That Slice of Chocolate Cake

Here we are again – together at the coffee shop, our second home.

But today was not like the others.

The sky outside was bright and blue, sunrays penetrated the large tinted glass panes bringing in a warm glow across the Celtic-patterned walls, in contrast to what was often the wet and cloudy days that shot white light through clear windows. How uncanny this would reflect the many years that have passed, and how we have grown. Or maybe just how I feel: aged in wisdom, a master of inner peace, enjoying a quiet afternoon…. I feel old. I used to have energy to face all things, from battling imaginary childhood monsters in the back garden to planning the next bicycle adventure across the river to neighboring towns. But on this very day, it has been brought to my attention just how much has changed. Today is the first time I have been back in over ten years. It was a delight to discover Cottage Coffee on the Corner was still in operation, with a few upgrades including those fancy brown windows and some modern espresso machines. I wanted to savor what was familiar, which thankfully, was not that difficult. The distinct aroma had not changed one bit – dark roasted French beans with a hint of skunk and jasmine. I am an adult today. I forsook my longtime beverage of hot chocolate with heavy whipped cream to pursue this distinguished staple. Of course this was not my first cup of coffee. I have had many since I had left. But today, I would finally enjoy the coffee of my hometown, amongst the other things that had changed.

The baristas I did not know, but they were likely relatives of Papa Gram and Aunt Rose. Those rounded blue eyes and puffy cheeks ran in their family. I used to spend all my days here since my parents worked several towns over. How strange those days were, I had so much freedom and no worries. But my favorite part was spending all those days with the man now seated at the niche in the back. Pierre Toussaint. It had to be him. Same dusty blonde hair and angular nose. He sported a goatee now, though. I would have called him my boyfriend had I understood the term at the time. After school we would both make our way to the shop and wait for our families to get off of work. Aunt Rose would keep watch over us and when we weren’t helping her clean, we were living out our imaginations. Today, Pierre was reading a book, which I had never seen him do. He was also absently grazing on a slice of chocolate cake. He had hated chocolate cake. We had hated chocolate cake. But worst of all, my old seat was taken. There was a woman seated in front of him, picking at the same cake and also engrossed in another book. I should be thankful. I did not expect to see him here today. Many years have passed. Who would have thought I had dreams and expectations that would be met with reality today? This door, this story-line and potential pathway in my journey has now come to an end. But it is okay. I have over a decade’s worth of practice managing unexpected circumstances and stress. How in an instant has my memory of this old town shifted? This is part of the process, is it not? Of growing up? And accepting realities? I need to be creating new dreams and building new roads! I too will order a slice of chocolate cake.