Flash Fiction

Tears and Coffee

by
Christy Miller
 

"It's not that I don't love you," said Jay, "because that's not it at all.  I do love you.  I love you very, very much."

Sari stared out of the cafe windows.  Even on a rainy Sunday, Bleecker Street was busy with people.  New Yorkers dressed in black carried black umbrellas.  Tourists dressed in bright colours carried theme umbrellas from the last superstore they'd visited.  The rain streamed down the glass. She felt as though she were sitting inside a dishwasher.  In another minute, the soap would squirt out, she'd be rinsed and heat-dried, the way her dishes were . . .when the dishwasher decided to work.

"Sari?"

The anxiety in Jay's tone brought her attention back to him.  She paused in her stirring.  She realized she'd been stirring the cream in her coffee so reflexively she created a whirlpool in the center of her cup.  "What, then?"

"What when?"

Sari sighed.  As usual, Jay had no idea what she was talking about.  When had that stopped being cute and started being annoying?  More importantly, when was she willing to admit his habits were annoying?  "If you loving me or not loving me isn't 'it', then what is 'it'?"

"I just don't know where my head is at right now.  I don't know what being 'in love' means right now.  For me.  I'm all confused.  And now that Michelle is back in town ..."

"Michelle always treats you like shit."  Sari glanced out of the window.  An enormous woman in a neon yellow rain slicker, matching pants and black boots hauled along a fragile-looking white poodle.  The poodle wore a red and yellow plaid raincoat, matching tam o'shanter and little red rubber boots.  The dog looked embarrassed and miserable.  Sari understood how it felt.  "Michelle comes into town, turns you inside out, wrecks your life and leaves you.  This time won't be different than any other time.  Why do you crave mistreatment so much?"

"I don't know," Jay said miserably.

"Why don't you ask your shrink next week?  Maybe he'll change your medication . . .again."

"That's not fair."

"You're perking up already.  I treat you the way Michelle treats you and you feel safe."

His brown eyes were shallow pools of misery.  "I don't have an answer for that."

Sari gave him a falsely bright smile.  "Well, that's that, then."

"Don't you want to talk about it?"

"I don't have anything to say."

"That's it?  That's all?"

"I wish you wouldn't refer to our relationship as 'it'.  I find it rather insulting."

"Didn't it -- our relationship -- mean anything to you?"

"Obviously, it meant more to me than it did to you."  All the “its” were giving Sari a headache.

"That's not true."

"You're the one walking out."

"I can't believe you'd give up without a fight."

"Why not?  You are."

"It's not easy for me."

"Then why are you  doing it?"

Jay looked at her, but didn't answer.

"Are you taking it out on me because Laura and Lara left you?  Or was it Lara and Laura?  Leaving me makes it even?"

"You're being spiteful."

"I guess I did have something to say after all."

Jay gave a deep sigh.  It seemed to rise from his toes up through his torso and exited through his nose.  Sari wondered if some of his soul expelled along with the sigh.  If he had any soul left.  Jay stood up and tossed some money onto the table.  "I really want us to stay friends."  His tone was deep with sincerity.

Sari looked up at him.  She forced blank coldness into her eyes and squeezed venomous sarcasm into her tone.  "Don't patronize me."

Jay gave her a look of wounded sadness then slowly walked out of the cafe with his head down.

Sari signaled to the waiter.  He walked over to her.  His face was a little too lined to be an undergraduate, but his eyes were an astonishing shade of  blue.  How many of these final conversations had he witnessed over the years?  And would he tell her the truth if she asked?

"I'd like a cappuccino," Sari said.  Her fingers traced the outline of the potted flowers painted on the tiled table over and over again, as though following the lines repeatedly would make sense of  her life.  "And a shot of brandy on the side."

He smiled at her.  "No problem."           

Sari tried to smile, but couldn't.  She swallowed the lump rising in her throat and looked away.  The coffee would keep her jumpy and the brandy would anesthetize her enough to get her home.  The tears would come.  So would feeling worthless and wanting to die.  Then the anger would come like clean cool air after a storm, and she would be all right again.  If only it would come sooner.

She watched Jay walk slowly down Bleecker Street.  The rain was pounding down even harder and his umbrella turned inside out.  Sari sighed.  He was long waisted and walked like a duck.  What was she thinking?  She wasn't.  She was loving.  Someday she would love again.  She'd take her time, not be swept away by shallow admiration.  She'd let actions speak louder than words.  But for a while . . .she'd miss him.

A tear fell into her cold coffee.  She picked up the spoon and stirred it until it disappeared into a brown whirlpool of her own creation.

Christy Miller writes in various genres under several names.  Her work most recently appeared in the April issue of Grit.  Her blog on the writing life is available at: http://inkinmycoffeeblogspot.com