The Girl He Wants to Know

         It's funny; the only reason that I ever started drinking coffee is because of her. I had always hated it, and maybe I still do. It has a taste that I don't know how anyone can actually enjoy, not even to mention the odd state of twitchiness it puts you through. I've always felt like a loon after drinking too much coffee, or like a closet crack addict that doesn't want to be caught reveling in the feeling that he feels he must have, like it's a bad thing. Well, cocaine is. And maybe coffee, in excess, too. But, her...She was the anomaly. In fact, just by seeing her buy a coffee the first time I ever saw her, I went every single day to that bookstore, at the same hour that she had been there, just to get a second chance to see her again.

         For the rest of that first day, though, I never stopped beating myself up over the fact that I had simply flinched. I had choked. When a deer loses its instincts and becomes "frozen in the headlights," that's what I was. I was literally already removed from my shell of a body at the sight of her, lost in the paradise of my thoughts of the golden future that I would embark on with her.

         The only problem was, when I realized that I was not yet there and snapped straight back to reality, she was gone.

         The weeks were rough. She was not a regular, as I had hoped, or else she just didn't come between ten and eleven in the morning. I took to painting in order to forget about her, but the image of her would show up in my paintings, abstractly at first, until eventually I found myself drawing her up sitting on the rooftop of a house and I had to stop painting completely. Perhaps ironically, I started making friends with others who came around to the bookstore coffee corner at the same hour as me. I tried to see if they knew anything about my dream girl, but they were just as clueless.

         Sadly, I began to realize that I was a stalker, as loose as my intentions were. I did not want to rape her or kill her or anything like that. I just wanted to meet her. I had never before felt such a pulling attraction towards any girl. None prior to her could compare. I knew, just on that base impression, that she was "the one." I truly believe now that everybody has a perfect fit for them. Maybe that's why marriages don't last anymore. What are the odds of meeting that sole person? I, at least, had a start. Maybe it had been just a chance stop at the bookstore for some coffee. My first visit had been that way. I just wanted to meet her so badly that she already essentially existed to me in everything I did, but only within.

         Then, a year had passed. When it hit me that I had spent so much fruitless time trying to meet this girl, I stopped going to the shop altogether. I switched jobs, worked so hard that I was eventually able to find a better apartment, and forgot about her.

         It was a relief to be able to once again focus on things other than her. I didn't return to painting, but I was able to become a pretty avid golfer in my spare time. Even so, I always felt a nagging pull on myself like something was missing. I knew what it was -- exactly what it was -- but I would ignore it as best as I could. Whenever a couple walked by, I would turn away. The Hot Topic sign opposite the mall jewelry store became very familiar to me. Starbucks in every shape and form became a nuisance.

         And then, somehow I wandered out in front of that bookstore one day as I was walking around downtown. Lord, my heart stopped then and there. It had been purely accidental, but I found myself face-to-face once again with the temptation that I thought I'd gotten rid of forever. My cold hand pulled the door open against my will. I was back in the bookstore where I'd first seen my dream girl.

         That day is solid proof enough for me that God does exist. I suppose it also shows how God has a cruel sense of humor. As if by miracle, there she was, back like in the first day I'd met her. The problem was, she was there.

         Boy, though, did one year add an even crazier look of beauty to her. All the plans I had thought I'd worked out before suddenly seemed blown out the window by a heavy breeze. I was standing before my fantasy empty-handed, just as clueless as I had been the last time I had seen her.

         But, I tried to play it cool. I sat down at a table and watched her from the corner of my eyes. My hands were trembling so I hid them under the table. Then, I noticed that her eyes had caught sight of me. I was so nervous that it embarrasses me now to think how big of a fool I was. She took a seat at an empty table. I can't imagine -- nor do I want to imagine -- just how deranged I must've looked sitting there leaned over with my shaking hands underneath the table, trying my damnedest not to look her way lest my nervous system shut down at the sight of her.

         When I saw her over there alone, quietly sipping her coffee through a straw while she read a book, I decided to take action. My thoughts at that point must've been not to make the same mistake as before, yet somehow I had actually convinced my body to move. I was so stiff as I approached her, so nervous that I had to detour away from her and stall time by buying a coffee. Just what I needed; I can't believe I really bought one. But, it gave me something other than my nervous wreck of a body to focus on while I gathered my courage to talk to her.

         I came up behind her, startling her a bit, and tried to speak something intelligible and calm.

         "Mind if I sit? Here?" I asked. She seemed a bit disturbed by me, but her kindness refrained her from turning me aside. I was literally boiling as I sat down beside her.

         She said nothing to me at first, probably being a bit too surprised to know what to say. I tried to make conversation, but the topics I found at hand were few and flimsy. To make matters worse, when I opened my mouth, the contents of my thoughts spilled out instead.

         "You look very nice...today."

         She smiled and pushed her hair out of her eyes, turning them towards mine.

