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| Illustrations: Reflections on a glass. |
Posted by
Sticupus on Friday, August 23, 2002 - 04:24 AM PST
Warm and crisp the day had been most of it wasted by sleep and relaxing. Reflecting on the weeks past, I cooked myself breakfast. I lounged around for bit longer binging. I ate until I realized that my appetite was not hunger of the culinary kind. How trite it may seem to some, but I needed cuddling, biting, or in other words a goth boy. You know the feeling we have all been there.
I took a long relaxing shower, put on my last of my clean clothes, and set off into the hot humid day. The sky was pure solid blue, dotted with dense, sparse, tiny, white clouds. It was a sky like no other: a rainbow without storm clouds or rain arched on the horizon. I felt water droplets fall on my skin, not enough to be rain, not even a mist, somewhere between mist and fog. Directly above me were no clouds that could deliver rain. So strange it was but it felt wonderful.
I rode my bicycle, to the shopping plaza by my house. Looked about the Goodwill, found a lovely suit I cannot afford and left. I rode further until I reached a small coffee shop, privately owned, that had always intrigued me (I had never been inside).
It had a blunt name “Cafe Cappuccino”, and the inside was dark. It was late and the sun was the only source of illumination in the small establishment. The floors were black and red checkered, the walls and ceiling- red with black trim. A stone-faced Egyptian owned the cafe, and it was kept by two Cubans. This pleased me because the environment suggested Italian. No Italians in sight, I smiled at the irony.
The two Cubans were wonderful. The man was pale, handsome, with dark features. He wore black. The woman was pretty with pale, dark eyes and well-bleached hair, and she wore a tight brightly colored garment. Both were at a comfortable thirty in age. They reflected each other perfectly. This pleased me: more teeth came forward.
“Can I get you something?” The Cuban man asked.
I paused and looked upon the menu before me. They didn’t seem like they did much business, however their menu was extensive. This pleased me; the smile on my face grew more. ‘Italian sodas’ one line read, and I was reminded suddenly of a lovely post written by a certain Callei.
“What flavors do your Italian sodas come in?” I asked.
He made a hand gesture or two to help him speak “Oh, uh... We have cherry, raspberry, orange, tangerine, lemon, blueberry, and blackberry...”.
I referred to Callei's post in my head. I paused and thought for a few seconds then said, “Do you have lime?”
My grin at this moment was gentle, yet manic. My body language confused the Cuban and he gave me looks of suspicion. It all was very entertaining to me.
I ordered that and a piece of expensive non-flour chocolate cake. He said he would bring it to my table. I choose a nice seat where I could see the mellow late afternoon sun. My food came soon after. Dinner I called it.
The Italian soda was not what I had expected. I thought it would be light flavored syrup dissolved in soda water. The Cuban had done something magical to it. He blended it with ice, and the carbonation must have exploded because it was like foam. Whipped cream and a bright red cherry topped the creation. It was not in a "glass glass", but a beveled plastic one.
My first sip... Wonderful (say that in your head slow and breathy). It was like cool soothing air, yet not quite. It had not the consistency of liquid or air, rather like the strange delicious air that had created the rainbow earlier.
Now to the cake I had ordered: It was created to be pure pleasure to whoever should eat it. The Ghirardelli sticker on the cafe door assured me that I wasn’t imagining that the chocolate was of obvious quality. Much like love the cake was: filled with pure passion and bliss.
Back and forth; the drink, the creamy cake, it all reminded me of so many things I had encountered in the weeks past. I choose lime for my first boyfriend. Nice and gentle, pure and innocent was our situation: just like the flavor in the glass, the consistency of the drink, the power of the chocolate, and the beauty in the air. All of it was making me nostalgic, yet I was content with where I was now.
My first goth boy had subconsciously tickled my appetite and led me to the coffee shop so I realized.
I ate more of the lust cake, and went over to my Italian soda. It was almost finished, but over time, it had changed. It had become dense, and tasteless, the whipped cream blotted the sides on its journey down the inside of the glass. It no longer looked appetizing, but icky.
So much like my boyfriend: good at first, then cold and emotionless. It beckoned me to complete it. It glared at me wanting me to drink it down, acting like it would taste like it had before, but I knew better. The abused want to be abused or want to abuse.
I finished the cake, and left the remaining drink in the glass. I wanted no more of that particular flavor of lime. The lime was bitter in the end, but the chocolate was more rewarding and it over powered the cons and the taste. Not such a bad experience, as learning experience it was. I paid the handsome Cuban and left the cafe.
On the table, reflections danced on the still cold glass.
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| Reflections on a glass. | Login/Create an account | 4 Comments |
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Re: Reflections on a glass.
by Sticupus (sticupus@hotmail.com)
on Aug 25, 2002 - 08:14 PM
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Today I walked back into the little cafe. This place is bizarre and oddly prophetic. I ordered a Gyro and a large glass of water, and what did I find floating about in my water? a large slice of lime. Not a lemon wedge like the average place would provide, but a lime slice. What an interesting surprise it was, as was meeting a new guy today too. A blue eyed, sane, Italian.
This new lime slice seems interesting, I wonder what will become of it. Aside from that, I am growing an obsession with this surreal cafe. Every time I walk into it, the food symbolically reflects my life or seems to say something, like it is more than food, but a fortune or mirror of sorts. It is so strange. Must be the combination of Cuban and Egyptian influences in a Italian atmosphere; it warps space time. :D
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