Sweet Child 'O Mine Ch. 02

"Excuse me?" She asked, crossing her hands in front of a visibly full bosom.

Suddenly, the world around me seemed to cave in. I realised this was the first time I had walked up to a stranger and initiated any form of communication. Being shy had never really prepared me for such a situation before.

Also, I had never noticed that about her before. Her bosom. Despite being covered in a sweater, I could see an ample bosom well-hid behind her sweater.

In my defence, I had not known her for long. So noticing her bosom was not on my priority list as I remember being transfixed by her general being.

And then, my mind raced again. She was wearing a black cardigan that looked as if it had seen better days. Her form-fitting blue jeans, though faded, seemed to exude a freshness as if to showcase her well-off roots. Her face, radiant yet tired, hid behind a curtain of flawless skin that would have made my dermatologist proud. Her cute button nose was somehow sculpted in tandem with her narrow ears.

Somewhere, in the distance the wind-chimes played a symphony orchestrated by the faithless breeze that decided not to blow over me as a bead of sweat formed above my brow and drowned out my thoughts for a few fleeting moments.

And again, my mind went into overdrive. How did she know that I was working on a presentation? Had I left my laptop on? But even then she was all the way over here, how could she have known what I had been doing in that corner I loved, one that granted me unfettered access to complete privacy?

While I was thinking of this, my eyes landed on her deep brown eyes. Her eyes were quite enigmatic. They were nothing special; but they had a calming effect on me. They made me feel oddly at ease. They emoted a pain and a loss that betrayed a hint of effervescence. The kind of eyes that make you want to share more of yourself with a reassurance that your secret is safe with the beholder of those eyes.

"How on earth did you know that I had been working on a presentation?" Was all I could blurt out while my mind was working at lightening speed on the other questions that were burning my brain.

"Honestly, that is all you could come up with? You came up here, all the way from you were sitting, to ask me this? I thought you had come to apologise for being a dick to me earlier," she said, her expression remaining calm but her neatly done eyebrows and the corners of her recently lip-glossed lips betraying exasperation.

While she said all this, my mind paid little to no attention to her words. My mind was busy figuring out a few things: Why was she wearing a sweater on a visibly warm and breezy day? Why was she reading an obviously well-worn copy of Alice in Wonderland? Why was she flushed when she told Steve that she liked Fleet Foxes? Why had she even told that to Steve in the first place? What does she have against sugar since she likes honey in her coffee?

On that note, my subconscious mind drifted to the song playing in the background. It was 'How I got to Memphis' by Tom T. Hall. My poker face cracked an inconspicuous smirk as my insides laughed at the situation. While my thoughts wandered the far-reaches of possibility, karma had other plans.

According to the lyrics of the song, Memphis debatably stands for the place I am today. So in a way life was telling me everything in my life was leading me to this moment.

"You know, for someone who looks quite smart and intelligent, you sure do ask a bunch of dumb questions," she said quietly, picking up her cup of coffee on the right hand of her book, neatly nestled on a coaster I clearly remember never picking out when I went shopping with Steve for knick-knacks for the cafe'.

"How does one look intelligent?" I asked her, still unable to take my eyes off of her eyes.

"It is something you have to guess, you know. You live long enough around a lot of dumb people, you learn to identify the intelligent ones just by looking at them," she said matter-of-factly.

"I don't understand. I am a seemingly intelligent guy asking quite dumb questions who has a relatively good taste in music. What are..." I said, wanting to ask a smart question but my muddled brain only running into dead ends.

"You doing here? You doing still talking to you? You doing reading a tattered copy of Alice in Wonderland? You doing here sitting all alone? Take your pick." She said, smiling at me.

"Wow, I have heard of multiple choice questions. That has to be the first multiple choice answer I have ever gotten," I said, visibly taken aback by her presence of mind.

"You don't get out much, do you?" She asked still smiling.

"Only for work and for meeting clients," I shot back at her, dismayed at the accuracy with which she was reading me.

I realised: I had more questions about her and for her than when I had walked up to her table at Steve's behest. Also, she had not answered any of my questions yet. At least not the ones that mattered to me the most.

