Caffeine and Hell

I walked into the coffee shop just in time for The Beatles to sing, “Nothing is real” over the speakers. Everyone in the shop looked up at me. Not all of a sudden, but one by one as if God called on them to take attendance. Was there something on my face? I tried to be as subtle as possible, pulling out my phone to check for large gashes or smeared makeup. I’d love to delude myself into thinking it was because of my beauty, but I’ve always been a painfully average person. When I visit other states, people are convinced they recognize me. I always have to say, “I just look like everybody else.”

I was wearing all of my clothes. Have you ever had one of those dreams where you show up somewhere with no pants on?

When I got to the counter, the barista looked down at the register, almost out of shame. She had a vague sense of familiarity, like I’d run into her during one of those pantless dreams.

“For Ellie, right?” she asked after I ordered.

“Uh...yeah.”

I walked to the end of the counter to wait for my drink. I looked at the patrons, talking and laughing with each other, still stealing glances at me. My nightmare. But, as I looked closer at each one, recognition set in – like the song you heard over and over as a kid and forgot existed. Then, one innocent day scanning the radio, all of the lyrics and memories and heartaches come back.

Which is what happened in this moment.

“Oh, my god.” I accidentally said out loud.

I watched memories of a dating app like a slide show as I declined option after option. Too fat, too skinny, not funny, looks like they’d ruin my life, drinks too much, doesn’t drink enough. Has no friends, has too many friends, etc. Each face attached to a profile loomed in my brain as if projected onto the wall.

I snuck a glance at the barista, who, already looking at me, shot her eyes down to the counter and rushed to write on a sticky note.

I was about to sprint out the door, fuck my coffee, when I thought – Why don’t I stay? What would happen? The slideshow in my head turned to memories of leaving, running, avoiding – whether from people or discomfort I couldn’t be sure (or possibly both). What if, for once in my life, I stuck around to see the end of the movie? What if there was a happy ending?

But, there wasn’t. All I got was twenty minutes of awkward silence and a bad coffee.