Coffee and Cigarettes

A part of me always wondered why I was so inspired to write love stories at the site of porn, or “nude art”. I always assumed it was because I couldn’t separate love and sex. I could see the scene in my mind already, like I was watching a movie or recounting a vivid memory in my mind.

She was sitting across from me at the kitchen table, her suitcase sitting next to her leg, looking as ready to get the Hell out of the apartment and out of my life as she did. She smoked, I drank. I placed my cup of coffee back on its saucer.
“When is Carl getting here?” I asked. She shrugged.
“He said it’s snowing and the streets are backed up,” she said, “That was about twenty-seven minutes ago.” I watched her as she took another hit of her cigarette. She made an attempt to blow circles, but failed. I ran my finger around the rim of my cup.
“Do you have everything?” I asked. She nodded, but didn’t say anything. It reminded me a lot of when we first started dating. I felt like everything out of my mouth was awkward nonsense and ramblings, like a nervous teenager. Last Tuesday was our three-year anniversary. We’d been dating since the two of us we’re nineteen. She took another hit.
“What are you going to do after this?” She asked. I gave her a look and took a sip of my coffee.
“You make it sound like this was all I had,” I said, a small smile developing on my face. She grinned.
“That’s what it felt like sometimes,” she said, “Which was a good thing...for a while.” My smiled faltered slightly. She blew a puff of smoke and tossed the finished cigarette into the garbage. Another appeared from nowhere, which she lit and picked up where she left off. I stared into the empty blackness of my coffee cup.
“Did you make sure all of your things were gone?” I asked. She thought it over, and then nodded.
“Yes,” she said, “If you find anything, just send it to me by mail.” I nodded, silently agreeing to do so. I ignored everything around us, and the world seemed to be a growing reality of darkness. It was like living in a shrinking full screen film. I could see the black borders around my existence, and how they kept me from escaping this nightmare. She seemed not to notice them as they grew larger and larger, swallowing everything around us until it was just us two and the table; my cup of coffee and her cigarette ash. I reached out for the cigarette, which she handed to me without hesitation, and took a hit. I never smoked before I met her, and rarely did while we were together. I was half-curious as to whether she’d hand it to me or not. I took a hit and eyed it carefully.
“Is this...?” I asked, trailing off. She nodded.
“I might as well,” she said. She reached over and grabbed my cup of coffee and made it hers. She took multiple sips before putting back down.
“I’ve always wanted to be a rock star,” I said. She made a sighing noise, but I wasn’t sure if that was because she was annoyed by the statement or just breathing through her mouth because of her nasal congestion. She took her cup of coffee from the table and took another sip.
“Really?” She asked. I didn’t feel like she was being sincere when she asked. The silence was broken by the sudden clanking of her cup and the saucer.
“Yeah,” I said. I took a puff of my cigarette, “The Black Keys have always made some nice music.” She snorted and nodded.
“They have,” she said. The darkness seemed to fade a little, but that only made the apartment darker, as if the blackness of being alone couldn’t escape this. I handed her back her cigarette and leaned against the table. She looked at me.
“When I first met you,” I said suddenly, “I thought I had kicked your puppy or something. Anytime I made eye contact with you in class, you seemed to have this constant look of disdain.” She chuckled and took another hit.
“No, I just...I just didn’t get you,” she said. I raised an eyebrow.
“What do you mean?” I asked. She smiled.
“You were very...odd, to say the least. You were quiet, you had a very neutral look on your face, and you were surprisingly smart sometimes,” she said. I gave her a look. She returned it, “There were times you acted like a total dumbass in class. That time Dr. Olly asked you that grammar question just to see of you were paying attention.” I nodded a painful nod. I knew exactly what she was talking about.
“I wasn’t paying attention. I don’t think I read the book once in that class,” I said. She nodded a nod that said she wasn’t surprised.
“I’m not surprised,” she said. I took my coffee back and finished it off. I wanted more, but I wanted to stay at the table and avoid the darkness that was the rest of reality. We were in something of an island in an ocean of things we decided not to acknowledge. I sighed.
“What about that photo album I made for you? Are you taking that too?” I asked. She looked at me with her big eyes, the same big eyes I’d fallen in love with in the cafeteria three years ago. She nodded.
“I did,” she whispered. I nodded.
“Take good care of those pictures,” I started, “Some of them were hard to take.” She gave a small smile.
“I remember,” she whispered. I nodded my last nod. I could tell she was hearing the same thing I was, the sound of a shower running and her humming softly. It was the sound that would forever be tied to that picture. She and I remembered the camera we lost to shower water. We remembered the shower we took afterwards, when only our lips could see, and only our eyes could feel. We remembered the little things that would be with us forever, because we knew a camera would break, and a photo would fade, but we knew we would be forever. She would die, and I would die, but we would be forever. The only thing we had now was the hope we could outlive the darkness, but it was apparent our love wasn’t immortal; it wasn’t perfect. We only kissed when we were sober. She smoked, I drank.