Remember When

[1]

meeting

I remember meeting you in the small coffee shop at the edge of town when we were both juniors in college. I had went in to grab a black coffee to go when you spilled your entire caramel macchiato on my favorite shirt. I remember you apologizing repeatedly, though you seemed much more upset over the five dollar coffee than my stained pink shirt. I didn't blame you, you didn't know me yet.

I offered to buy you another, seeing as I technically ran into you, but you refused. You went back to the counter and I retreated to my car, but not before taking a soft look because the hopeless romantic in me tried to convince me that this could be love at first sight. The funny thing was that you were looking at me, too.

I went back a little over a week later to study and found you at a table at the back surrounded by a laptop and nearly a million pieces of paper falling out of binders. You looked like you hadn't slept in days - just like myself. Besides, we were the only people drinking coffee at six o'clock at night. I wanted to approach you and maybe even sit with you, but I also didn't want to disturb you. Plus you probably didn't remember me. But when I plopped my psychology book a few tables over, you caught my eye and nodded your head at me to join you.

You were studying biology along with microbiology, botany, and at least two other subjects. You took up the majority of the table, but there was a small space for my textbook and journal. You tried to make small talk for a little while, and I tried to talk back, but it mostly got nowhere because it was just both of us countering every statement with another joke about dropping out of college or dying from a caffeine overdose.

"I've always been told not to trust people who drink black coffee." You joked once after I brought you another caramel macchiato - the only coffee you drink - and myself another cup of plain joe. 

"This attempt at friendship is fruitless then, isn't it?" I replied, smiling back at you. Your smile turned into a slight smirk before you went back to scrolling through the laptop. We sat like that for almost five hours until we were kicked out of the café because they were closing. I helped you sort through all your papers and cram them into binders as you shoved things in your bag. We ended up standing outside for a little while, sipping the last of our coffee while you made subtle hints about when you'd be back.

"I've got my biology final next Thursday, so I'm probably going to be back here, studying most of Wednesday." You said quickly, trying to act nonchalantly about it. I told you I didn't know if I could make it because of my psych exam, but it was mainly just to see your reaction. You tried to hide your disappointment, but it was way to obvious. I let you off the hook with a slight smirk before making my way to my car.

I came back, though. Obviously. You were sitting at the same table, same set up as the week before but now with six different colored highlighters, one in your mouth, one behind your ear and the rest in your hands. I had already taken my final, so I had nothing else with me but my coffee cup and one I picked up for you, seeing that you no longer had one. You smiled so wide when you saw me and I quickly followed suit. You began rambling immediately about what you were studying, and I didn't understand any of the scientific terms, but I loved talking to you, so I nodded and pretended.

"You don't get it, do you?" You smirked once after I had zoned out and had just been staring at you. I tried to find an excuse, but I knew nothing would work on you. You laughed at me and I laughed at myself, and I remember that that was the first time I'd truly laughed in a long time.

I read over packets and notes with you, randomly quizzed you over things that I barely knew. You made fun of me any time I mispronounced one of your big, fancy science words. I will never admit to you that I said some of them wrong on purpose to see you smile.

That night you left with someone who called you 'honey'. You looked uncomfortable as you were quickly persuaded to leave, and you left me sitting at the table with your caramel macchiato that was half empty. I tried to drink it so it didn't go to waste, but it's still one of the grossest things I've ever drank. Before I threw it away, I noticed the tiniest handwriting around the top. It was your number, but I didn't know when to call you, so I never did.

I didn't see you for another two weeks until I drove past the coffee shop and saw you sitting outside on the spray-painted bench. You apologized for leaving so quickly and for not coming back. You already had a black coffee waiting for me. It was cold, and I felt bad for making you wait so long. You looked tired, your eyes a little sad. You insisted you were fine no matter how many times I asked. We sat on that bench for at least half an hour in silence, just watching the cars drive by.

"You should've called." You broke the silence, giving me a tough look that was actually quite hard to read. I told you that you were right, which was the only time I'll ever say that. It took me awhile to formulate a way polite way to ask about the person who came to get you that one night. It was your ex, apparently, who you were trying to fix things with. Less than thirty seconds later, you began blathering about how you didn't even want to fix things.

I was too scared to give you advice because I didn't know how you would take it, so all I did was reach over and grab your hand. You immediately squeezed my hand back, and I swear I knew then that it wouldn't be the last time I held your hand. I think you knew that too.

So we sat on that super uncomfortable bench, awkwardly holding hands and drinking our respective coffees, and it was one of the best moments of my life.