Coffee Shop Confessions: "Briefly Meeting"

And I see you. Your eyes grow wide. They pull.

You lend a smile, but it's quickly erased. 

I tilt my head, squint my eyes, and the corners of my mouth lift.

I pour the coffee. I add a little cream, and stir. While I do, my eyes look down and away, and you look at me. You don't think I see. I don't. I feel. 

I finish making my coffee and walk away, but you blurt, "Have a good day!"

I pause for a moment, mid-step, turn around and say, "Thank you, you too."

I walk towards the register. I can still feel your pull.

I pay for the coffee. I look back. I can't see you, but I know you see me, and...

A ball of yarn so clever

Wakes rippled the waters. The speed boats sped. Engines sounded and sails sailed. The water sparkled as if a treasure trove of jewels was blanketed over it as the reflections shone onto the wall of the sunroom. And, the kitten played within the glass room that overlooked the beach, warmed over with the days that followed spring.

The cat, crouching behind the foot rest, pupils dilating, tail being held as stiff as still and it was about to pounce on the ball of yarn. The battle of wits began as the cat was there as quick as light by two giant leaps from behind the foot rest, from where it peered over to eye its pray; then, onto the couch and it struck the ball of yarn with claws out, giving a swift three jabs, right, left, right, but – the ball of yarn refused to give up. And so they sparred and the cat was convinced it was winning.

The owner watched the cat playfully toy with its amusement. The owner was amused, too, as the cat was her object of amusement and affection.  Although, sometimes before the kitten would attack, it would jump high. Higher than a knee of an average sized adult. Strait up, too! On occasion, a sneeze would alarm the kitten like the attention shattering fog horns that sounded near the water. The cat did not cause the sneezes. It was the dust that had settled over the many years the owner had not hired a housekeeper, seven to be exact, since she had gotten the kitten.

Now a cat at the tender age of seven, it grew tired. The yarn, that is. It didn’t move around as much as the owner would have liked it to but that was the natural tune of age. The lesser the energy of the yarn to offend was the more the cat didn’t defend itself. The wisdom of age will speak of at least one thing and the tone with which it would speak would sometimes suggest that not all battles neither have to be fought out of selfish defense nor offense. The yarn had nothing more to not disprove, and the owner was fine with that and so was the cat.

The longer the whiskers, the slender the body and the more regal and elegant the cat became as sometimes it would sit on its owner’s lap with front legs crossed.  Now that some grey was showing, the cat kneaded the owner more and more for comfort, staying on its lap for naps that seemed like the terrible length of dog day afternoons that dogs would often sigh on and on about, but –  the cat was content, happy and purred more so now that it felt its young age. Even though its appearance may have told a story of an old and tired cat, it was ripe with life and love; it no longer had that childish hurriedness that often accompanied immaturity and, outside, even the boats that sped seemed to slow and the treasure trove of sparkling jewels were not as dazzling as once had been before. They didn’t need to be.

So it was that life was coming to a cadence, a resolve and with it the cat reflected that the ball of yarn didn’t want to win. They were both never concerned with winning. For, now the ball of yarn and the cat and the owner were all content to be with one another, without conflict, with nothing left to prove other than the love for their selves and, in turn, for one another. They didn’t mean that, though – because the only thing that they cared about was their own sense of a true, happy and selfish lovingness.

Crazy don't know it's crazy

“Hey! Where are you? We’re on a short schedule. We have to get going! LET’S GO!” and she hammered the horn, no care that I was outside and already walking towards the car.

Her granddaughter got out of the passenger’s side and I was about to get in.

“Did you lock the door,” Ley asked as she passed me.

“No,” I said.

Ley squinted her eyes.

I grabbed for my pocket, raced to the door, unlocked it and hurried back towards the car.

“Sorry, Retta,” I said as she was tapping her finger on the steering wheel.

“You know I do what I do…I do for the best, no?” she said.

“I do, Retta” I said, closing the door.

The radio was playing Suspicious Minds. I’ve always enjoyed this song by the late, great Elvis. Could never go wrong with an oldie, but I didn’t tune the station, and I enjoyed it.

“Who put the toast in the toaster this morning?” she asked and sighed.

“Do you mean to say the bread?”

She took a deep breath in and said, “I don’t want any bread! We’re driving!”

“Oh, well, we’re going to the shoe store?”

