Coffee, Cigarettes, and Conversation with a Stranger

I frequented this old family diner every Friday night.

As the rest of California cooled down and lit up with twinkling, bustling nightlife, I sat in my usual back corner under a dimly lit chandelier, my only company being the waitress that would occasionally come and sit with me to talk, and the smoldering bum between my fingers.

The weird thing was that I didn’t even feel loserish in the slightest. You’d think that being nineteen, single, and quite social, I’d want to be out on the town, in the center of everything, but I quite enjoyed spending the evening to wind down after a long week, sitting alone, and indulging in my addictions.

I smashed the butt of my cigarette into the platter resting beneath my half-drank cup of coffee sitting in front of me, exhaling the rest of the smoke out of my lungs, thick grey swirls floating in front of me. As I watched them disparate, I saw through the cloud of smoke someone enter the shop with the tinkle of a bell hung over the door. My eyes followed her as she moved to sit down at a middle table setting down her dark blue faux leather bag in the seat next to her and lace her fingers together, looking very calm and mature, or at least more mature than her age gave away.

Her hair was wavy, and a light brown color, almost the same as my slightly darker hair, that came down just below her shoulder blades. Her sideswept bangs brushed against her very prominent green eyes resting above a small nose and light pink lips, shimmering from a thin coat of chapstick she applied a couple times every few hours. She wore tight dark jeans, a flowy dark purple shirt with a fitted vest, and boots that came up to mid-calf. Her hand rested against a rosy cheek; although, for being in California, she had surprisingly fair, even skin. She looked quite content sitting there, for some reason or another, looking around the restaurant as if this was the first time she had seen it and found the décor particularly interesting.

But I knew better.

I had watched her come in here every Friday for three weeks, and for some reason, I found her particularly interesting. Not many people, (besides me,) came to an old diner to sit there for hours by themselves and drink coffee, but for some reason, she did. I had been contemplating for the longest time to get up and go talk to her, but I could never seem to work up the courage to get up from my corner and do it.

“Need anything else, hun?” the waitress asked me as she passed.

“Nah, I’m good, thanks. But could you do me a favor, and order her whatever she usually orders?” I asked, nodding towards the girl.

“Ooh, someone has a crush,” she said with a wink. “I’ll get right on that, then.”

“Thanks,” I said as she walked away.

I lit myself another cigarette and sat there, watching her, and the cars passing out the window, and the smoke that would float in front of my face every time I exhaled through my lips. It was serene, and peaceful, even with the occasional clanking of a cup on a saucer. I knew I had started to space out when I lost my sense of time; and I realized it when the seat across from me creaked and two hands set down a mug of coffee across from my own. I paused for a second, cigarette still in my mouth, the heat seeping into my lips from the lit end just inches away, and looked straight across from me. If I had been any less cozy and calm, I probably would’ve stared with my mouth open, most likely creating a very unfortunate, and maybe even comical, situation in which I would have dropped my cigarette, either resulting in lighting my jeans on fire, or burning a hole through the crotch, which was definitely not considered a good thing.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said, and smiled at me.

I paused for a moment. For some reason, I didn’t really know what to say; it kinda felt like my brain had stopped working altogether. I finally decided on something simple and generic.

“You’re welcome,” I said evenly, nodding at her.

“How’d you know it was my favorite?” she asked me, the corners of her eyes crinkling together as a small smile tinged her lips.

I shrugged, and threw her a grin.

“I didn’t.”

She laughed a quiet, but memorable laugh.

“Honesty. I like it,” she said, fragments of white teeth poking out from inbetween her lips. She looked at me from underneath her lashes, and I couldn’t help but give her a flirty grin back.

“Coffee’s kinda my little indulgence - I’m practically addicted, haha. And this little diner has, strangely enough, the best coffee I’ve ever tasted,” she told me, taking a sip from her cup.

I laughed.

“I know what you mean, I always seem to have these little rituals and addictions of mine,” I said with a smile. “You’d think it would be a little bit of a problem by now.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, a little tinkle of a laugh in her voice. She brushed her bangs out of her face, and I couldn’t help but notice I was getting more and more attracted to her with every word we spoke.

“Well, I dunno, I don’t have to be really physically addicted to something to be, you know, “addicted” to it,” I prompted. “Don’t you have things like that?”

She paused for a moment, looking up at the ceiling.

“Not really,” she laughed. “Actually, I honestly don’t really even know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh come on,” I said, elongating the word for a playful emphasis, “There’s got to be something you can think of! Like video games, or chocolate, or some sort of hobby, activity, emotion.”

I glanced at her, a suggestive smirk on my face. She looked at me with a fake scrutinizing look, her eyes narrowed, but I could tell she was only playing, for she couldn’t hide the smile that was playing on her lips.

“You know…” I prompted, starting intently into her eyes. I noticed both of us leaning forward slowly, and I took in every detail of her face, the flecks of brown in her eyes, the way the corners of her lips were upturned slightly, the pink tinge in her cheeks.

“Well,” she whispered, “Maybe I know what you’re talking about.”

She looked at me, and smiled.

“I may be a little addicted to love, too.”