Sight

Twenty Eight.

-THEN-

MARIA

I sat in the coffee shop, tapping the paper cup, enjoying the heat that the liquid emitted and colored my fingertips red. I looked at the dark reflection of my distorted face on the surface of the coffee, even in the reflection of something constantly moving and contorting my face, you could almost feel the sadness.

"Yes, please." A man said, the same man, to the barista who asked if his usual would be what he wanted today. I looked up and observed him; he wore a dark green tee shirt- which said the words NEW JERSERY on it- and three quarter shorts. His eyes roamed the walls again, as though every time he saw it, it was the first time, as though every time he found the requirement to drink in every detail, otherwise it would slip through his fingers and he'd never see it again, he'd forget something dear to him, it intrigued me.

I continued to watch him with interest, then I realized he was looking back at me, the same look he gave me the other day, as though he knew me, as though I was someone from a parallel universe and he was trying his hardest to say, 'remember me.'

He watched me, with no smile, no frown, just nothing, nothing but indifference, but eyes told me something else, as though saying, don't look at anything, don't look at anything but me.

I couldn't take my eyes off of him, and slowly, he turned and walked towards me, then when he was merely a foot away, he stopped and opened his mouth, "I'm sorry." He muttered, soft, rushed, as though the thought of him even speaking to me was stupid. Then he frowned, but at the ground, and turned and left the shop in a brisk walk.

I wasn't doing this again.

I got up, leaving the cold, bitter, coffee and walked out onto the bustling streets of New York. I saw him walking away, his pace slowing, now he was simply looking ahead, and I followed him, I couldn't help myself. "Excuse me?" I called out, but he didn't turn, he just walked, as though he hadn't heard me. Maybe he hadn't, I convinced myself that he hadn't, that he didn't know I was addressing him.

I jogged up to him and tapped his shoulder, and he abruptly turned, his coffee nearly spilling and pouring its scolding contents on me, "Y-Yes?" He stammered when realizing it was me who called out to him.

"I wanted to introduce myself." I said, suddenly wanting the need to cringe.

He looked at me then, an expression so intense it felt as though he might slap me, that he might hurt me, he looked so concentrated, but then eased his face, and smiled and my heart elated, I wondered what he thought about for those few seconds, "Go ahead, then." He said; his expression now amused.

I squared my shoulders, my long dark hair falling back, and pushed my glasses up my nose and, not too subtly, bit my lips to bring them color, "My name is Maria, Maria Darwin." I said and his eyebrows drew together, forming a deep crease in between them, then he smirked, but it sort of looked like a snarl or a grimace, "Daniel, Daniel Warren Silverman." He said, offering me his hand, "Oh, we're on middle name basis now too?" I asked and he chuckled, "I guess so." I looked him the eyes and I felt as though I was surrounded by the most beautiful forest rather than just concrete. Like I was surrounded by grass and leaves and gorgeous dunes after rain, soft and a blooming green, the kind of green you only imagined but could never capture, the kind of green that held the essence of such a beauty painters hated themselves for not portraying correctly, it was enthralling.