“The Walmart. The shoe store is in the same parking lot.”

“Sounds good. I’ll walk over.”

“Good. Then I’ll drive over there after I get everything and I’ll pick you up. I have to go to the Dollar Tree now.”

“My feet hurt. I can’t wait to get some new shoes,” I said.

“Well, don’t walk!”

“How am I supposed to get places?”

“I’m driving you. What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Thanks for driving.”

We arrived at Walmart and got out.

I walked to the shoe store.

“Hello, can I help you find anything?” the shoe store attendant said.

“Where are the ten-and-a-halves? The athletic shoes, sneakers, what-have-you?”

“Right over this way,” and she waved her hand for me to follow.

“Oh, thanks. Yes, these will do,” as I eyed up the shoe rack.

“If you need anything else don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you,” I said.

A matter of seconds passed, and I picked up a pair of some grey and tan running shoes.

“Excuse me,” I said, “are there any other stools to sit on, so I can try out the shoes?”

“There’s one in each aisle. The next one over will have another. I know. Sorry. I realize with stocking these shelves I’m taking up the one in this aisle.

“No worries,” I said.

I sat and tried them on. I tightened the shoe laces. I stood and started walking, seeing if my heel and arch were supported enough so that they didn’t hurt when I walked. They didn’t. I walked a few more paces back and forth and sat down to take them off. I walked over to the next aisle where she was and said, “I’m ready to buy these. Would you be able to ring me out?”

“Would you like any socks to go with your purchase? They are two for ten today.”

I looked at the rack, where she was pointing, and I saw a pair of black and neon yellow socks.

I picked up the two sets of socks and said, “I’m ready,” and we both walked towards the register.

When I got outside with my bag-in-hand Retta was not there. I waited for a few moments and decided that I would walk over to the Dollar Tree to see if her car was still there. I did. I was only a few hundred feet away and saw it. Even if I had been wearing no eye glasses I’d still be able to see how crooked she parked.

I sat on the curb in front of the car and put the shoes on. They held my feet like a soft glove, and then I stood up, leaned against the car, placed the bag on top of the trunk and rested my back against it, looking towards the Dollar Tree.

I saw a person exiting the store. It was not Retta. There was a man, an elderly one, with a cane, and he was hunched over. He walked slowly, was thin and with each five to six steps he paused to catch his breath.

The old man walked to a car that was idling in the fire lane since I had been there, about five minutes ago. He got in but without haste. While he was entering his car a mini-van pulled up in front his. Apparently, the old man didn’t like that the mini-van was parked in front of his car. Even though he had enough space to get around the van he honked his horn as if it was his last dying wish for everybody to hear his frustration. He did this for the next two minutes, letting off the horn for only seconds at time and the driver in the mini-van honked back, just as needlessly. Birds took off from their perch upon hearing the obnoxious horn battle.

I chuckled – just a little.

Finally, the mini-van driver backed up only after flipping the man the finger and cursing him. I only saw the violent hand and mouth gestures. The old man pulled out but not before revving his engine, squealing his tires and honking his horn but one more time. Despite how old the man was he certainly still had some fight left within him.

Then, Retta came out of the store.

She put the bags in the back seat, we got in and she started the car.

We were on our way back home.

Now, we were only one stop sign away from the house. Retta was talking to me and not paying too much mind to the road. From what I could see as I raced to put my seat belt on and to grab the door handle – there Retta was unknowingly playing chicken with an oncoming car. She noticed I was tense and only then did her eyes dart from me to the road, and she honked her horn. She didn’t even attempt to get out of the oncoming lane that she was half way in. In fact, I think she pulled a little more towards the wrong side of the road.

I counted my blessings.

At the last moment, she swerved to the correct side of the road.

We passed the oncoming car, and we could both hear the driver yelling some nasty words.

She yelled back and went onto say to me, “You see!? People around here are crazy, aren’t they?”

I held my breath and tongue and agreed by nodding my head. I was only relieved when she parked the car and pulled the key from the ignition. Only then was I happy to be alive.

We parked and I asked, “Would you like me to carry anything in?”

“No,” she said, “you’re carrying the stuff in!”

“Sure thing, Retta,” and she carried on as if nothing had happened.

The Butterfly and the Chameleon

A butterfly sat on a rock. He threw his left leg over the right and held his little hand to his bubbly chin. He stared into the setting sun but just to the side enough so that he would not be blinded.

