Nay (Part One)

After having one hour on the bus, changing two central bus stops, here I am now. Wondering what the hell I am doing here. What is it I am seeking? Memory? Satisfaction?

Four years leaving this city, I feel like an alien. I almost get lost without this small directory note from my brother. One thing that I am familiar with: the hot, polluted air from the vehicle. I waved my hand to banish the dark atmosphere from my face.

The coffee shop is standing a few meters away attracting my sight.

Is it still there?

My heart is beating wildly. I run into the porch, and I smell bitter-sweet from the shop. Despite my nervousness ever since I stepped on the alley, I admit that I feel old homey that makes an explosion in my chest. I can't hold a smile longer. It sends me back years ago when I was wearing a white-grey uniform with long straight dark hair.

I found some differences here, the paints, the name tag, the bleachers. But they don't change the feeling home here.

I close my eyes for seconds and start to imagine the old coffee shop. Laughter, friendly chatters, soft music, doorbell, and the owner's clap to call his barista. I really missed all of these when I was in New York, so visiting this was one of my few things that made me cry.

One of two, actually.

I missed this location because of the reminiscence in the scene. It's where I had my first date with him.

On my flight home, I had promised myself that it would be my first place I visited after I had arrived. And now, just two days after I arrive in my home town, here I am.

I have to find out if it's still here.

I push open the glass door, hear the familiar bells jingling from above. I am completely taken back by how nothing has really changed. I could even spot the regular customers mingling with one another. Am I the only one who has actually left town? Have these people been here all along when I was gone? Has the old man in gray tweed coat been sipping his espresso all these times while I traveled the road of Manhattan, walked along fifth Avenue, sunbathed in West Coast? Has the woman in the red sweater aged at all as she sits there laughing with her girlfriends? Has the mildew stain on the wall near the bathroom been cleared at all?

I am smiling. It is totally homey.

I go to the window near the counter. Sit on the chair and touch the surface of the window frame. I find what I was looking for, two initials craved. It's still here. 

I wave my hand in the air. A young barista looks up and smiles, "Morning. What can I get you?"

"I'll have a tall signature coffee to go, please. And, um do you still have the strawberry short-cake? I'll have that –"

"Either my sight has failed or I am seeing my most favorite angel in life ...."

I turn, surprised, and feel a grin lift up my entire face when I see whose the bass voice belongs. "Mewborn!" I cry at the owner, giving the old man with graying hair a big bear hug. "Great seeing you!"

"Didn't know you were back in town!" he shows coffee-stained teeth. "Missing your strawberry short cake, kid?"

I laugh. "I can't run away from the sweetness of it!"

"High school was long time ago, and you don't change that taste!" Mewborn gives the nod to his barista behind the counter. "Give this kid anything she wants, on the house!"

"Mewborn, you don't have to -"

"That's the way I homecoming my favorite!" he looks at me in the eye. "Why did you get that coffee to go anyway? What's the rush?"

"I –"I am looking for an answer. "I have stuffs to do!"

After a few heartwarming chats with nice old Mewborn, I am left alone at the pick-up counter waiting for my order. Minutes later, I thank the barista for the food and places some generous tips inside the jar. But, I remember something, I left my direction memo on the counter near the window. I go back and take the note by glancing at the initial crave for the last time. Then my feet remain frozen. There is something below it. I focus my sight, trying to read that.

You'll be my forever.

He is not here, isn't he? I look around the cafe in alarm. I feel dizzy all of a sudden. My memory goes back to the time when all hell broke loose. When confessions were made, when he sat in front of me with his head hung low, when he uttered the heart-stabbing words of not being able to choose, when I felt pain like nothing I ever experienced before, when I let him see some tear shed on my face, when I hurt him with a goodbye, when I left him in the parking lot and making him vow to never bother me again for the rest of my life for the first time, when I said things that I never really meant.

My hands are trembling, I grip my brown takeaway bag tighter. Rushing reaching the exit then mumbling 'excuse me' to the people I accidentally bump into.

"Nay –,"

That's a familiar voice.

"You're back!"

A face that I miss shows up. He is taller, has more muscle than I remember. His smile still fires a spark inside my chest. I smell his perfume in the air, the same fragrance that I was used to smelling when I was in his hug.

All of these are feel like a trap.

"Hi ... you're here, too."

"Yeah, I have a family meeting. And you?"

"It's my first comeback."

"Well, you're a real dream catcher ...."

I freeze. I don't know what I should say.

"It's a compliment."

I nod once. Then air blows his smell again. I couldn't hold it any longer. I should go. "Umm, I am sorry. I have to go. Nice to meet you here!"

"Nay, I'm gonna get engage!" He pronounces it clearly.

I chocked.