SCINTILLATE | CLARK KENT: I

THREE

October 19, Monday night. 6:53 pm.
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My fingers fidgeted against the light blue coffee mug as I eyed the raspberry muffin I had ordered. I had hurried home, showered, applied my date makeup, slipped into a pretty floral dress and did my hair. I even sprayed my most expensive perfume. My mother had said that I was going to love this man and even though I wasn't excited about it I was going to show up looking my best.

The cafe that he had chosen was nice and warm, and I've only seen it in passing. It had dark brown walls with white stenciled tulips coming up from the floorboards and beautiful vintage photographs and book covers hanging in beautiful frames all over the walls.

There were three sections, one was divided by a wall, and it wasn't even a full-length wall, which had a large window and counters to set books and pots of flowers on. On one side of that wall was the lounge area; two vintage couches and a coffee table littered with books and two smaller plush lounge chairs that were set over a beautiful oriental rug.

On the opposite side of the wall was the area I was sitting in, it was bigger and had more areas to sit. I chose a small round table towards the front so my date could see me when he walked in.

There were numerous other tables scattered around this area, and many couples were here. They smiled brightly at each other as they gushed over their lives and held hands. I watched them all with criticism. How the hell do they do that? Find somebody?

I sigh and glance down at my muffin and realize I should have gotten the chocolate mint cookie instead. With a heavy sigh and a glance at my watch, I got up and head to the counter. The back wall was painted with chalk paint, scribbled against the harsh black in swirls of white and pale were the flavors and drinks and specials. Everyone who worked here was so laid back and happy. Not the 'I work at Chik-fil-a and love to be happy all day' happy, but the normal happy.

It looked like any other ordinary coffee place behind the counter except for Amy. Amy is a tall, beautiful caramel skinned woman with amazing hazel eyes, a luscious mouth, and dreadlocks. Her hair is pulled into a cute half updo. Thick tendrils of dark hair frame her face and are adorned with beautiful beads and highlights.

One look at her you can see she is of mixed race and as I study her face while I wait to order my cookie I know need to draw her. Her eyes are almond shaped and bright. Her nose is crooked, must've broken it. Her lips move as she speaks and I notice that one side doesn't rise. She must be paralyzed on that side.

When she laughs at the customer ahead of me, I see her teeth and the small chip missing from her front right tooth. Her fingers are swamped with a million and one artsy rings, and her wrist is hugged perfectly by two red strings and a medical bracelet.

It's now my turn, and I step up a bit embarrassed at my ogling, and as she takes my order, I take in her face and remind myself to draw her. Amy says she'll have somebody bring my food to me the moment it's done. We exchanged money and change, and I settle back into my seat pulling out a pen and my drawing book from my purse.