Dreama’s Diary–November 3
He only wanted coffee. He could get that anywhere. Ours isn’t so great. Sometimes it sits for hours. But if coffee is what he wants for now, then fine. Would you like madness with that, Stefan? I have plenty of that to offer.
I carried the coffee over to him, spilling a drop or two on the checkered tiles. I didn’t offer perfection for the spare quarters of my trade. But I flashed a smile and made love to him with my eyes. They roamed over him from the tips of his curls to his crisp white shirt. I wanted to grab that maroon tie and pull him to within an inch of my lips. What would you do then, Mr. Businessman?
I sighed and handed him his coffee, pouting for all to see. He eyed me and caressed my face with his tender concern. Why didn’t he ever make a move? Surely he must be a smart man. Can he not recognize a woman on the brink of heartbreak? Perhaps he needed more clues.
“Anything else?” I asked him, moody as hell.
He just looked at me blankly and shook his head, so I spun around and marched back to the counter.
“I hope he is checking out my legs,” I muttered to myself.
I had worn a skirt, and at this time of year, was nearly frozen. There was nothing left to do but wipe up bitter leftovers along with life’s little crumbs.
Then Stefan got up to throw away a napkin. He cautiously used the trashcan near where I was leaning on the counter. I froze and glanced at him with my behavior totally confusing him, but his compassion showed through all the darkness I had cast at him. It disabled my emotions. I felt open and bare. Locked in his stare, I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t handle the intimacy of it. It was real and terrifying. I’m sure he felt it too. Any moment could lead to heartbreak.
No! I can’t do it, I thought. I’m not strong enough to risk any more pain. I felt I had to end this, to break this moment that bound our souls in forbidden honesty.
“Are you ready for another cup?” I asked.
But he wasn’t about to let me run away from the truth of the situation and its hopelessness.
“Dreama,” he began. “I….”
At that moment, another customer walked over, unaware of our connection which he ravaged. He took away the sanctity of the moment.
“Hello, Dreama,” the elderly man said, smiling. “So how is the baby doing?”
“Just fine, Mr. Jenkins.”
“That is good to hear.”
“How are you doing?”
“Oh, keeping out of trouble,” said the short man with glasses. He eyed Stefan and me with suspicion. “Well, you do the same. Take care now.”
“Bye, Mr. Jenkins.”
The thin man gave a nod and went over to Nadine to see if she saw last night’s game show, but it was already too late. I turned back to recapture some momentary link with Stefan. He smiled with complete sincerity and encouragement. He touched my wrist, squeezed it and then backed away. Then he was gone, leaving me standing there with a gaping wound in my heart.
He yearns for me, yet won’t reach out. I pine for him, get crazy over him and then have to come back home to real life. I feel like a rabid dog being told to sit, and I know I just can’t stay and be good. I want to be, but the wheels of fate are in motion and I can’t turn the madness back. It is there and growing, and it wants to be what it is and yet I have to seize it and stop it. How much longer can I do this? I beg of you to heel, madness.