Eighteen Going On Extinct

The small Starbucks near the edge of the city would always remind him of her. The day they had met was much like any other afternoon in the summer; the cafe was rather busy, there was a constant buzz of chatter and the noise of the breezy fans as backgrounds for conversation. He had seen her sitting alone by the window, looking distressed and slurping an icy raspberry concoction through a straw.

Pete was standing in the queue next to him, also waiting to order. He noticed his friend staring at her and began to try and get him to talk to her. It was only after they had ordered, received their coffee, and Pete had told him that, “if you don’t talk to her, you’ll get one song out of the experience; if you do, you could end up going out, but still you still get more songs out of it in the end.”, which in his opinion made no sense. He decided to go over to her – if nothing else to stop Pete nagging him.

“H-hey.” He began nervously, looking at his shoes.

“Oh, hello.” She smiled, flicking her long black fringe out of her eyes.

She had an elegant (in his opinion) British accent, average frame, short black curls with highlights in different shades of red, and cool, blue eyes that made him think of trips to the beach. He felt like he wasn’t up to much compared to her.

“Mind if I –er, sit here?” he asked.

“Course not, help yourself.” She nodded towards the one opposite her and sipped her drink as he stumbled in to the stool. “So what’s your name?”

“Patrick. Patrick Stump.” He answered to her drink, too scared to look at her.

“Nice to meet you, mate. I’m Christine. Christine Thompson, but it’s Chris to my friends.” Leaning forward, she lifted his head up to look at her and added, “I don’t know about over here, but where I’m from its customary to talk to people, not their beverages.”

Patrick gave a giddy giggle and kept her gaze when she removed the hand which was keeping his head there. “So, uh, I suppose you’re not from around here?” he asked.

“Nah, born and bred in a town near Birmingham, you won’t know it over here. Yourself?” Christine replied.

“Lived here in Chicago all my life.” Patrick said, “You move here or...?”

“Holiday, actually. I’m renting out an apartment near here for the next week and a half.” said Christine somewhat bashfully.

The pair said in an awkward silence for a while, sipping their drinks. Christine looked around the cafe, trying to find a conversation topic, but Patrick kept his eyes firmly on her, taking in every feature of her looks.

“Why did you look so sad before I came over?” Patrick asked, abruptly breaking the silence.

“I had just got a message telling me my band broke up in my absence, which sucks in itself but also because I took time and money out of my life to come here to find inspiration and help or support for the bloody twats!” Chris seethed.

“That really is a bummer. I’m in a band myself with my friend Pete over there and a couple of other guys. We’re called Fall Out Boy.” Patrick smirked, happy to have something to impress Chris with.

“Cool, I’ll have to see you play if you have a gig while I’m over here. What do you play, Patrick?”

“Vocals and rhythm guitar. What about you?”

“Bass, mate. I dabble with vocals occasionally but all the vocalists I’ve worked with are very controlling about that aspect of the music.” Chris rolled her eyes, thinking about the people she was talking about. Catching herself doing it, she then added quickly, “Not that I’m insinuating anything about you, of course, I just meant-”

“I know what you mean, its fine.” Patrick smiled reassuringly.

“I seem to have a habit of saying things the wrong way, it’s one reason I don’t try my hand with lyrics. I’m such a chatterbox too, I think I’d be horrible to interview; they’d only get through about three questions!”

“Oh my god, I am so the same! We made a practice interview tape to see what we’re like, and we all had the same amount of time and the same questions, and I just did not stop talking, we ran out after five questions less than everyone else!” Patrick laughed.

After a few more minutes of similar talk, Pete came over, and empty Styrofoam cup in hand.
“I felt alone so I came to join you, do you mind?” he asked.

“No, of course not.” said Patrick though gritted teeth.

Pete and Chris exchanged names and shook hands over the table, and as Patrick explained to Pete most of what Chris had just told him, she nodded in the appropriate places while attempting to lick out the ice at the bottom of her plastic cup. When her new friends gave her odd looks, she simply replied with,

“What? I don’t want to waste any.”

Pete began to ramble on about something or other that Chris and Patrick weren’t paying attention to. They were having their own, non verbal conversation, which climaxed in Pete asking a question, looking at the pair and realising that they were having a discussion of their own, which made them snicker. Pete rolled his eyes and checked his watch, informing them that they had been in Starbucks for an hour, and that he and Patrick needed to pick up his dry cleaning.

Patrick looked furious at Pete when he was informed of this, but he stood up to leave anyway. Chris told him she had things to attend to as well, and they walked out of the cafe together. They turned their separate ways, hugging awkwardly, exchanging “it was lovely to meet you” and the boys started to walk away.

About halfway down the street, they turned round, hearing a yell of “Wait!” and seeing Chris running after them.

“Call me if you get a chance. I’d love to meet up again before I go.” She shoved some paper in to Patrick’s hand, waved at Pete and then ran back the way she came.

Smiling, Patrick unfolded the scrap of paper, read the number messily scrawled on to it and tucked it in to his pocket before continuing his journey to the dry cleaner’s.