To Ease My Conscience

I merely ascribed you to the masses who wander into this little oasis of coffee and muffled music. But you were different and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I knew you had been up all night and your scant clothing suggested other than ethical reasons for the tired look in your eyes. You gulped down your coffee like one seeking to warm something much colder than the chill bumps that covered your arms, like one trying to reawaken a place that the caffeine couldn't even begin to reach.

My heart went out to you, but I couldn't find the courage or means to strike up a simple conversation. So I brewed another batch of coffee and stared at you courageously while you weren't looking, hating myself for my yellowbelliedness.

“Perhaps you'll come back” I thought, trifling with my mind to ease my conscience. Its not like you would've opened up to a pretentious, presumptuous girl with a heady faith and the uncanny ability to say a lot of nothing in too many words.

You came in early. Earlier than the majority of our customers. Your gray-streaked, wind-blown hair was frizzy due to the rain. Your face was scrubbed clean . You later shuffled into the bathroom to apply the contents of your worn faux-leather purse to your face. The dress you donned was intended for someone younger, someone thinner. I wondered, almost aloud, where your coat could be this blistery morning. As I continued to judge your appearances, I shifted my gaze to your knee-high scuffled boots that looked like the ones I had dropped off at Goodwill three years ago.

Your manner was not harsh or cold, but paradoxically, aloof and direct. You spoke loudly, with forced correct grammar, like a hesitant speaker of another language. Your voice was raspy and you looked like you wanted to accompany your coffee with a cigarette. You appeared nervous and sat away from the window, yet kept checking your phone and periodically jumped up and scurried to the front door to check for someone.

I walked past you a few times after I filled your order, hoping to gain the fortitude to say something, anything that would let you know that I knew and cared anyway. But you looked down and muttered “thanks” when I brought you your coffee and cinnamon roll. Once, when I walked by with a basket of fruit from the back cooler, you smiled back at me with your charcoal-lined eyes.

An influx of customers came as the sun awakened our little bustling town. Once they were served and gone, so were you.

It's days like today that make me wonder how close the Kingdom comes to me and yet I back away, too afraid to engage.