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It happened during the summer, during the end of my summer
break to be more specific. I had just finished an exhausting shopping-marathon
and I had decided to go for a drink. So I entered this cute coffee shop that I
had never noticed before. When I pushed the door I found myself in this amazingly
decorated room. There was a long bar made out of wood on which stood various lamps
of totally different styles, creating various coloured shadows on the walls.
On the many shelves behind the bar stood rows
of mugs, it must have been about a 100 mugs and not one was the exact same as
another one. Then I turned around to discover a variety of tables, couches,
beanbags and chairs. I hesitated quite a while and occasionally the people,
who had already found their perfect spot, turned and eyed me curiously as if
I was insane to stand there in the doorway. When I realised this I decided to
move, I didn't know where, but I just had to move before they would decide to
drive me to the hospital because of memory loss.
My steps took me to a lovely table next to the
window. It had a round surface and was supported by one leg that seemed to curl
and twirl to its liking. But it was definitely the colour that attracted me:
it was of a pure lime-green, as I had never seen before. I loved green, it was-
still is- my favourite colour. I sat down on one of the wooden chairs that were
placed by it. I chose a cute painted one: it was painted black and yellow in
wavy, alternating stripes. The other chair was black and had pink flowers on
it.
I set my shopping bags down on the side of the
window and picked up a menu. If one would want to read it entirely he would
need about an hour. Fully indecisive I just chose a hot chocolate…even though
it was really hot outside I was suddenly craving for one, with whipped cream
of course. Then the waitress who was -- like myself -- an Aisha hopped over
and wrote my choice down on a fiery orange notepad with a green pencil, she
smiled and turned abruptly, her long red, curly hair following her with tiny
hops.
I then treated myself to a stare-out-of-the-window
séance. I really like that. Just staring at the people who come by, making up
stories thinking they have no idea that someone is thinking about them, someone
they don't know. Maybe I could be their best friend if I knew them…
Eventually the waitress brought me my delicious
hot chocolate on a pink platter. She set the dark-green mug in front of my greedy
eyes and also a small blue plate with the whipped cream and a very special spoon.
As soon as I paid her she disappeared in the blink of an eye again. I picked
up the yellow spoon and prodded the cream that was shaped like a pyramid. It
quivered slightly and I found it hard to oppress a childish giggle. Finally
I took some of the cream on my spoon and ate it. The next spoonful, however,
I gave to the green mug. I didn't stir the liquid and the cream but saw them
slowly melting into one.
What's also nice about windows is that you can
see your own reflection in it. I stared at myself. My beige skin, my long brown
hair and -not to forget- my favourite black T-shirt. It was but a really simple
shirt but I loved it. I slowly turned my head away from myself and suddenly
felt a burning, wet sensation on my chest and T-shirt. I looked up furiously
and saw a brown Lupe staring at me, an empty mug in his hand. (Empty mug of
which the contents were on my T-shirt.). I oppressed the urge to rip off his
head, grabbed a shopping bag and disappeared in the bathroom.
I sadly looked at my ruined T-shirt in the mirror
and put my new green one on. I washed my hands and looked at my reflection.
After all, this new shirt was nice too. I pushed the bathroom door, clutching
my wet shirt and putting it in the shopping bag. When I looked up I saw the
brown Lupe was still standing there. I thought it was very dangerous of him
to taunt my anger like that. I walked over to my table and listened to him mumble
apologies. I summed up a smile and said it was all right, nothing a little water
wouldn't fix (a lot of water! Yes!). I sat down on my chair to see him still
standing there. I gave him a "What!" -look and stopped smiling.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I just noticed…with this
green shirt you put on…you have amazing eyes!" Now I stared at him as
if he were mad.
"Well…thank you…" I answered.
"No really." He sat down on the other chair.
"I could have sworn that just before your eyes were brown and now they're…green.
I'm sorry if this sounds strange, but it really hit me."
"Well, you do indeed sound strange." We both
laughed. "But it's true that my eyes tend to change sometimes. It really depends
on the light. When it's rather dark I have brown eyes and when there's a lot
of sun they are more olive-green…" I had absolutely no idea why I was telling
him all of this. I started wondering if this coffee place was magic or something.
"Well, I tend to notice special colours…I guess
painting just becomes your life at one time." I gave the typical sound of faint
interest, which he seemed to receive as a signal to continue the absurd conversation.
"By the way, my name is Mateo." He outstretched
his hand and I shook it. "My name is Aless."
"Aless…that's pretty." He smiled. I suddenly
noticed his eyes, too. It was a congregation of millions of colours. Ask me
today, I still couldn't put a colour on them. They were very friendly eyes.
They seemed to smile even when the rest of his face was straight.
"It's short for Alessandra." I hesitated after
a while. This time his mouth smiled, too.
He turned out to be 30 years old; he didn't look
that old though. It actually shocked me I was having a conversation with someone
of that age without having to use terms of utter respect. He lived somewhere
in the neighbourhood, as for where exactly, today I still don't know.