         "Thanks," she answered. "I'm actually getting ready to go to a job interview soon. That's why I'm all dressed up."

         "That's cool, I have a job too."

         "Oh, well, that's good."

         I drank some more coffee, using it as an excuse to think through my conversation plans.

         "Um," I began, putting the coffee back down on the table, "what kind of job?"

         "A dental hygienist. This is my first interview out of college," she told me. "I'm pretty excited. This'll be a very important interview for me."

         "Oh. I see." She was out of my league. I worked in a factory, assembling PCBs; she could be making twice as much money as me. But, I didn't tell her that. Instead, I decided to play a money-man role for her.

         "You're almost out of coffee," I noticed. "Here, let me buy you some more."

         "No, don't worry about it -- "

         But I turned and began waving towards the clerk behind the counter.

         "Hey, can I get -- "

         I stopped when I noticed that my dream girl was no longer sitting down beside me. Turning back around, I saw that my coffee had been spilled across the table. I had accidentally knocked it over and, when I looked up at her, I saw that it had gotten all over her clothes, the clothes that she was wearing to her job interview.

         "I-I'm sorry," I tried to tell her as I stood up and reached around for napkins. But, it was too late. She walked away from me without another word, steaming in anger. It was futile to do anything more at that point, as she left through the door. I had blown it. My chances with her were absolutely destroyed after ruining my first impression with her.

         But I couldn't get over her and the way I had messed up. It would never leave my thoughts. It felt as if my life would always revolve around that mistake until I died. For that reason, I couldn't just give up. I thought of new ideas to win her over again, though hundreds were no good before I reached the one I liked.

         I went out and bought new clothes, got myself a new haircut and got it dyed from blonde to brown, and stuck blue contact lenses in my eyes. I felt ridiculous as I saw myself in the mirror -- as did my co-workers -- but I was bound and determined to get my damn second chance with her.

         When I finally stumbled upon her again in that same bookstore coffee shop, I felt confident. I had used the last meeting as a learning experience. I had rethought through my conversations, imagining them a thousand different ways based on what I'd noticed of her, and I was sure of what I would be doing.

         "Hello!" I told her, casually walking towards her table. She looked at me and then around elsewhere to make sure it was her I was talking to.

         "Hi," she responded. "Do I know you?"

         "No, no, but I would really like you to know me. Can I sit with you?"

         She nodded and smiled. I noticed her slip her bookmark into her book, but she left the book open.

         "So," I began. "What's your name?"

         "Isn't it polite to introduce yourself first?" she asked.

         "Oh, right. Sure. My name's Scott Hewitt." Since I hadn't told her my name before, I smiled as I found myself able to tell her the truth.

         "Okay, Scott, well, my name is Elaina Rousseau."

         "Rousseau? Is that French?"

         "Yes," she said with a nod.

         "I see. Well, Elaina, how would you like to go on a date with me sometime? Maybe somewhere fancier?"

         She didn't answer right away, scaring me. Instead, she seemed to study me, looking me over as if searching for the zipper to my costume.

         "Are you sure we haven’t met before? You seem strangely familiar."

         I was beginning to lose my cool confidence. She was somehow on to me.

         "How?"

         "Your voice," she told me, pressing her thumb to her lips. "I've heard it somewhere before."

         "Oh?"

         "Are you a radio show host or something?"

         "Um...Why, yes, I am, actually. That's how you know my voice," I lied, trying to laugh it off. She didn't respond with her smile again, though.

         "Well, I don't date radio show hosts, sorry. I'm looking for a man to be my future husband."

         "I like kids."

         "I'm very sorry, Scott, it's just that I need someone who has at least gone to college."

         "What, you're more in the marriage for the money?"

         "No, that's not it," she said, finally closing her book. She was uneasy, shifting around in her chair. For once, I was the one trying to make eye contact, not her. "I need a man who can support my kids well and pay just as much of the bills as I do."

         "I really didn’t think you were that type of person." I was surprised at hearing what I was saying.

         "You have me all wrong, Scott. I'm not a gold-digger at all."

         "It sounds like it."

         "No."

         "You just won't give me a chance because I don't make enough money for you."

         "I can't," she insisted. "You have to understand."

         "Well, fine, damn it," I told her, standing up. "I suppose I'm not handsome enough for you either, or you could look past that."

         She was noticing the attention I was drawing towards us.

         "Scott," she tried to reason with me quietly. "You seem like a very nice guy, I just -- "

         "Whatever, God damn it!" I nearly shouted. "You'll never know just how much I wanted to be with you."

         I  burst through the doors out of the coffee shop, turning my face away from the windows. I couldn't let her see my tears. I knew I had overreacted, but nothing I could've truthfully said would have ever changed her mind. It was too much for me; I just couldn't listen to her reasons why I was not good enough for her. I had been wasting my time, all along.