The Hourglass

Eight

When my alarm wakes me up the next morning, I'm excited. My excitement confuses me. I think about it and realize I'm looking forward to meeting Adam. I shake my head. Don't be silly. I crawl out of bed and check the hourglass; nothing has changed about it. 

I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I get ready and wonder if Adam will think I'm pretty. I shake my head again. It doesn't matter if he does. That's not why I'm here, I remind myself. My hair is getting long, I observe. It almost reaches my elbows now. 

After putting on some makeup, I pick out a pair of jeans and a simple baby blue soft T-shirt. I'm not really sure what to wear. I don't want to make it look like we're on a date by dressing too cute. But I still have a desire to look attractive to Adam. Simple and casual is safest, I decide. 

I'm nervous as I drive to the coffee shop, and I pray that I'll know the right things to say to him. I can't help but wonder what's going on in his life that makes him so sad and makes him believe life has nothing left to offer him. 

I take a steadying breath as I park and prepare myself. I have to do everything just right. The memory of Mom surfaces in my mind, and I shake my head. I absolutely refuse to let the memories surface. 

I head inside the coffee shop and glance around, but I don't see him yet. The same perky teenage boy is working the counter today. He takes my order happily, and I wait patiently for it. After receiving it, I head back to my booth, though I'm not sure why. I suppose I'm just a creature of habit.  

I anxiously wait for Adam to enter, and when he does, he glances around until he sees me. He goes up to the counter to order his drink and doesn't turn back around to face me.  I can't imagine what our meeting will be like today, but I can't hide the joy I feel in him keeping his word and showing up today. 

He finally turns back around and walks towards me. He's wearing a plain white T-shirt today and dark blue jeans. His slightly tanned skinned more apparent against the pure white of his shirt. As he gets closer, I can see some muscle tone in his arms, and I'm relieved to know he's not starving himself.

He takes a seat across from me and looks a little more alive than yesterday. His eyes are lit up today, making them a light green, like sea glass. His thick, dark hair lays perfectly and sweeps across his forehead seamlessly just at his eyebrows.  He smiles at me, "Good morning." He has a beautiful smile. 

I can't help but smile back. "Good Morning," I respond. "What kind of coffee did you get?" I ask, nodding at his drink. 

"Just plain black." He responds, eyeing my own drink. "And yourself?" 

"A Mocha latte. I respond. 

He raises his eyebrow. "You like chocolate?" 

"Of course. Who doesn't?" I respond. 

"Plenty of people don't like chocolate," he says simply. I laugh internally. In what universe?

"Are you one of those people?" I ask with a slight smirk. 

"I like dark chocolate," he replies, smirking back. 

"Dark coffee and dark chocolate. Sounds like a very exciting life." I tease. 

"It fuels my dark soul," he replies. I blink a couple of times and realize he's joking. I force a laugh. It's weird watching him joke about something like that, knowing what I know. But he doesn't know that you know. I remind myself. 

"Where are you from?" he asks me, changing directions. 

"Here," I say simply.

"You've lived here your whole life?" he continues.