Like Real People Do / HS

one

The spoon tapped the mug repeatedly as she stirred it, the sound kept her occupied and from going insane in the little shop. Her eyes only focused on the light brown almost white liquid that whirled in the cup, one hand lazily circling the spoon, while the other supported her head. She was bored at this point- nothing to do and bored. Even in one of the places she had always dreamed of going. And she was bored.

The almost unrecognizable words were once enticing, the ones that flooded the cafe, but three days in and deeper into the the country of France, it was sickening at this point. It sounds horrible, she knows, an American fighting disgust in such a great place like this. She should be grateful to be in a place like this, and she was, but it wasn't what she thought it'd be. She loved it- kind of. See, she believed the instagram posts on the search page that she looked through endlessly, and with that belief she decided to quit work and travel Europe on a whim. That whim was a disappointment, though, so all she could do was sit and stir the coffee she ordered in French that was so horribly tainted with her noticeably American accent.

"Café noir, s'il vous plaît," it was another French sentence rang in her ears, but this one was different. This voice was tainted, like her's, not with an American accent, though. She couldn't tell what it was, but it wasn't American. This voice was also behind her, ordering and clearing its throat. It was choppy and seemingly practiced. She turned to see the voice- or the owner of it- peering over her shoulder, viewing him out of the corner of her eye.

Glasses sat atop his head, forcing back his curls and that graced the lenses that rested on his hair. He was bronzed, obviously from the France summer sun, wearing baggy cuffed light-wash jeans and white t-shirt that was tucked only behind the button of the Levis that came up a bit higher than regular waisted jeans. The cuffing of his pants exposed his boney ankles and and the hair that trickled up legs.  She turned her attention back to her coffee as the man received his coffee, cupping it in his hands and turning to find a table.

She knew the shop was full, and suddenly felt horrible for taking up the four seat table all by herself. She didn't even care about the coffee, or the table, or France. Maybe she should go. Maybe she should give it all up and go back home and admit she romanticized the hell out of instagram posts and was too spontaneous at times. Her hand tapped her pocket to check for her phone and her other gripped the handle of the mug to return it to the workers. She turned her body to get up only to see the man standing there.

"Je peux me asseoir ici?"  She only understood half of the question, and he looked like he didn't understand any of it.

"I- I um-"

"Oh thank god," he sighed with relief, placing his coffee on the table," you mind if I sit here?" he was already practically sitting down, pointing to the seat as he took it. He took the mug to his lips, audibly sipping and looking at her all at the same time.

"I was going to go, you can have it," she clutched her phone in her hand now and began slipping the strap of her purse over her shoulder.

"No," he sat up in his chair," no, please. I haven't heard English in days and I've got no connection on my phone. I need some company that isn't coffee, a croissant, or a waitress I can barely understand. Please," he actually looked worried, pleading for her to stay. She only stared back, swallowing, a bit scared, but she could admit she needed some 'English speaking' company, too. Her belongings now rested in her lap and she now faced the man.

"Thank you."

She nodded towards him.

"I know it's weird-"

"No, I get it, I totally understand," she let out an relieved laugh. He smiled back, matching her attitude.

"Thank you," he took another sip of coffee.," what's you name, love," it was an English accent, that's what it was."

"Edith," a smile still lingered on her lips, still amused by the exchange of words with the stranger. His abruptness and desperate actions were something new for once, and it kept her entertained. Any other day back in Virginia, she would never find herself sitting at a table with a stranger, she probably wouldn't even find herself alone at a coffee shop. But here she was, in Annecy, France, sitting with a random man at a coffee shop knowing barely any French and not a single thing about the city were she resided for the last four days.

"Harry," he smiled without the mug blocking the bottom half of his face, showing two dimples that pressed far into his cheeks," you like your coffee pretty sweet, do you, Edith?" he nodded down towards her cup, one dimple now shown at he gave a half smile. Edith instantly regretted the unconscious action of continuous paying for creamer and pouring it into her coffee to see how white she could get it just to pass the time.  She shrugged, her cheeks now took hints of pinks.

"Well how do you like yours," she looked down at his coffee," black?" she said with a bit of disgust. She hated black coffee, well she didn't want it that sweet, but god, only crazy person could drink it black.

He nodded," I really thought we'd have more in common, you know, being the only two English speakers in this place."

"You only know my name," she said defensively, pushing one brow down in confusion.

"Maybe that's all I need," he raised his own, bring the mug to his lips and taking his last sip of coffee. The mug clapped against the table, and they looked at each other in seriousness, only to break out in laughter," I'll admit it's a bit refreshing finding someone who can understand me. My phone has no service, but we could meet up again tomorrow. This ship, about nine, English time?" Throughout this proposal, he brought himself to his feet and now stood by her side. She only nodded, moistening her lips with her tongue and peering up at the man she knew so little about and at the same time almost everything due to the language they had in common.  He walked to the counter, placing his dish with the others and made his was out.

"Au revoir," he waved, looking back as he made his way to the door. She rolled her eyes.

"Bye, Harry. Thank you for the company," she now stood with the strap of her purse over her shoulder and her phone in her front pocket.

"And thank you for the seat," the door chimed from the bells tied to the top the door, he smiled at her through the window. Eventually vanished, going out of sight and couldn't wait for his English speaking company to return.