Throughout our conversation he occasionally picked
up his mug and took a small sip from it…only he found a way to make this banal
action into something wonderful and harmonious. I stared at his hands; they
were fine yet rough, sophisticated yet clumsy, as he had proven earlier on.
His voice was sweet, almost surnatural. It had the power to soothe and to anger.
He yielded this power well, every word, every sound was carefully balanced before
it emerged from his lips.
I told him I was 19 and had just ended my first
year of college, not with great distinction or anything of the sort. I had just
made it and had taken 4 exams again before I could officially pass. But I didn't
care; I had made it, which was the greatest accomplishment I could have gotten,
back then. At the word of 'college' he seemed particularly interested. He asked
what I was majoring in, who my professors were what I thought about college.
This sudden swing took me by surprise and took away the magical element of this
encounter.
Nevertheless we talked for hours; clouds moved
upon the clear sky, the sun slowly disappeared on the horizon, leaving her trail
of orangey-red light behind her as we still talked. Eventually the waitress
had to 'direct us to the troitoir', which is a euphemism for 'kicking us out'.
But that didn't keep us from pursuing our conversation. As the night had now
driven back the last sparkles of sun, our hysterical laughter filled the warm
summer air. A hot breeze twirled in the air and played with my hair that quickly
blocked my view. It was so hot outside that it soon started to rain. Shy drops
of rain fell onto my skin and created pleasant shivers, very soon I could perceive
that typical scent of rain when it evaporates after having touched the warm
ground. I loved that smell - I still do- it always filled me with a spirit of
joy and freedom.
Alas, at one point we had to take leave from
each other. We exchanged some last laughs and he turned the corner waving one
of his sophisticated hands.
As I myself walked towards my flat I realised
that I didn't know where he lived and vice versa. It was impossible to keep
in touch, except if he did often dwell in that coffee shop. I was instantly
filled with an awful feeling and dragged myself towards my apartment.
Luckily my noisy roommate was on vacation and
I could go straight to bed. I dropped my shopping bags on the wooden floor and
sat down on the edge of my bed. I jumped in my pyjama pants and pulled a white
T-shirt over my head. Exhausted, I greedily slid between my lost-desert-themed
sheets and wrapped myself in what was soon to be a warm and protecting cocoon.
I uttered a sigh of relief and closed my eyes.
Soon I noticed I was thirsty, typical me. Do
you know that feeling that you have found the most perfect way to lay in your
bed and fall asleep but then…yes, you are thirsty or you forgot something important.
After debating for about a half-hour if I was going to get up…I did. I drowsily
walked to the kitchen and glared into the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water.
It seemed to take a Herculean effort to unscrew the top. But eventually the
cool water slid into my body and refreshed my dry and dusty throat.
I crawled back into my warm and fuzzy lair and
once again closed my eyes and sighed.
But I couldn't sleep, I kept thinking about that
day, that strange Lupe. After tossing and turning a million times, I turned
my bedside lamp on and grabbed my pillow, I reached into the pillowcase and
pulled my Diary out. I let my hand wander on the shelves above my bed until
it found a pencil. I stared at my diary as if hesitating to write in it. But
soon the words seemed to flow out of the small pencil. I wrote every single
thing I remembered about him and everything he said. He had said many nice things
and I guess I wanted them immortalised, even if I would have never seen him
again I would have a written memory.
After having poured my heart out I fell in a
deep, soothing sleep and awoke when the sun was already up high.
I quickly jumped in the shower grabbed some bread
and installed myself behind my desk. I took a map and leafed towards the last
page and to what I had last written. I remembered I had just finished my second
chapter last time. I took a new sheet of paper and stared outside. I don't know
how long I sat there…but something was wrong, the words didn't come… I had lost
track of my story.
After ages of staring and growing angry with
myself I decided to get some fresh air. I stuffed paper and pencil in my bag,
got dressed and slammed the door of the flat. I hoped down the stairs and got
on the way. My steps brought me to the coffee shop and I stared at it. I hadn't
even noticed the name the day before. Above the door and the window hung a large
wooden sign with neat, curly, purple letters on it. It said 'The Salon'. I pushed
the door of 'The Salon' and went to my table. I got out my paper and pencil.
But this just turned out to be another place where I started staring. I knew
that I was waiting for him . And thus I waited for him during an entire
week. But he never showed up. While waiting I really started to like this coffee
shop and during all that waiting I also discovered they make the best spaghetti.
Weeks went by, my classes started again, life
just went on. Slowly Mateo slipped out of my mind; sometimes I even wondered
if I hadn't dreamt the whole episode. I spent a lot of time at my faculty with
my friends, whom I had lots of fun with. I went back to interesting and less
interesting classes (boring!). My friends and I continued to adore some professors
for their witty answers and many jokes, others we hated even more then the previous
year. This type of stuck up professors who fight with each other over which
office they'll get, even when it's just a few square inches larger. At some
point I pitied them, they were absolutely pathetic. But when they projected
their frustration upon us some really crossed the line.
