing them? I hope she gets crabs. And she should; she never shaved like I asked.
I will admit that Diana was unbelievable in bed. For weeks, I didn’t miss her ‘charming’ personality; it was her body that I craved. Her long legs. The positions she could bend herself into. It was her flexibility I thought about as I wrote and posted that Craigslist ad. I never thought I would look online to hook up. My buddies have done it before and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. I guess with the money that they dropped on these girls that they’d have a good time. All the rumors were true; these girls are hookers. I pulled off my shirt, did twenty push-ups and took a picture of my arms and chest; I prayed to God that no one would recognize my sleeve as I hit ‘yes’ for the acceptance of terms of service. Oh hell, here goes nothing.
Tattoos are still considered sexy by the amount of emails that flooded my inbox. I felt privileged, all these girls wanted me. I opened one email. Spam. Read another. Spam. Another. What the fuck are ‘roses?’ Another. Wow. I leaned back in my chair, surprised to see Sarah’s pretty face. The picture look like it was stolen off of Last Night’s Party; her with the Suicide Girl tattoos and nose piercing. Her slight smile didn’t hide the fact that her undergarments were see-thru. I paused for a moment and considered the fact whether or not she was a ‘real’ girl; a real being that I could get my hands on, have her hot breath on the back of my neck, the weight of her curvy frame on top of mine. Yes, I decided, she is real. Real enough for me. I was excited that she chose to answer my dumbass ad and I was happy to choose her. I sent her a response, commenting on her good looks and stellar body and left her my number. She called two days later, agreeing to meet and hook up.
We agreed to meet at this same coffeehouse on Bowery. It seemed to me the most logical place to discuss our sexual desires, at least location-wise, with her living in Fort Greene and me near Hell’s Kitchen. It was the space between and it fit. The afternoon air was bitter with cold. Autumn crept upon the city like a thief stealing away summer’s warmth. A week ago, I was wearing shorts and riding my cycle around. Now, I sported the heaviest sweater hanging in my closet and wished that I owned a car. I felt like a geek, realizing I choose the cardigan with the worn elbow patches. Damn, maybe she’ll like it. I walked inside and spotted her at the counter, smiling and chatting with the barista. She looked over her shoulder at me, the hipster-wannabe with messy hair and cashmere-blend sweater. I’m sure I looked like Mr. Rogers at that split second. Maybe her grandfather despite being only a year older. Saying her goodbyes, she walked over to me, all smiles. Her bangs hanging in her dark brown eyes. Hips that could sink ships hidden behind thin floral fabric. Gorgeous legs wrapped up in opaque tights. Shit, I knew what ‘opaque’ meant. Huh? Jesus, she was beautiful. Insanely beautiful. Extending out her right hand, she shook mine. “Hey Max. I’m Sarah. It’s awesome to meet you.”
We fucked for hours that day.
I can’t remember when my feelings for her arose. I think it was after our third time sleeping with each other. We laid in her bed for a solid two hours, talking fondly about our childhoods and laughing at the stories on how we lost our virginities. I liked watching her lips curl into a smile. I took in its glow and tried my best to make it appear often. When we met up for coffee. When I had her against the hallway wall. When we shopped at Duane Reade for condoms and lube. At any of the random dinners I invited her to. Our weekly affair turned into a twice-a-week thing, and then an everyday event. It was okay; it was more then okay. It was even okay if our clothes didn’t come off at the end of evening. It was just nice to call her and listen to her talk about her idiot boss and her thoughts about the concert we went to the night before. She was smart but didn’t make me feel stupid. It was the way she spoke to me. Sarah cared in ways that other people didn’t. You could hear it in her tone.
It was this past Friday night. I called Sarah and she took the 2 over. Kissing me sweetly on the cheek, she took a seat on the kitchen counter and watched me stir dinner. “How was your day?” she asked. That was it. Her wide smile. The two brown globes on her pretty face. The soft interest of her voice. Those four works spoken by that voice out of that mouth with her happy eyes searching for my answer. My heart skipped a beat. I didn’t want her as my fuck buddy as more. I wanted Sarah as a lover. My lover. I loved her. I really loved her. “It was good. Perfect, actually.”
I made up for my lousy cooking with good sex that night and watched Sarah drift off to sleep with her head against my chest. She left in the morning. without saying goodbye. I hated that. Why did she do that? I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and texted her. “Coffee at Think later?” She sent me back smiley face. Her smiley face. My face hit my pillow as I prepared to sleep away today’s nervous energy.
So, here I stand. 8:58am. Two minutes until nine. Sarah’s punctual, to the point it gets disturbing sometimes. Damn. All I have to say is, I love you, Sarah, and that’s it. I can do it. I take a sip of my coffee. It needs more sugar. The sweetness I need walks through the door, with lips and eyes smiling and wearing opaque tights. “Sarah, there is something I really need to tell you.”