I think I know what I want.
I'm not sure about some things. The major things. I can't boil this down to a simple yes or no answer. So I'm going to do what I usually do after a long period of over thinking. Wing it.
So here I am at a cozy coffee shop near my place. Not too many people. Not alone either. And within distance to dash to my place if this fails. I tried not to drink too much coffee before he came. Although I was nervously sipping. I couldn't even tell if he was running late because my crappy watch doesn't want to work. I flicked it until the long hand shot back into place and began ticking again.
"Hi."
I didn't look up immediately. Fuck Lucia stop being so weird. I shot my head up.
"Hi."
I threw my head up so fast that my vision blurred as I greeted him. It reminded me of Ireland after the play, when we– never mind, oh my god.
My eyes focused until I clearly saw the outline of his face. And those crystal blue eyes.
"Hi," I said once more.
He grinned and repeated his hello as well.
I pulled the chair out across from me and sat. He took off his jacket and put it behind his seat. Adjusted and got comfortable. Sipped his coffee and realized it was too hot. Winced in pain. And I just stared...
Stop staring! I smiled and looked at my wrist that was tucked in my pocket. The long hand was still moving.
I nervously laughed. "How have you been!"
Was that too enthusiastic? He laughed anyways.
"I've been well. Just scholarly matters, but I won't bore you with that. What about you! I haven't heard from you in so long."
"Well I started teaching like two years after you left. History. High school. You know."
He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Yes! You were always good at history."
"It's fun but stressful."
"I can say the same."
"So what are you doing at Columbia?"
"Well I'm still writing about Joyce and all of this–well I'm working with some political theorists and anthropologists on his imperialist themes... you know," he said maneuvering his hand around as he explained it.
"Yes. I remember us talking about Dubliners back when you were a grad student."
His face lit up remembering that. I thought about that a lot. I was so uncomfortable. I think I went out of my way to avoid him too. He was so kind. It was one of our most pure moments. Fuck, I'm zoning out and he's talking.
"Lucia?"
I looked at him as he waited for me to return to him, so he could finish his story.
"I'm so sorry, I was looking at that painting above you."
"No, no, no! I get it. It's boring stuff. No one really wants to hear about it."
"No I do! Come on it's us. We don't have to hide our geekiness from each other."
He raised his coffee up. "To us educators."
I raised mine in agreement. He winced again realizing it was still, too hot. Cute.
No. Not cute.
He got into the details of his research. How he traveled throughout Europe. How him and Angela visited North Africa and a camel shitted right next to her. I always wanted to visit Morocco and Algeria. I told him about my lazy bourgeois vacation in Puerto Rico after graduation. He said he always factored travels in their budget. While mine were out of whatever I could scrape up after a year. I didn't tell him that. But I visualized the stories he told me. I just replaced Angela with myself. Christ.
He really brings out the worst tendencies in me.
But I ignored that. I listened to him. Who knows, maybe this will be the last time I will see him. I want to be present. Something I was doing well at before this.
So I was present. In the moment I scanned his face. Slightly aged. His hair was a bit longer. With a short cast of facial hair. I hope he shaves that. But I also want to feel it.
Hands still neat. Long slender fingers. Short stubby nails. All left intact from when I last experienced it. They were so elegant despite being used for gripping, choking, pulling, and scratching.
I can feel it now. My mind flashed scenes of the night of the play.
"Dammit."
I looked up. He looked around the room and towards his bare wrists.
"What time is it," he asked?
I checked my watch. "6:35."
He got up, "I have to go across town and pick up some forms. But this was great."
Before I knew it, I got up and gave him a loose hug.
"I'll call you, we're not done." He slowly walked backwards until he neared the door and dashed.
What's not done? What just happened?
