BURN (Wattys2015?)

when hannah met david

she was busy and bustling and on a tight schedule

all she wanted was her coffee

but he was relaxed and calm and slow

and didn't mind having to wait for his good ole' cup of joe

"excuse me," she said, cutting line

"yes, excuse you," he said, "but i mind,"

(it wasn't like he was in an urgent need for caffeine

but he didn't like it when people were rude,

no matter how pretty they were)

desperately she glanced back to the growing line that had wrapped

around the corner

like ivy

"oh god," she mumbled her apologies

and went defeated back to her table

where a little boy with a mess of dark hair sat

with an array of pastels

he was drawing something

but he wouldn't let his mother see

"i'm sorry matthew," she says, shoulders slumped

"it doesn't look like i'm going to get my cup anytime soon"

the boy kept drawing, ignoring her

but he glanced back and saw

a tired woman and a little boy

who looked out of place in this part of Paris

an idea struck him,

and maybe it was his guilt

or maybe it was that she had the loveliest blonde hair

he had ever seen

but he ordered two cups of coffee

"i hope you like it black," he says

"i'm hannah," she smiles

"david," he smiles

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A/N:

So this is basically the story of how my parents met. My mother was on spring break and she went to Mexico to party and met some guy. It was a short affair but out popped my half-brother Matthew. She tried to date Matthew's biological dad, but he was lousy and was eh, kinda involved in the drug cartel.

 Flash forward a few years and she's in Paris doing God knows what, something corporate-business related. She meets my dad, an Israeli man who had been living in Paris for a while, with his parents still in Jerusalem. He's the relaxed, let's listen to jazz and read a paperback type of guy. My mother is a little more high strung.

They weren't sure if it'd work out, because my mother was a rich Protestant American with a secret forbidden passion for art and my dad was some poor struggling Jewish poet who didn't consider himself French or Israeli so he had no homeland. They were very different people, but they fell very much in love.

My mother, Hannah, wasn't planning on staying in Paris for forever, so she goes back to New York. Three month's later my father shows up at her apartment, soaked by the September rain, and professes his love. Blah blah. Romantic.

So my parents live in New York for a bit. My dad decides he loves America and says, "I was born to be an American." He also decides to change his name from David Mizrahi to John M..(the M... being my mother's maiden name and my last name, it's actually a French name). And, he decides that now he will be a devout Catholic. Which is funny, because my brothers and I were always confused on what we were. Catholic Protestant Jews? Heh.

Anyway, that's basically their story.