Just A Little Something Beautiful

At Ease

It's Saturday afternoon, and I once again find myself drawn to the small coffee shop near my apartment. My feet pull me towards the door and I step in, the same cozy and calm atmosphere I find myself in every week. I order myself a chai latte and take it to the bench in the windowsill. I look out at the cars driving past and the crisp golden leaves falling. I get distracted by the overwhelming peace in here. Normally you find people with their laptops and notebooks out, nervously studying for their upcoming test on Monday. Other times people come here for a break from their relationship. They come in crying and calm themselves down with a cup of warm tea.

Today is nothing like that. Today people are curled up with a book that's pulling them into its world. Today people are writing at the tables, but not in the way that they're doing homework. They're journaling or writing poetry. Today the coffee shop is free of stress and worry. So I am, too.

A man walks in while I am staring out the window. He has a cup of french roast and is drinking it with half of the sugar packet, the other half slightly spilling out on the table. He is blond and his hair is curly. His eyes are green and his lips are full and relaxed. He is one of the notebook people. His is spiral bound and he scribbles in it with a black ballpoint pen. Before I can realize what I'm doing and stop myself, I walk over to him.

"Hi," I say, still not in control of my body. The green eyes look up at me, confused. His lips stay relaxed as he greets me back. "Can I sit?" I ask, gesturing to the empty seat across from him. He nods and his pen points to the chair. I grin and sit down.

"So, what can I do for you?" the man asks. He sets his pen down on the table and looks up at me through his glasses. I can tell that he is confused, like he thinks he's supposed to recognize me but can't remember my name.

"Oh, well, I don't know exactly. I come here a lot, and everyone always seems so stressed and overwhelmed, but today is really peaceful. Everyone is doing something they love. When I saw you writing in that notebook with only half of the sugar packet in your coffee, I guess I just found it endearing. And I wanted to meet you." I start to get nervous as I say these words. I realize how weird that sounds. I debate just standing up and walking away, pretending the whole thing never happened. Then he sticks his hand out. I warily shake it.

"Levi Anderson," he says as his mouth creeps up into a grin. I smile back just the same.

"Anne-Marie Nichols," I respond. I pull my book out of my bag and we both continue doing what we love for the rest of the afternoon. We rest in the quiet of each other's presence without feeling the need to make conversation. It really is peaceful.