Coffee

The other day my friend and I stepped into a coffee shop while we were out for a walk. Half-way in I froze in my tracks. 'We have to leave,' I hissed at her. 'Why?' she said, scanning the room for potential reasons. Finally she spied cute b in the corner. With a girl. A girl he had his arm around. 'Oh please,' she said in disgust. 'We're not leaving.' I glared at her. 'We have to. My heart is breaking.' She rolled her eyes. And walked right in. Since I didn't have a choice I followed, trying to make myself invisible while she ordered our coffee. I couldn't bear it if I had to talk to him. And what if he then introduced me? Horrors.
Tall. Mocha latte. Whipped cream on top. How prosaic. 'My heart,' I repeated, 'is breaking.' She gave me a look she reserves for the times I'm being a bona-fide drama queen. Her words, not mine. 'It is not,' she said, thrusting the coffee into my hands. 'You don't even know him. Not really.' I had never felt so indignant in my life. 'I so do! He's funny, smart and ......in my class,' I finished. Ok, so maybe I didn't really know him. 'And,' she said, over my words, 'he doesn't even know you exist.' I felt smug as I corrected her. 'Remember that day when he asked me what he'd missed from the previous class?' 'Ok, so he knows you as the nerd.'
My feelings were really hurt so I maintained a frigid silence. For five minutes. And you don't know how much self-control that took. 'And,' I looked up, 'for your information..' She grinned at me over her steaming mug. And I knew we were okay. The coffee was wonderful, warming me all the way to my toes, a welcome change from the winter cold that lay just outside the walls. We sipped in silence, each buzy with our thoughts and this time it wasn't frigid.
Every now and then we are reminded of the miracle of having someone like us for who we are, warts and all. That there are people who choose to stand by us when we flounder in this journey through life. That it doesn't matter if we don't know where we are going or that we dream impossible dreams. That we only eat the inside of a lemon tart or watch scary movies with a blanket over our head. And it's like the warmth of the coffee is all around you.
I threw a wistful glance over my shoulder as we left. 'Oh, common on,' she said, hooking an arm through mine. 'His socks are probably smelly.' I looked at her solemnly. 'Thanks for being my cup of coffee.' She stared at me. 'Sometimes I have no idea what you're thinking.'
And that's okay too.