Log0018
Doing Distance
I came to Little Italy on a quiet Saturday morning to corner up in a coffee shop and write.
The distance was killing me, softly, slowly. The reminders were everywhere. The reminders of the 6,189 miles, a season, a hemisphere, a world away. And not enough connection to satisfy my longing.
But this is not about me, nor my state. It’s about the two that came and perched at the table in front of me. I’d been tapping away at the keyboard for an hour or so before I noticed them.
He, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. And she, she was beaming, the smile in her eyes said it all. The short, slightly heavy set, similarly dressed Hispanic two sat and chatted softly. They spoke in accented English, a generation removed from the Spanish. Sipping coffee, every now and then taking a bit of a shared cinnamon bun that sat between them. He’d gotten some icing on his face. She didn’t tell him. It made her grin bigger which only made him less likely to break their gaze.
I’d became conscious I was watching them. It was more interesting than my words. People watching. Another reminder of something we did together. New love is enchanting to watch play out. The subtle shoulder touch, the constant side glances. You can feel the anticipation, the guessing, the miniature games.
She finally reached across, brushed the flake from his cheek. She giggled. Again, they smiled. A few words were said, but most of the conversation was nonverbal, where no accent persists, unconstrained by language and loaded phases.
I could tell, they were both done, but neither ready to go, ready to end the moment. So they just sat there, while I fought with my keyboard. It all seemed too scripted when eventually I heard Marvin Gaye’s Kygo dubbed voice singing through the barista's speaker.
She began to run her fingers through her hair and then playfully toyed with her necklace. So he reached out across, took the pendant in his hand and began turning it over his fingers. More words unspoken they simultaneously got up, pushed in their chairs, and followed each other out the door.
I’d come here to write. To distract myself from the miles. But ultimately, reminders are everywhere. Ctrl + N, I close the document, and instead begin jotting down these observations on a new file. Not all that distracting, but instead a kind hopeful reminiscent.