A chameleon walked. He waddled back and forth, using only his two hind legs. When he stopped he propped himself at the foot of the rock and looked up to the butterfly.

“Charlie,” the chameleon started, "What do ya think we’re doing here? The sun is setting and Alexander hasn't shown up yet. I’m starting to get a little worried that she might not make it.”

“Just blend in with the surroundings and everthing’ll be okay. Butterflies are harmless but people don’t much like lizards.”

“But, Charlie, I don’t think we should be here. I am getting scared.”

“Listen, Barry, just blend in, be quiet, Alexander will show and we'll be on our way!”

Barry did that but not happily. He threw his arms in the air, huffed and grimaced. The chameleon blended into the surroundings and held his tongue.

Charlie turned his head and Barry’s ear pricked. They felt the loud footsteps that beat the ground as loud as a stampeding elephant would.

“Hey, Charlie! Is that you on that rock over there,” someone yelled.

Nobody answered.

“Hey, Charlie, you over there!?”

The ground shook violently as Barry turned round and almost lost his footing. The rock was a mere half size of Alexander’s foot.

“Yes, Alexander, over here I am. Over here!”  Charlie said, waving his hands.

“I see you!” Alexander said and quickly halted, nearly sliding into the rock.

Barry peered over, still hidden. The slight whites of his eyes twinkled.

“Hey,” Alexander said, “What is that over there?" she said and pointed, "I see something. Looks like two little specks.”

Alexander knew already that Barry's wit would be nowhere near as bright as the sun's light, as she easily spotted him hiding in plain sight.

Alexander called over to the two little specks, “Hey, whatcha doing over there? You wanna come and play with us? You don’t have to fit in with everything else. You can be different with us.”

Charlie said, “Hey, come on out. Alexander has seen you. You can start being yourself.”

“Aww, gee, Charlie, thanks. I was getting all alone being by myself and everything.”

“Hi, my name is Alexander. How are you?”

Barry hesitated, turned to Charlie and said, “Gee, am I allowed to talk to her, Charlie? She kinda scares me. I don’t know what’s going on here.”

“Yes, Alexander is a friend. Think of how we are friends only now you have someone else to talk to.”

“Aww, gee, Charlie, I’m still a little scared. Nobody has ever been like this before. I only know who you are.”

“It’s okay. She’s nice. She won’t hurt you."

Charlie turned to Alexander and said, "Lean down and put your hand out. Just let him climb up. He’s a little bashful sometimes. He’s never talked to anyone else before.”

“Poor guy. Why? Doesn't he get out much?”

“He’s shy. He just blends in with everything else. Sorta like he is there but not. Just like a chameleon, you know.”

“What’s his name?”

“Barry.”

Barry shook. He could barely make eye contact. He looked towards her, away and back and away and…

“Barry, come on up. Climb up on my hand. Don’t let your fear ruin your fun. Just come on up and we’ll be friends. I won’t hurt you.”

“Aww, gee, Charlie, I don’t feel so good.”

“Barry, come on now. Just climb on up her hand.”

“But, Charlie, you said people don’t much like lizards,” and Barry pouted his lips and squinted his eyes. He almost cried, but he inched towards Alexander’s hand anyway.

“There you go, Barry, just come on up. We’ll be friends. Everything will be okay once you know who I am,” Alexander said.

“Gee, Charlie, this feels awfully uncomfortable. Am I gonna be alright? I don’t wanna die or anything.”

“Barry, come on, you’re okay. Alexander and I have been friends since I came out of my cocoon. Now it’s your turn.”

“Gee, Charlie, but I’m not a butterfly though.”

“Barry, Charlie means that you’ll open up. You’ll be able to be okay with being seen by others. You won’t have to worry about hiding yourself anymore. You’ll be as free as a butterfly but not one itself.”

“Well, gee, guys, I guess that sorta, kinda makes sense. Thanks for being so nice and stuff. This makes me feel better.”

“That’s what friends are for, Barry, now come on. Let's go to go to the picnic table. We can all sit by the fire and have fun.”

Alexander placed Barry on her shoulder. She gracefully walked towards the picnic table so Barry could easily keep his balance. Charlie flew besides them. They sat by the fire, talked and were all comforted in the fact that they could all be friends.

