Chapter V

Augustine gets closer to reaching out to the "Weaver" and loses all hope after another disappointing event.

Dear Weaver,

The porch light switched on and the blinds were shut. I turned around and left the front door of Luke's house. I confessed the truth to him. I cannot love him. I cannot be with him and continue acting as if I am happy, it would all be a lie. I never wanted to be with him. Yet, my main concern is why I cannot bring myself to the counter of the Briony Bistro without clenching my jaws and tightening my fists?

Not many things change around Cheyenne, Colorado, especially its finest coffee bistro. Briony was certain to remain unchanged, and it was known for its low-priced comfort and high quality coffees, juices, espressos, and dining. The customers of the bistro would always be frequent visitors and I would converse with nearly all of them and have a cup of coffee with a few. The comforting atmosphere makes me feel closer to you, but I always seem to stir myself further away by the day. My nerves shock and my stomach twists endlessly, restraining me from doing anything I would- or would not regret. Time frames and stressful capacity leave me at the bistro with an overload on top of my shoulders. I cannot imagine living with “what ifs” for the rest of my life, Weaver.

The thought of you leaving or quitting the bistro remains abhorrent in my head. It would all tie down to whether I would ever lose the chance to talk to you, or if I would never see you again. Both thoughts rush the blood to my head. My thoughts are abridged, and the memories created at the bistro with the few moments I conversed with you, were quite the gratification. I could mainly remember the moments where, even with my peers, I would be loud as everybody would stare.

Today, I gathered with old friends in a very grieving moment. Pete's father had passed away two nights ago due to a heart attack. I could not imagine the difficulty that he would have to live in for a while. He buries his sadness in refreshed happiness, which is only the start of the grieving process. Recovery comes after. I felt guilty I could not attend the funeral because I was out of town. Pete, however, understands that it is not my fault, but I still wished I could be there for him. Although, I do not believe that funerals should exist. It only covers the grievers' sympathy, making the stages of sorrow longer. Funerals also have the potential to cause feuds and betrayal, especially if one does not stop by. Showing condolences should be given and felt by heart, not by respect and morality. Seeing the griever one to one and comforting them.  I wish I understood why people with a good soul and a pure heart have to face such tragedy. Yet, there are several reasons for any given inconceivable crisis, no matter what it may be. The reason may even remain impossible to human conception. Even though Pete saves lives every day, something must be sacrificed in life in order to continue its cycle. But Pete knows that Andy, Rachel, Mario and I will always be there for him, no matter where we would be by the end of the day.

Andy had not been so successful at his recent record deal, due to distractions at his job, lately. Working as a business man and a rock star was a clash for him, but he still perseveres until the day is over. Rachel had decided to further her desire for helping people by providing excellent therapy for them and opening her own art exhibition of the human mind. Her passion had always been art since she was a kid, and now she decided to make an exhibition where she paints her patients emotions and surrounds them around blue calming walls. From our gatherings, I could tell she is proud and content with her job. For Mario, however, his company involved a lot of sales. He is a co-owner for EcoGreen Company. He assists in saving the planet each day, by supplying households and other companies with weatherized appliances and utility. Business is heavy there, leaving him stressed out each time we gather. We all save lives every day and we all share our thoughts, which is why stress is relieved over talking and a cup of coffee.

I entered the bistro and my thoughts spun around my head. Hoping that you would be there in the calm evening, I was also hoping summer would end soon. I had enough of the blasphemous heat, and fall had always been my favorite season. Sweatshirts, pumpkin spice, apple cider, Halloween and fallen leaves are my specialties. As Simon & Garfunkel, “Mrs. Robinson” was playing inside the bistro, I could spot you sitting on my favorite couch. The one on the farthest corner. I caught you staring at me, and again I look away. My face flushed. When you hurried up to the counter, I could not resist but smile and speak to you, again.

“You don't need to rush, it's only coffee.” I joked.

“Well when it comes to coffee, people are usually very demanding.” Your quiet laugh echoed into my ear drums. The black flannel shirt you had on that day was the same one you had on the first time I spoke to you.

Your eyes shifted to my hands, and I waited for my coffee, remaining silent. Again, we only spoke a few words. You handed me the coffee and I gently grasped onto the mug. Why did you have to do it again? Your hands softly brushed against mine. I froze and I was afraid to look up to your compelling, dark brown eyes this time. But something forced my eyes towards yours, they were locked. Smiling you removed your hand, and asked me,

“So why do you not come here as much as you used to.” Shifting to my right, you smiled and gazed back at me, again.

“I... well I have been quite busy, lately. I just can't find the time.” I lied. I never lie Weaver. It is in my book of promises to never sin. But I may not tell you the cold truth for a very long time.

My companions were already sitting down. I heard a little bit of smirking as I walked back. It did not matter though. I enjoy watching other people smile, and for that matter I smirked back. I sat down and noticed you had another customer. Until you finally took her order, I waited for you to walk by the which couch I sat on, hoping you would strike another conversation. My eyes strolled along the glass table as more Simon & Garfunkel played from the stereo. Your taste in music impressed me, and so did the way you approached me.

Turning around and leaving the counter I sat still. Focused on the subject of conspiracies my friends and I debated over, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and my heart dropped. I was in complete befuddlement. My friends said hi, casually, as I stood up. Is it time to take that stand? I thought to myself.

“Can I talk to you, for a minute. Please.” You asked, and my arms crossed in front of me.

“Yes, sure.” I followed you outside to the long stairs.

“I never expected that I would ever do this, but I need a favor from you. And please, if you take it to heart, or you are bothered just let me know. I know we are still somewhat strangers, but you need to understand.”

I nodded in confusion and curiosity, “I'm listening. You shouldn't have to worry, unless I do.” My ego imploded again. “But your, lady, she is here.” I pointed towards your girlfriend, or whatever she may be, as she gracefully walked down the stairs.

I recall you trying to stop me with your ebony eyes. But you know you cannot do so, Weaver. Face it, neither can I. You stood up a tried to explain, “Listen I-”, grumbling you tugged onto your long brown hair.

“I can't, I'm sorry, I really should... go.” I walked back into the bistro furiously.

“What happened?” Rachel asked me with her divine, caring and therapist sincerity.

I looked down, trying to fight back my raging sympathy. Andy, Mario and Pete looked at me in concern. I told them I was fine. But I really was not. You know how to entice me into your substantial pain. I cannot appease it at all. When the only time I feel connected to you is when we are far apart. The closer I reach to you, the more fear grows into the palms of my hands. Something must always go wrong, or I would fear getting close to you just for that reason. The blood rushed to my head again, and my wrists were burning. I felt like I wanted to leave the place before I shed a tear before you. That is something I could not live with. Weaver, I may have been cold and heartless my whole life, and I promised myself to remain that way until I died. But you seem to puncture another gap into my path, if I am not mistaken. This is not just an obstacle. I cannot just have feelings for somebody for eight months. I cannot contain myself or resist this time. Your mixed signals are confusing me and now I cannot sleep another night without wondering what you wanted to say. Weaver, a sign will always remain on my door, and the hours put into this book were brewed by the coffee created by your hands.

Augustine

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the chapter. A conversation and a new opening for hope. I like the way the story is moving. You give enough to keep the reader interested. I like the closing lines to the excellent chapter.
Coyote