penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (14 page)

We entered the small coffee shop and I appreciated that Wynn didn’t choose a place with a barista and thirty odd numbers of different beans. Though I didn’t mind those, this place was a step back in time. It reminded me of an Edward Hopper painting from my mother’s old art game. I turned to Wynn and couldn’t help but smile.

When I saw him sitting in that classroom I wanted to hide.
Knowing he was going to be evaluating every part of me with those hazel, analytical, eyes of his made me nervous. The whole time I sat there, I didn’t think of anyone else in that room but him. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to know me and I wanted to know him.

The guilt slipped
back in, telling me I couldn't do it, but here I was at a coffee shop waiting to enjoy 
life changing
coffee. I found a new way to torture myself. I was a dog waiting for a treat, waving in front of me and Wynn was the treat. I could never receive it though, no matter how many tricks I did.

We stood in silence and did as the sign directed,
Please Wait to be Seated
. A woman who looked as though she worked at the shop for years approached us and started to gather our menus and silverware. She looked as much a part of the diner as the booths that lined the walls. Without bothering to ask us how many she ordered us to follow her to a table in the middle of the room.

“Can we have that booth, please?” Wynn asked pointing toward a booth in the rear of the building next to the emergency exit and restrooms. The waitress nodded in annoyance as she picked our menus up from the original table. Wynn walked in front of me toward our new table and I had to smile. His weathered jeans hung around his hips as if he had been wearing them for days and they wrinkled as if he slept in them as well. His shirt was an old button down that looked as though he wore it since he was a teenager and it now formed right to him. He wore a thick hooded sweatshirt over it whose sleeves had holes throughout. Old work boots were on his feet with the shoestrings wound around his ankles. He held no thought to how he appeared to others and it added to his charm.

The waitress set our menus on the table and without another word went her own way. We were no longer in her section and I didn’t mind, considering she was lacking personality. Wynn took the seat against the wall and I sat across from him. He took his bag from me when we got off the bike and now set it on his seat. I watched as he opened it and examined the contents several times as if concerned he forgot something.

I tried to run my fingers through my hair in vain. I gave in to the inevitable and pulled a band from my wrist and wrapped the knotted mess in a bun. With my eyes closed, I tied it up and when I opened them Wynn tilted his head in observation as if he were trying to decipher if I were real or not. Without a word, he smiled and looked at the corner of the menu as he rolled it in his fingers.

“So what’s good here?” I asked as I opened the menu and glanced up at him and realized how much I wanted to scratch at his slight beard.

“Honestly? I’ve never been here
,” he said as he gave me another shy smile. It was adorable seeing him that way.

“Well, we are taking our first adventure together
,” I said. My stomach began to rumble and he gave me a smile and raised eyebrow in question. “Sorry, I didn’t get up in time to eat breakfast before class this morning.”

He smiled and I felt the numbness inside me begin to fade, “Yes, I can hear that.
It's good we came here then,” he said as he held my eyes and gave a slight squint as he looked across my face. It was as if he were putting everything to memory. I did the same to him and noticed his ears. They were marvelous and my smile widened as I thought of the oddity of admiring his ears. There are many parts to admire in a man and I chose his ears.

I took the opportunity to continue watching him as he was occupied with his menu. His longer pieces of dark hair fell in chunks across his forehead as he tried to focus on the folded paper in front of him. His hair fell into his eyes and he left it there for a moment as if he welcomed the shield. His hairstyle didn’t look intentional. I imagine he shaved his head one day because it was too hot and let it grow out.

My watching game ended as a small round woman came to the table holding a pad of paper. “Good morning, my name is Sonya and I will be your server today. What can I get you to drink?” the waitress asked in monotone with eyes that never left the notepad as she waited for us to respond.

I leaned to lower my head enough to look up at her. She looked at me over her notepad and gave a shocked expression. “Hi Sonya, I’m Hannah and this young man is Wynn and we will receive your service today with joy
.” She shook her head at me. “I’ll have coffee and your number four and can I have brown sugar and cinnamon please?”

She nodded and turned to Wynn, “Um… Coffee is it for me. And honey too please.”
 

Sonya took our menus and Wynn looked at me with that smile of his again. “That was funny
,” he said as he began to mess with the napkin dispenser on the table. He pulled the sugar packets toward him and rearranged them into their proper order.

I grabbed a package of crackers left on the table and began to nibble on one as I watched him, “What was?”

“That you did that to the waitress,” he said with a laugh as he finished arranging the sugar packets and unfolded the napkin around his silverware. He began to roll it, as he had the menu. He was nervous and fidgety and it was one of the sexiest things I ever saw. He wasn’t putting on a show for me. He was being Wynn. That level of honesty was not common.

“Oh, yeah, that
,” I said with a smug smile. “I always introduce myself to servers. I used to be a waitress and I always wondered the story of the people I served. What was their story? Why were they there that day? Why did they know my name but I never knew theirs?”

Raising an eyebrow I continued, “We pass strangers daily and forget that they have their own story. We are minor characters in theirs as they are ours. So I learned to listen and let them tell me theirs. The customers who always were willing to tell their stories to a stranger were those who held sadness in their eyes. They lost part of themselves to their memories and needed someone to listen so they might be found.” Confused interest was in his eyes as I spoke and it caused my hands to move more. It was as if they could make the story manifest itself before the eyes of my listener.

“Did you get many customers like that?” He sat back in his seat, trying to relax, but failing. His nervousness was intensifying and I hoped it didn’t have to do with me. I wanted to tell him he didn't need to be nervous. When I looked at him, I saw an incredible person that I should be running the hell away from, but with every questioning expression he gave me I couldn't.

