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Conversations
by: Swanky

Rating: G
Summary: The simplest of routines can be the hardest to let go of.

~*~

Conversations


Our last conversation was as short as our first. She walked into my coffee shop looking as small and reserved as usual. She always looked so sad to those unaccustomed to her quirks. I had grown to understand and appreciate the small ways that one could read her emotions, and I derived a sort of pleasure from knowing that I could read her so well. Her deep green eyes would lighten a shade when she was exceptionally happy or excited, her jaw would tighten slightly when she was upset, her ears would gain a tinge of pink when she was embarrassed, all little things that the average onlooker would never notice, but which were tell tale signs to my practiced eye. The greatest and most reliable clues would come from her lips. The tiniest hint of a smirk, a white outline of tension, a flush of color from nervous biting, the way her small pink tongue would dart out to moisten them when she had lost herself in conversation. It is said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but after meeting her, I believe that the lips can tell you truths the eyes would never dare to, without ever uttering a word.

But, when she walked into my coffee shop for the last time, her expression was closed off to me in a way that it hadn’t been for months. I felt lost; not being able to read the lines of her face, not understanding what her lips were trying to tell me. I had no idea what to do. I felt as mesmerized by those soft, pink, rose petal lips as I had the first day I saw her, and like the first day I saw her, I had no idea what might come from them. I knew one thing, though. I knew that, unlike our first conversation, this was not going to be promising one.

As I said, our first and last conversations would prove to be our shortest, but they would be far from the least important. It began simple enough. She ordered her coffee and Danish, I made a bad joke that she did not laugh at. This would become a ritual for us, which I would affectionately deem the “no sympathy-laugh affair”. For weeks I made my pathetic attempts to get a response from her, until one day I detected the slightest pull at the corners of that heavenly mouth. I was immediately addicted to that sight, and I knew that I could spend the rest of my life attempting to make her laugh and if I only got one slight smile from her again, I would have lived a full life. It was then that I was rewarded with our first conversation.

“Was that a joke, Mister…?”

“Devon, Adam Devon at your service. And I would like to think so.”

“Hmmm…” her eyes remained flat as I readied her order, but there was a ghost of a smirk beginning to emerge across those lips. I handed her the coffee, reminding her to “take care, contents are hot” and watched as she turned to leave the deserted shop, silently praying that she would return again the next day as usual.

“Perhaps,” She flung the words over her shoulder as she reached the door, her body turned in such a manner that her hair hid her eyes and nose in shadow, leaving only her lips for inspection. “Perhaps, when I come in tomorrow, I’ll give you a lesson in the fine art of comedy. Goodbye Mister Devon.”

It was quite the strike of luck that she seemed to visit my shop during times that no one else did. I would not have been able to wait on customers that evening anyway. My mind continued to wander back to the devilish grin that I could barely see flutter across her lips just before she left the store, and I went through every bad joke I knew, trying to find the most horrendous of them all. No, I would not have been very good for anything that night.

She returned the next day as promised, and our conversations continued to develop, though we always began with the No Sympathy-Laugh Affair. I found myself looking forward to her daily visit, and as our conversations grew longer and more involved, I became more and more engrossed with that delightful mouth, and thankful for the extra time to study it. She had never missed a day, nor had I. Even my boss remarked on my new found dedication to my work, I had not taken a single sick day or vacation in months.
I learned her patterns quickly; coffee with Danish on Mondays, flavored coffee on Tuesdays, tea with biscuits on Wednesdays; but it was the small things that I discovered everyday that intrigued me the most. I learned something new about her everyday, and everyday I found myself wanting to know more. She was afraid of dogs, why? Mention of siblings made her quite upset, why? She had ended a long term relationship recently, when? She had had her heart broken once, not by said recent boyfriend, so who? Every answer opened my mind to a thousand different questions to ask her, and millions of new answers.

And then, for no discernable reason at all, one Friday she did not come into my shop. Her coffee and muffin sat waiting for her all day, looking as lost and disowned as I felt. I refused to sell that last muffin when we ran out, and I refilled her coffee several times, wanting to make sure that everything would be just right when she came in, but she never did. As I closed the shop for the night and made my way back to my flat I reminded myself that there was no reason to be so upset. So she had not wanted coffee today, such is life. But I knew as well as anyone that at this point she did not just come for the great coffee, even I could admit that my coffee was not quite god enough to warrant that kind of response. Had she not wanted to see me? Did I do something wrong? I replayed every conversation I had had with her for the pervious week, and could find no fault in what I had said or done. There was no reason that I could tell why she might be mad at me.

I tossed and turned all night, for once grateful that morning could come as early as I wished. The weekend passed by slower than I ever thought possible. It felt as though it had been an eternity since I had last seen her, and my brain screamed out reasons why she had not visited on Friday; from a simple busy day to horrific accidents that left her lying mangled and bloody in some distant hospital bed.

Finally, Monday arrived, creeping slow and warm over the fall landscape. Everything seemed brighter today; warmer, more peaceful, happier. I was going to see her again today, and everything would prove to be just fine. We would continue our ritual, I would tell a bad joke she would not laugh, and then I’ll ask her what happened on Friday. She’ll recite one of the tamer explanations I had already come up with (impromptu visit from an old friend or family member, busy day, slight stomach bug, etc.) and our day will continue as planned.

But I knew the second she walked in, back ridged, hands clasped around her clutch, and dead straight poker face set in place, that this was not going to be one of our typical conversation. She ordered her coffee and Danish, I made my bad joke, she did not laugh. So far, everything was going as planned, except that she had had no reaction to anything as of yet. I was fighting harder to capture her attention then I had in those first few weeks, and I was losing.

Finally she raised her stormy green eyes to mine, and I could read the various emotions written across her face for the first time that day, and I did not like what I saw. Her eyes were blood shot and sunken into deep dark circles, her face looked paler than usual, and her mouth was drawn into a sad tense frown. It may have only lasted a split second, but I was still shocked. I had never seen her emotions so open to those around her.

“Is everything alright?” I asked, wanting to help her but dreading learning what could have happened to put her in such a state.

“Adam…” I thought for a moment that her eyes had lightened, but then I realized that it was merely the added water that made them shine. “I—I can’t come in anymore. I wont be-” Her voice cracked, and she lowered her now leaking eyes.

“What are you talking about? Here, sit down and explain this to me-” But she did not sit down. Instead she quickly turned away and began to make her way to the door. Before I had the chance to stop her, she turned again, and glancing over her shoulder in the same fashion as she had that first day, she gifted me with my last chance admire those luscious lips as she spoke to me for the last time.

“Goodbye, Mister Devon.”

~*~
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