Grey
grey
She was anything but subtle. It was a miserable Saturday afternoon when she jumped right into my life. That small, dimly-lit coffee shop will never be the same again. Not now that she’s gone. I didn’t even like coffee. I’d taken a seat at the only empty booth, where the person before had left their Styrofoam cup. In a hurry, she’d raced past me, and managed to topple the cup over, sending the warm liquid splaying out all over the table.
She’d apologized immediately, her words tumbling out in a rush, seemingly all at once. She was always in a rush. She never did slow down for anything or stay in one place. Everything was temporary; on the way to something better – including me.
She bought me another cup of coffee. I didn’t even like coffee. But she was so beautiful and she was sitting down across from me, and I didn’t want her to leave. I drank the coffee, the warm, bitter liquid stinging my throat. I’d managed to convince myself that it was the only way she’d talk to me. She wouldn’t have taken any notice of me otherwise. Was it a twist of fate that she’d knocked over the cup of coffee that so happened to be on top of the table I had been seated at? Was there even such a thing as fate?
“I’m Grey.”
I remember just looking at her after she introduced herself, thinking that she was anything but grey. Her name couldn’t have been more wrong about her. I must have been just looking at her for quite a while, because she snapped her fingers in front of my face. I blinked twice and glanced away.
“Sorry,” I mumbled stupidly.
“I space out all the time, too,” she said.
“Oh, no, that’s not -” I stopped myself there, knowing that there was no possible way to explain myself. I didn’t even know who I was, really. How could I even begin to explain myself to her?
“What’s your name?” She was looking right at me, her emerald eyes piercing through me.
“Nate.”
“Short for Nathan?”
“I guess.”
She just looked at me. Was she thinking that my name didn’t suit me, either? It was a generic name, nothing altogether special – just like me. There was nothing overly interesting about me. There was nothing significant in my life, not until she jumped right into it. Maybe that’s where I went wrong – making her my everything. I should’ve known from the moment she offered to buy me another cup of coffee I didn’t even like that it was all wrong. She should’ve been with someone who liked the drink. Isn’t that how these things work?
Maybe I just got lucky. Then again, if luck had anything to do with it, she’d still be here, and I wouldn’t be such a ghost of a man, caught up in all of the memories of her – the way her emerald eyes stared at everything like she was seeing it for the first time, the way the wind would blow her hair in her face, the way she would laugh when it tickled, her dimples on full display. It doesn’t hurt to think of her anymore. I guess I’ve run out of things to feel.
That’s the thing with making someone your everything. When they leave, you’re left with nothing.
She’d apologized immediately, her words tumbling out in a rush, seemingly all at once. She was always in a rush. She never did slow down for anything or stay in one place. Everything was temporary; on the way to something better – including me.
She bought me another cup of coffee. I didn’t even like coffee. But she was so beautiful and she was sitting down across from me, and I didn’t want her to leave. I drank the coffee, the warm, bitter liquid stinging my throat. I’d managed to convince myself that it was the only way she’d talk to me. She wouldn’t have taken any notice of me otherwise. Was it a twist of fate that she’d knocked over the cup of coffee that so happened to be on top of the table I had been seated at? Was there even such a thing as fate?
“I’m Grey.”
I remember just looking at her after she introduced herself, thinking that she was anything but grey. Her name couldn’t have been more wrong about her. I must have been just looking at her for quite a while, because she snapped her fingers in front of my face. I blinked twice and glanced away.
“Sorry,” I mumbled stupidly.
“I space out all the time, too,” she said.
“Oh, no, that’s not -” I stopped myself there, knowing that there was no possible way to explain myself. I didn’t even know who I was, really. How could I even begin to explain myself to her?
“What’s your name?” She was looking right at me, her emerald eyes piercing through me.
“Nate.”
“Short for Nathan?”
“I guess.”
She just looked at me. Was she thinking that my name didn’t suit me, either? It was a generic name, nothing altogether special – just like me. There was nothing overly interesting about me. There was nothing significant in my life, not until she jumped right into it. Maybe that’s where I went wrong – making her my everything. I should’ve known from the moment she offered to buy me another cup of coffee I didn’t even like that it was all wrong. She should’ve been with someone who liked the drink. Isn’t that how these things work?
Maybe I just got lucky. Then again, if luck had anything to do with it, she’d still be here, and I wouldn’t be such a ghost of a man, caught up in all of the memories of her – the way her emerald eyes stared at everything like she was seeing it for the first time, the way the wind would blow her hair in her face, the way she would laugh when it tickled, her dimples on full display. It doesn’t hurt to think of her anymore. I guess I’ve run out of things to feel.
That’s the thing with making someone your everything. When they leave, you’re left with nothing.
♠ ♠ ♠
I love writing this.