The Lost Boy

three

    "What can I get foryou?" His voice was not rough like I had imagined it and it didn't overflowwith malice. It was strong and heavy but somewhere masked, because you couldhear the pure exhaustion that leaked through the cracks in his resolve.

    Ididn't miss the heavy French accent that laced his words. It wasn't annoying orirritating, it was like the last puzzle piece that put together his identity. Althoughhe was lost in the middle of the rush he had a unique patience about him thatmade me feel like he could wait forever on just about anything. 

   With his eyescasted downwards to the cash register and a light frown pulling down his rosylips, I felt the strangest urge to say something that would not just make himsmile for the second but to replace the yearning in his eyes. Just a mumble,anything.

    To even wipe my fingers across his face to erase the stubborn littlefrown that was securely locked onto his face and made a hollow home in hisheart. It would only be right that I followed the one thing that has alwayslead me to the right answer. It would only make perfect sense that I wouldanswer to the calling that shook through my insides and clamped onto my heartwith iron fists.

      However, I did the quite opposite; I said the words that hisears were more familiar to. "I'll take a Grande caramel macchiato with whipcream please." My voice sounding like a whisper. He showed no recognition ofcatching my request but his fingers nimbly taped away at the register. I hadwondered if he felt that draw to, that pinched at his soul. "Ten Euros." Theyoung mans voice had dropped down in volume.

     Before scavenging through my purseI gazed at him my eyes consuming every detail of his presence. After whatseemed like a minute or too his cozy coffee stained eyes met mine. Shamefully,like I had been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, I tucked my head downpulled out whatever cash I saw in my bag. I handed the loose change to him, ourfingers gently touching and just like his eyes his hands burned with the same warmth. Inan instant I was being offered the remnants of the money I gave him.

 It wasthen I felt it again, the urgency that tore through me earlier but again Ibrushed it off.