No, thank you!

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! started an unnecessarily rude bang at my bedroom door.

I got myself out of bed and put my feet to the floor. I dragged them as a grumpy, insolent adult would upon going to a dentist's office.

"Hey, wake up!" she said as I did that.

"What do you want!?"

"You can't sleep all day."

"It's only ten o' clock," I yelled through the door.

"Doesn't matter. If I'm up then you're up!"

"Alright," I said while rubbing my eyes.

The footsteps walked away and I found myself in an unpleasant mood. I groaned and moaned, cursing to myself after having only four hours of sleep and abhorring being rudely awoken. Today was not going to be a good day.

A friend picked me up to go out and my irritation hung around like a nasty, nostril clenching odor does when lingering in a hallway when there is no exit. Each sound that he made like clearing his throat, clicking his teeth, swallowing, breathing or hearing the window roll down agitated me; even out of the corner of my eye when he took a look at my miserable face I just wanted to tear him apart with an unneeded caustic diatribe and say, "Don't look at me."

The whole day went by and I nearly said nothing.

During the ride home I did manage to say, "You see that font on the back of the truck?"

"You mean where it says the word 'Aaron'?"

"Yes."

"I have this feeling inside of me; an irrational irritation; a feeling that I can't put into reason; what this feeling is suggesting is that font is horrible, and I hate it, loathe it and the people who put it on the truck should not have and they should die because it hurts my eyes."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I was rudely awoken, and for some reason things that wouldn't normally bother me are. That is why I wasn't speaking much today. I didn't want to say anything that I would later regret. That happens sometimes when I'm irritable. I am just in a bad mood and not as a result of anything other than, I guess, my own inner workings. Like all people, sometimes, well, today is just a bad day," I said, sighed and continued, "Now if it were to last several weeks I may become concerned but I'll just write it off as a bad day for now."

"Well, isn't that how all negative feelings are?"

"Like what?"

"The person who designed the font is not out to get you. Something makes you want to believe that to justify that ill willed feeling or temperament. The people who designed the font on the back of the truck didn't intend to piss you off specifically. At least you recognize that your irritability is simply a state of mind, a product of your own inner workings and just a temporary one at that. Usually most things negative are just a result of the person contriving them to be so; they are not that way naturally. Sometimes we just want them to be to give reason to that unsettling feeling, to justify, hopefully abolish the irritability in the process given that the reason for your feeling of negativity is what you are giving it. But it is not. Think of it like this; since the dust is already unsettled as your bad mood is unsettled, compared to a neutral and baseline state of mind, the things that come into your mind are not being clearly seen, they are distorted by your current negative mind-state. Not only that but that you are also able to speak to this issue shows a willingness to accept your state of mind instead of evading, averting, escaping it or blaming it on something else other than yourself. You're taking responsibility and holding only yourself accountable for that negative feeling. If you'll notice, you are still able to practice mindfulness despite this negative feeling wanting to distract you from just that -- that is where people can go wrong in dealing with a feeling such of this nature. Plainly, you understand your agitation is not a result of someone or something other than yourself. The ability to express such a thing rationally, with me, and to not beat me down in the process and that you were able to keep your mouth shut for fear of saying something regrettable but opened it to discussion in order to understand it rather than to criticize it, hurt someone, well,  that shows great restraint, an amazing amount of restraint and discipline towards your human condition, our human condition. Effectively, you kept your mind and reality in check! I want to say I am impressed and happy to see progress with something like that -- in anybody, for that matter, and that you weren't so selfish as to ruin my day too!

The only response I gave was a nod and a silence then followed for the remainder of the car ride. I felt better and even better that I didn't have anything to feel bad about as a result of my irritated mood. The ruffle was my irritability and the diamond was my mindfulness and the unsettled dust that needed to be cleared in order to acknowledge this insight was a misunderstanding towards my bad mood that without my friend I may have never been able to settle.

The brakes slightly squealed. The car had stopped and so had my irritability.

I got out and said, "Thank you."

We both then waved and I went into the house. But, as he was driving off I could hear him say, "No, thank you!" And, into the house I went -- smiling.

