Written: May 17, 2022
Word count: 539
I keep peering at the envelop on my coffee table. She used a Carnation stamp, and the bright pink draws my eye to it over and over. I've memorized the shape of her words, and I hear her saying them even.
'I want to have coffee with you on Saturday. If you're free, I'll be at the Starbucks on Willow Rd at 4. Apparently there's another one near the elementary school.'
That's the one I work at during the week.
'I've heard things about you, about your life and I want to know if they're true.'
I don't move from my spot on the couch. I replay those words until my eyelids start to droop and her voice fades into nothing.
I'm at the Willow Road Starbucks at three-thirty, a second cup of coffee half-way to my lips.
I've had enough time to think this over and yet I still don't know what to say.
Why'd I give up on art?
I don't know.
Maybe I peaked in college, as some do.
Maybe our “dreams” aren't practical, Marissa. Maybe I'm not made for this, I'm made for other things?
I grimace into the cup and set it down. I think about leaving for ten minutes, but my legs don't move. I down my coffee and continue to fall apart. I see her at 3:58. Her warm, disarming smile rebuilding me the closer she gets. She's standing across from me with soft brown eyes, hands gripping the back of an empty chair.
“Can I sit?”
I nod, in one piece again and not afraid. She thaws out my body and mind. Enough to where I can form coherent words.
“You never used to use Chrysanthemum stamps.”
She smiles a little.
“They're Carnations. Gladiolus symbolizes strength, but they didn't have those. Carnations seem tough enough.”
“How do you know that anymore?”
A glint shines in her eyes.
“I just do.”
I finish my coffee before speaking.
“I don't know what to really say.”
“That's fine. I just want to know if you're alright.”
“Well, I have a roof over my head.”
She nods, folding her hands on the table.
“Are you happy?”
I look at her. I keep looking into her eyes until her question fades into me.
“I'm not going to wax poetic to you Audrey, but.”
“I gave up art because a lot of things happen in life. My life just wasn't going in that direction, and it wasn't what I wanted.”
“The woman you were with...”
“Verbally abusive. I don't know what you heard, but she never laid a hand on me.”
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't help and that we fell out of touch.”
“Well. I mean, you were my professor. Why would you keep in touch?”
She fixed me with a look.“We understood each other, Audrey, you know that.”
“I know. But—”
“Do you want to paint with me sometime?”
“Maybe. But I think I'd rather talk.”
Her sweet half-smile resurfaced. The one that had burned itself into my memory from day one. She reached for my hand and held it tight.
“Of course.”