Through the Window

I gave my order - always the same order for a girl who finds a certain comfort in repetition. But when I drove up to pay for and accept my coffee, my routine was broken. In the background of the busy coffee shop, wearing a uniform and making my hot drink, I thought I saw the profile of a girl I once knew.

Memory flooded into my brain, infecting my body with questions and unexpected heartache. This was a girl I barely knew, but who made a name for herself. She was the one who's parents lied and cheated and mixed up her mind and her life. She was the girl that I was almost friends with before her life began spiraling.

She was the girl who walked out to the edge of the bridge just to spit in the face of world, but then lost her footing. She was the girl who drove a hundred miles an hour on the dirt road just to feel the wind in her hair, but then found that she had no control.

This was the girl who was found by a dozen young men in the worst of places, all of whom owned the worst of intentions.

Yet she was also the girl that mourned the child created that night - the young life she lost out on the edge of that bridge, out on that dark dirt road.

When she turned to bring my coffee to the counter where I would be served from, her eyes caught mine and I realized that she was, in fact this girl, and I wondered if she would recognize me. She waved a little, and I smiled uncertainly and waved back.  She didn't smile at me. Then, as if embarrassed, (or perhaps she simply had other customers to attend to?) she ducked out of my line of vision. The window slid open and a different girl took my money, gave my coffee, and interrupted my thoughts and agonized memories.

My mind raced, wondering not for the first time if there was anything I could have done to change things for her. I knew that such thoughts were ludicrous, I was so young at the time, yet there was a need in my head to blame someone for her broken life - even if that someone was me.

Coffee in hand, I thanked the stranger woman and drove off very slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of the one I had known and wishing she would smile at me and somehow fill a hole that I hadn't realized needed filling.  Sure enough, she walked by, and on her way, gave me a small smile and a quick nod, as if to say that she would be alright.  Or at least, I hoped that was what it meant.

I beamed a too-relieved, too-friendly smile at her and drove away feeling lost and alone and curious and empty.  Perhaps that's the price of not knowing people well enough. Or perhaps that's the price of knowing them just well enough for it to hurt.