Coffee and Cola

“You prefer showers, don’t you?” I asked with a mouth turning up.
“Yes.” She looked sweetly perplexed as she said it, then shook her head, casting locks of her cotton candy hair about her face. “How did you know?”
“The way you read that book gave it away. You’re consumed with motion, filled with some need to always be acting, doing things with no time to rest. I couldn’t believe how fast you flipped those pages, and yet you remembered it all.” I sipped my coffee and continued, “Of course, the way you moved on that bed was part of it too. You were so fluid, so determinedly caught up in our dance. It was amazing, but it was a challenge to keep up.”
Her face widened with her smile, a warm line of markers etched with a color somewhere between milk and eggnog. Her cheeks colored slightly and she lowered her head to reach her straw and drink from her glass of cola. “Sixteen hours and you can figure me out that easily? I’m impressed. So, let me guess, you like baths, read a book slowly and like drawn out, tender lovemaking, right?”
“You got it.” We both laughed, no doubt looking to the few other people gathered in the resturant like exactly what we were, fresh lovers. It was obvious we were both intensely enamoured.
We just looked at each other then, our faces glowing. For what must have been the thousandth time since she sat beside me on a crowded bus, I breathed in the beauty of her. Framed by a tangle of blue and pink hair, her features formed a somehow uneven, yet marvelously perfect and distinct face. Her syrupy eyes held a warmth I felt emptied by, in immense longing to drink them down.
Her left hand found my right on the table, having pushed aside the cylinder of sugar. Our fingers slipped between each other’s, locking as if to seal in a prayer. We felt the spilled sugar on our wrists and so soon lifted our hands as we rose, joined by them.
On the sidewalk the wind cut into us, trying to erode the comfort the booth inside had offered. We shared a silence as we walked to the station, teetering between the bliss of the togetherness and the sorrow being created by the fleeting nature of our union. Separation was waiting on the rails.
I could hear the crinkling as her right hand slid into her pocket and she pulled out a pack of gum. I’d come to link that sound to her as surely as I’d tied to her the scent and taste of mint she filled her mouth with. I knew the pop of a released piece, the crack of her first bite and the return of the package to her pocket. It was her audible signature.
The train station was bustling. In accordance with the season, passengers were preparing for their holiday voyages, anticipating reunions and gifts. She and I were out of place, parting and giving up so much so soon. We clung to each other fiercely, unwilling to let go of the magic we had found.
Her departure was a blur. We slid out of a long kiss and joined damp gazes. She placed a brown paper bag in my hand and then stepped onto the train. Her last words escaped the closing doors and barely made it to my ears. “Live for it,” I could see her mouth over and over in my head as I walked to the bus stop.

6 comments on “Coffee and Cola

  1. Beautiful word choice. Those words captured me. I felt as if i was there. I love that sort of writing… awsome.If only i could piece words together like that.

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