Meanwhile, note to self: I hate Steve. Steve is the real dick in this situation. Also, Steve, I love you for making me walk up to this maddening and frustrating woman. As perplexing as she is, there is a warmth to her that I have yet to encounter in my life.

My eyes wandered back to her eyes. I noticed that they were now boring into mine. And neither one of us flinched. There was something natural in the way we both tried to sneak into the others' soul through the eyes. Not getting past the gravitas of her eyes, I tried blinking and averting my gaze. I failed. Miserably.

"So, you want to answer any of my questions before my ears stop reddening in embarrassment?" I asked her, trying to bring the conversation on track.

"I think the correct question is: What do I say to her that she allows me to sit right next to her and apologise for earlier without pissing her off even more." She said, winking at me.

Utterly bewildered, I shook my head and turned 180 degrees on my heels, hanging my head in frustration and formulating a nice way to chew Steve's head off without hurting him enough that he does not allow me back into the cafe'.

"Leaving so soon? I did not hear that apology yet, you know." She said with an emotion in her voice I was yet to place.

"I guess Steve will give it to you since he was the one who sent me here and I have done nothing but make a complete and utter fool of myself since I got to your table," I said to her, dejectedly, without turning my head in her direction.

"You were not so bad. I would give you a seven out of ten for the effort. Though your speech delivery could definitely improve. Now sit down opposite me, look me in the eyes and crack the best joke you can to cover the three point spread," she said to me, her voice giving away a hint of request in the statement.

"Seven? Seriously. I thought that was a four at maximum," I said incredulously.

"Four? You have seriously not been around much. Let's see. You have yet to curse in front of me and have not made a pass at me yet. So that definitely puts you above five in my books and you seem easy on the eyes so two points for that. Now, you want to cover that three point spread or not?" She asked me, gazing into my eyes that had caught hers when I had spun slowly to look at her.

I did not know what to say to her. Honestly, I had never encountered a woman like her in my life. I mean, I had met many women before, but she happened to be the first who intimidated me not just by her beauty but also because of her feistiness.

Back in high school, I was never much into interacting with the opposite sex. I almost never took the initiative to interact with girls because logically, it served no purpose for me to talk to them for any other reason than for classwork or homework.

Steve and his then buddies (easily classified in the popularity hierarchy as jocks) did not agree with this logic at all. For them creatures of the opposite gender not only provided a constant topic for avid discussion, they were also an outlet for comic and sexual relief.

My logic is fairly simple: Why go after something that is not going to contribute in making me a better person, both ethically and financially.

"Now that you have put me in the spot, I cannot come up with any joke. I guess my sense of humour died with my need to ask smart questions," I said to her, my feet now getting a wee bit tired as I shifted my weight from one leg to another, having stood for her for as long that I had.

"You know, you can sit down. You don't have to continuously shift your weight around from leg to leg and dance around like you have to go pee," she said, breaking down into titters at some joke that only she seemed to understand.

"Thanks. I did not know that my dance was being misconstrued as a pee dance. I was trying to make it look like an obscure African mating ritual," I said without thinking. You know I do that sometimes. Speak unnecessarily when I am nervous.

"Woah! Was that a joke?" She asked, visibly taken aback by my statement.

"Whoops-a-daisy! I do that sometimes. I speak gibberish to mask my nervousness"

"Double woah! Did you just say 'Whoops-a-daisy'? I guess the last time I heard someone say this was Hugh Grant in Notting Hill." She said, she said with a wide smile; the kind where the sides of one's eyes crinkle along with the nose.

"As it so happens, that is just where I picked it up from. It happens to be one of the first movies I watch when I am doing my Julia Roberts movie marathon."

Big mistake.

Telling a stranger of your weird movie watching habits during your first interaction with them is never a good idea. Second note to self: Never do that again.

As my face turned into different shades of the crimson palette, I could see her mouth agape. She was quite visibly fighting the urge to laugh out loud and in turn my embarrassment reached levels when Stephanie Dewan has asked me to the prom in front of the senior class and I could do was stutter a polite 'Yes'.

