Traffic is light and I make it to DeVitos Diner in less than 20 minutes. I walk through the doors I haven't walked through in god knows how long. The place is scattered with the usual coffee junkies, most of them embodying the vibes of your typical hipster. Though, other than a few unfamiliar faces, everything looks the same. The lights are still covered by mason jars and the floor is still checkered. Dark green plants are scattered in almost every direction. Even those four black and white pictures that have always captured my eye are still there, telling the story of how the coffee is grown and refined. I've always loved them for they reminded me of my freshmen year of college when I took a field study to Costa Rica. We would visit different coffee farms from time to time just like the one in the pictures. I get this overwhelming nostalgic feeling in my body and can't help but wish I was back there.
I look over to the table, our table, that sits in the corner next to the back brick wall and a long window. It's empty. He must be running behind. I make my way over and sit down in the cold metal chair. I stare at the tall wall next to me that's covered with scribbles and a shelf full of different colored begonias. I count over about four bricks and up five to see if it's still there. Without a doubt, right in the middle of the off-red block are the initials "J&M". I reach up my hand and have to stand up a bit in order to touch the familiar marking. What happened to us?
"Miss can I get you some coffee or perhaps something to eat?" With the sound of the soft muted voice I am thrown from my thoughts.
I look down at my menu, and play with the soft edges of the paper. I take a moment to think, but none of the items have changed from the last time I was there. The only difference is that of a few numbers for prices. I look at the door to see if Milo is anywhere nearby, but still nothing. I glance at the waitress, hesitate for a moment and then finally reply, "just two coffees please".
Before I can dive back into my thoughts, the dark-haired woman is back with two cups and a pitcher of black coffee. She fills them both almost to the rim and the steam trembles off the top. I thank her and then she is back on her way to the front counter.
I add a bit of cream until the coffee turns a soft brown and add two spoonfuls of sugar. Milo would always say I made my coffee too sweet; that it rid it of its naturally bitter taste. I would add another spoonful of sugar just to spite him even though it would become a little too sweet to my liking. His face would always light up over that, no matter how many times I did it before. I miss that face. Hell, where is that face?
I look down at my phone. No messages and the clock shows that I have been here for over 15 minutes. I call him but there is no answer. I'm starting to worry.
I mean I know I haven't talked to Milo in over a year and I know my message the other night was so out of the blue and quite weird but this is just so unlike him or so I think? Maybe he is still mad at me. I did break his heart. I never meant to though. God, I never meant to. I was just so fucking scared. Nobody has ever loved me the way he did. I was just so stupid; so naive. I always imagined that I would message him. Just never thought it would be some stupid thought on my mind at 3 in the morning. To be honest, I never thought he would answer it. If anything, I always thought I would ask him if his feelings were true. Deep down I knew they were. I guess I've just always regretted my choice and secretly wanted him to know that I was wrong; that it's just so hard for me trust. See, I've been broken too many times. Maybe that's why Im scared of the dark. Maybe that's why I was scared of him.
Before I can catch myself, a couple tears fall down my face. I grab for a napkin to wipe them away, but something catches my eye. Scribbled on the small white napkin is the word "why?" and down in the corner is just one little letter: 'M'.
"Milo?"
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Starting to get in the groove again. Hopefully the more I write the more it will flow?
All the love,
A.J.C.
