I sit at our coffee shop on fourth and south every day waiting for you to come in.  I could go to the Java on the corner, but instead I walk like eight blocks to this one.  I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out your schedule.  You come in on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays between 10:15 and 11:00 and on Tuesdays and Thursdays around noon.  (she considers stopping, and then continues) I imagine that you’re a carpenter or a welder or something because of your big boots and marked up jeans.  Sometime you’re wearing this cute half-smile smirk like you’ve just been thinking of a dirty joke. I can tell when you’ve had a bad day because you have this habit of wringing your hands while you wait in line and you put your hood up over your baseball cap so that no one will notice you.  (beat) But I notice you. (beat)  I mean, how could anyone not notice you? (beat) I like the way you scratch your beard before you order your large cup of black coffee and croissant. I like the way you always have exact change…sometimes that’s all you have…change. I like your soft, secure voice and your warm green eyes that smile whenever you laugh. There is an…intense fragility about you.

 I think I have that quality too.  In fact, it breaks me a little every time you don’t look my way, or when you avoid my eyes, or when you look at me vacantly.  You wouldn’t believe the power you have over me…well of course you wouldn’t…we don’t know each other. But…that’s the thing, I feel like I do…know you.  And I want you to know me. 

I want you to know me so well that you could intentionally arrive before I do and order a double shot non-fat latte and place it in front of the chair in the corner facing the window.   That would be amazing.   I want you to know that I come here in part because I can’t stand being alone in my house and partly because I hope that you will one day sit down and ask me who I am.  Nobody’s ever done that.  Just walked up to me…anywhere…and said: “Who are you?” You know?  I would have so much to tell them!  I mean…that’s a huge question.  But it’s the kind of question that no one asks anymore.  If you asked me that, I would tell you that I’m a lover.  I love people.  I would tell you that I’m a strong 22 year old woman who knows exactly what she wants and how to get it.  Then I would tell you that I’m a pathological liar.  I’m a good friend, a good listener, a supportive sister and daughter.  I would tell you that I’m a lover of dogs and soccer, especially Boca Junior, and that I often exaggerate my level of interest in things. See? I would be so honest…because I want to share…with someone like you.  I want to tell you that I’m lonely, but I’m ok.  I’m lonely.  But I don’t have to be.  I would let you in. 

(beat) I’m a hypocrite and a coward.  Because my longing doesn’t compel me enough to ask you to sit with me.  Because I am both afraid of you being the man I dream you are and a complete disappointment. 

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