When it was getting colder and thick sweaters
were in order, the bright people of our faculty decided it was time to paint
the building. As the air was irrespirable our classes were transferred to the
Faculty of Fine Arts. It was fun to walk around in those hallways, an enthralling
mood seemed to lure in every small corner and it gave me my inspiration back.
I was close to finishing my story when something happened that altered that
mood.
We were heading towards a classroom, chattering
and laughing until our stomachs ached. Suddenly someone bumped into me. I looked
up, ready to apologize, when I recognized Mateo. Taken aback I didn't speak,
but he looked very embarrassed. A red Kyrii emerged from the same door as Mateo
had. "Professor, where do you want these papers?"
Professor! As he opened his mouth to
mumble something I gave this him a look of disgust and promptly turned around,
leaving my friends with puzzled thoughts.
For about a month I wondered why he hadn't told
me this, why he had avoided 'The Salon'. Why he had even bothered to talk to
me, knowing I was a student of that college, I wouldn't have cared that he is
a college professor. There would have been no harm in talking o him…apparently
he didn't share that opinion. I just felt sort of betrayed that he didn't tell
me. That evening he had counted his entire life but left out a crucial part.
Luckily a few days after it happened we were
transferred back to our own building. The episode was quickly forgotten and
I had totally banned this nightmare from my thoughts.
Winter came over the city, freezing and chilling
all. A Friday afternoon I ran into 'The salon', avoiding the chill wind, and
moved towards my table. I dropped my bag on the floor and delivered myself from
my green woollen scarf.
I ordered a hot chocolate and smiled as I pulled
the newest issue of the Neopian Times out of my bag. I unfolded it and carefully
pondered what I was going to look at first. I decided that I was first going
to look at every picture belonging to an article, story or series. I just love
watching those pictures, especially the custom pics. They are usually wonderful.
As I stared at every single one of them I dreamed of being able to make such
pics, I could make comics and maybe get published in the NT. But I would have
been happy to get a story accepted; I so admired all those who got published.
Every single one of them rightfully deserved it. Whether there names were considered
'famous' or not. As I started reading the next part of the series I was following
a chill wind entered the room and made me shiver. But I was to lazy and to excited
about what I was reading to even bother to look up at the new person that had
apparently entered. I was reaching a suspenseful paragraph when some idiot came
to sit at my table. With great effort I tore my eyes away from the paper and
looked up.
A second after having done that I regretted it.
He was sitting there, staring at me. His eyes were sad but I didn't care. I
was wondering why he seemed to insist on haunting me like this. I tapped my
fingers on the table as a nervous twitch. It made him feel uneasy.
"Aless…I…"
"Just tell me this:" I interrupted him, "why
are you here? Everything is going fine in my life -great actually- but that
doesn't mean I need some ghost that comes to haunt me when he feels like it,
and frankly I don't get why he is haunting me. You feel sorry because
you didn't tell me you were a professor? Don't worry about that, I understand.
I don't care what job you have, that doesn't change anything…it shouldn't. But
I forgive you, if that is what you are seeking, just leave now and let me read."
He looked shocked and hurt. After a while he got up without a word and disappeared
in the freezing winter weather.
I shrugged and continued my reading. When I had
read the entire NT it was already dark outside. I folded it and stuffed it in
my bag. I paid for my hot chocolate, draped my scarf around my neck and pushed
the door. I was welcomed by a chill wind. I put on my brown gloves and pulled
the sleeves of my black sweater over my wrists. When I was neatly tucked in
I descended the street softly humming a song.
It gently started snowing and I paused to look
up at the greyish sky. The snow became thicker and heavier, it quickly twirled
to fall and lay on the streets and sidewalks. I kept staring up at it, snow
falling on my nose and getting stuck in my hair. If you do this for a while
you get a tiny fear of heights feeling. Eventually I walked on towards my apartment.
Suddenly all the street lanterns were lit, projecting their yellow light upon
the white snow that was covering the street.
Suddenly I felt someone stood behind me, I quickly
turned ready to run from a scary person when I found myself staring at a black
sweater, I looked a little higher and recognised him. He slightly smiled; I
sighed and gave him a comforting look. He uttered something that resembled an
apology and looked at me, awaiting the verdict. My heart felt heavy and I hesitated.
I didn't know if I could trust someone who conceals the truth but on the other
hand he was a really funny person, a heart-warming Lupe. At long last I smiled
at him. The joy on his face was indescribable. We started talking again about
everything and anything. He confessed he had felt amazingly stupid not to tell
me about him being a professor. He just found it to be awkward. I understood
and in a way it was strange, but I also said he worked in another faculty and
that talking to someone couldn't really be perceived as a crime. Soon the snow
could hear our laughter, it didn't matter we were freezing. He walked me home
and we laughed goodnight, our friendship was sealed forever.
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Today, I still don't know where he lives. He knows where I live, we both often
go to 'The salon' and we subconsciously know when our classes are over…our friendship
rests upon luck…sometimes we help it.
What is amazing is that he always shows up when
I feel sad or lonely. We often sit on the couch, me reading or writing, and
him making numerous sketches.
There is no age limit on real friendship…
The End
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