Instead of running, I chose to answer his question and punish my
self further. “No, just twice and both times were life changing for me,” I said as I put my elbow on the table and propped my head with my hand. I found myself leaning closer to him, so I could watch him as we spoke. It was better having my head on my hand as it slowed the constant gestures.

Breaking me from my thoughts, Sonya came back wit
h our coffees. Wynn began to pour honey into his coffee and asked, “How were they life changing?” His choice of sweetener baffled me and his question confused me as I tried to retrace my thoughts, and remembered what I last said.

I smelled my pure black coffee and let my eyes close as I remembered those two customers. I opened my eyes and took a sip before I began, “The first one was an older man and his sadness ran deep. He didn’t cry, but I could tell much was on his mind. His eyes had that moist look that happens before you start to cry. He had this tick where he gave his head a tilt before speaking. I asked him where his thoughts were. He told me, ‘Sweetie, they are far from here, but they are buried in here,’ as he put his hand over his heart.

“He went on to tell me this story of love lost. He made many mistakes in his life. As humans we have to stop mistakes from continuing and we have to make amends for them. He said that he didn’t do that, though. He said it took him many years to accept and forgive his own mistakes and because of that he hurt those around him. He said realizing we aren’t perfect and forgiving ourselves is the most important action we can do to move on in life. To forgive others is easy. To forgive yourself is a son of a bitch. His words verbatim,” I said as I took another sip.

“
He was a nice man. I never learned his story, but that last part on forgiving yourself haunts me,” I nodded my head to Wynn and let him understand the truth of my statement. “This son of a bitch is fighting me kicking and screaming,” I said as I pointed at myself. “But I’m working on making right my mistakes.” Wynn took in everything I said without a word or judgmental look.

I continued rambling
under the focus of his watchful eyes, “It instilled in me to live without regret. I have regrets that I need to atone. What I do may resemble spontaneity, but it's planned.”
Except Wynn, he is the spontaneous cog in my wheel.

He held an expression on his face I couldn’t place. It was a cross between fear and awe. It interested me, much as the man himse
lf. “What was the second one?” he asked as he ran his eyes across my face.

“The second one? Well she was a young woman that reminded me of my older sister
.” I looked through the window as I thought of her. “She wore this simple black dress that hung on severely slender shoulders and her skin had a gray hue and she had no hair. She had cancer and she found out that she had a couple months left to live tops, because the chemo wasn’t working

I felt my hand motions start to slow as I recalled this story. This story can’t be
rushed. “There was more life yet to live. That is what scared her the most. It wasn’t the act of death itself, but the loss of living. So she began to focus on the little moments. She said she used to be a runner and as she physically ran, she mentally ran through life. Everything was a competition. She never focused on living. She was thankful for her slow death, because it showed her the value of life. She did live once though, when she fell in love.”

I looked at Wynn and found him watching with intense eyes as I continued. “She broke up with her boyfriend a few months before she found out she had cancer. She focused on her running and he wanted her to not be so obsessed, and
to just enjoy life with him. He heard of her cancer a few months into it and tried to be there for her. She didn’t accept his calls or visits though. She wanted him in love, not pity. I think he did want to be with her out of love, but her pride didn’t want him to see her different from the strong person she once was. I saw her as strong, but sometimes when we are strong, we don’t see it, but others can. They can't see the battle we lose to weakness inside us,” my voice drifted as I spoke and thought of my own weakness. 

I took a breath and sighed before continuing. "After she told me her story, she sat in silence as she enjoyed her vanilla milk shake. When she finished she told me of how she used to argue with her boyfriend as to which milk shake flavors are best. He claimed vanilla was not a flavor and could not be in the discussion, but she disagreed. Vanilla is the base for other milk shakes she said."

I leaned onto the table to get closer to Wynn as I continued. "This made it the flavor with the strongest shoulders because it was the start, as other flavors formed from it. She laughed at the silliness of her analogy, but she said she was comparable to vanilla milk shakes. She didn’t have the extra flavors to her, she just was—but oh so sweet and unique in her own way. She told her boyfriend earlier that day she wanted him to remember her and vanilla milk shakes."

Wynn leaned back and let his arm rest across the back of the booth. His eyes kept their focus on me. I was not used to this intensity and it left me feeling naked. He listened to every word and wasn’t thinking of when the next time he could speak would be. "She was the start for him, but he had so many other flavors to try. They made love and it was the saddest and happiest experience she ever had. She left his apartment with a simple kiss, saying she didn’t want to see him again, and went straight to that restaurant to enjoy a milk shake. I am positive he thinks of her every time he has ice cream, because even as a stranger, I do." Wynn didn't move as he watched me. He had taken in every word and in his eyes he was contemplating and evaluating.

“Wow. I never stopped to think of the possibilities a restaurant held,” he said with the same sincerity he used with every statement.

“Yep, but don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t always philosophical moments. There were several shitheads too
,” I said as I leaned back onto my hand and rested my pointer finger on my temple. “But I learned from them as well—since a hell of a lot more of them exist.” I took a sip of my coffee and looked up with a smile. “My skin thickened and I learned how to give it right back. I was sneaky though, because I still wanted tips.”

Wynn laughed, “I have never worked in customer service. I prefer to do my work from behind a camera without having to talk with the public.”

“I can see that,” I said with a smile.

“What do you mean by that?”
he laughed and I caught a hesitant look in his eyes as if he didn’t want to know the answer to his question.