My face grimaced, lips pursed. My nostrils flared and eyes glared. That font on the back of the truck was a Gothic font.
— Nik (@Nik_Bertino) June 15, 2014

The dog who knew too much

His name was Harry. He was a good dog. He was gentle. He was caring and considerate, cordial and coordinated in his efforts to please. Not a day would go by without him eyeing his owner, checking, looking and listening for what he may do next. Whenever his owner would walk the house he'd be just a step behind. When his owner would turn, then Harry sat, and went into his downward dog position. What the owner did next was walk and Harry did that too.

Breakfast was served to Harry in the morning. The food was dry but in the center was the moist food. Harry only ate the center and left the rest to snack throughout his dog day afternoons. The days weren't as long as a dog would have you believe. He laid, listened, perked his ears up occasionally and very seldom barked. The only time Harry barked was if there was an awkward knock or sometimes when his owner showed a deeply caring and compassionate look letting Harry know he was truly loved, that everything is and will forever be okay. For, a day without Harry would be a day without his best friend, buddy and companion.

Harry had gray eyes. In the night they glistened blue. In the deadest dark Harry's cool blue eyes shined like turquoise. Harry knew his owner's birthday was in December and Harry would always here that story. The story of how his owner was born the day before Capricorn took its sign but that was just balderdash to Harry. He listened but rarely ever heard.

The times in which the owner lived were not tough, for Harry always had his dinner, a warm place in the winter and a cool place in the summer but it was the transitional seasons that were the hardest for him. Going from one season to the next took months and sometimes Harry labored over the change. The reluctance Harry felt was overwhelming sometimes but he knew change happened and that the best thing to do was just to roll with it.

Sometimes Harry and the owner would leave the house. They would do that when they couldn't sit still but Harry always could -- sit still.

The owner at times would look sad. Harry could see it but his owner couldn't. There was something that was bothering him and that also bothered Harry. Sometimes Harry would go up and lick his owner's hand but that wasn't enough and his owner just pushed him away. Harry let him be. He was a dog. What more could he do?

The owner at times would look happy. Harry could see it and his owner could too. There were somethings that didn't bother him and also didn't bother Harry. Sometimes Harry would frolic, balance on his hind legs and yip a little to enjoy in the joy his owner felt. His owner would get up and dance with Harry. They danced together to music, no music. Harry let him be. He was a dog. What more couldn't he do?

Harry obviously wasn't able to speak in the human sense. He couldn't tell a lie either and had no secrets. There are no secrets to have if there wasn't anything to be hidden or revealed. Harry knew a lot but just too little for anyone to have any kind of stake in his silence. Silence to Harry meant nothing but all the world to his owner.

A solitary life, Harry, his owner and the occasional visitor. Maybe every now and again a love interest would stop by but never for long and never over night. But they never went upstairs for Harry, him and when his love interest were there just conversed in front of the TV or while the radio played and sometimes there was just complete, dead and utter silence. Harry enjoyed the smooth sounds of conversation that caressed his dog ears as sometimes they would perk up.

Years and years went by and by and time just seemed to fly. The man Harry knew was changing and Harry was too. He was getting slower and his eyes drooped. At times Harry had a hard time walking but his owner helped him. He would carry him to the yard so Harry could do his essential business. Harry also had a hard time getting to the food bowl, even. Harry knew he didn't have too much time left. He knew that knowing that was too much. He knew his owner knew that about him too and Harry just looked him in the eyes and they both stared at each other and Harry knew he knew.

The car ride was a peaceful one. Harry just laid in the back looking towards his owner but not at him. Harry thought he was looking at him but his owner knew he was not. His owner knew Harry didn't know that he couldn't see.

Harry was picked up and carried into a building. Harry looked towards sounds but even then faintly heard them. Harry was calm, quiet and content. He took his trip with a sense of pride knowing that he knew too much. He knew the world was too caring to let him live any longer and that both the world and his owner deeply cared for him.

Harry's owner handed Harry over.

Harry yipped a little and was too tired to continue for the length of the injection.

With that his owner left but not before leaning down and as Harry took his last breath, he looked into his owner's eyes, being able to see them -- barely-- and barked, but not a bark for an awkward knock; that never happened. And, Harry became motionless. His owner cradled him, said his goodbyes, left and rode home, home to the memory of Harry, home to know that there is no place like home so long as his best friend was not there.

Years and years later, after never having another Harry, Harry and his owner reconnected, reunited and there, together, they both slipped into a peaceful, deep and lasting sleep -- forever -- together.