And then the most unexpected thing happened. She asked me: "So, between Julia Roberts, Meryl Streep and Ingrid Bergman, who happens to be your favourite?"

I could not believe my ears. I mustered up the courage and looked her straight into her eyes. Instead of seeing a goofy grin plastered on her face, I saw an expression of genuine sincerity.

"I cannot compare any of them. They all gave outstanding performances in various roles they played. Anyways, you did not answer my first question, how did you know that I was working on a presentation?"

"Its anyway not anyways. You know, for a marketing consultant, your grammar sure sucks."

"You sure are a breath of fresh air, aren't you?" I asked, irritably. "Also, how do you know that I am a marketing consultant?"

She then summoned from the wait staff to refill her cup of now cold coffee and politely asked me if I would like something as well. Coffee, black, hold the cream and sugar please. The bitter, the better.

"I have been coming to this cafe' for the last two years. You don't think the wait staff only likes you, do you? You have no idea what a five dollar tip can fetch you these days." She said with a twinkling in her eyes that hinted at her mischief.

"So, you bribe the wait staff for information on other customers?" I asked.

"For your information, I like to tip them well. They are nice to me."

"I was going to say that it was an ingenious way of getting information. I did not mean to offend you. I apologise if I came off the wrong way." I said, regretting my earlier tone.

"That's okay. You happen to be the only person other than Steve and the wait staff that I have interacted with at this cafe', sorry if I came off too strong." She said, lowering her gaze for the first time since we began talking.

There was an odd sense of ease that had settled between us strangers. What had not been said by words had been explained in the glances exchanged. Wordless apologies had been exchanged in those fleeting glances we shot at each other and an appreciation for each others patience with the other while sitting across the tiny glass table.

"You know, you still haven't answered any of my questions as of yet. I am still waiting for the answers," I replied with a smile, trying to pivot the discussion in a more comfortable direction.

Fiddling with her coffee mug that was placed on her perfectly square and colourful coaster, she gazed at the wind-chimes that had been playing their own tune during our conversation.

"Did I say something to offend you? If that is the case, I am sorry," I said hurriedly. I was afraid that the newfound confidence I had suddenly sprouted may have cut this conversation short.

"You know, these wind-chimes really get to me. They always have their own story to tell with the tunes they play," she said abruptly, diverting the conversation in a direction that caught me completely unawares.

"I guess I feel the same about them," I said, suddenly remembering the argument I had with Steve when we were out buying them.

"But why do we need wind-chimes? We already have invested a shitload of money on that music console you convinced me to buy. Don't you think it is kind of an irrelevant investment," He had asked me, making his disdain apparent.

"They are not for the music, my lord. They are for the ambiance. You know, that thing I spend hours daily selling to your customers. And if it makes you feel any better, I'll buy them for you," I said to him, trying to make him feel better.

While we both were lost in thought, someone from the wait-staff had refilled her cup with coffee and placed a cup of steaming black coffee in the periphery of my vision.

Explaining ambiance to a six feet four jock had not been how I had envisioned my life turning out to be. Me, a shy six footer had wanted to use my liberal arts degree to make the world a better place.

But it turns out, a steady diet of black coffee and cigarettes while studying close to twenty hours a day is not beneficial to your health. An unfortunate fall, hitting my head on a table, losing my speech, getting diagnosed with dysarthria, a long recovery, dropping out of college, a chance meeting with Steve and losing the only woman I loved up to that moment made the prospect of becoming a marketing consultant the silver lining in the whole shit-show I love to call life.

Intruding on my chain of thought, sipping her piping hot coffee, she said: "So, ask me something you have never asked anyone yet?"

"Why, you do not answer any of my questions. Why should I do you the honours?" I asked her, trying to eek an answer out of her.

She looked straight at me, her eyes showing her disappointment in my attempt.

"Tell me, if a tree falls in a forest where no one is present to hear it fall, does its fall still make a sound?" I asked her, blabbering the first thought that came to my head. It also happened to be a question I often pondered over in my free time.

"When you mean no one, you include any other being that may have life, am I correct," she said, her eyes now twinkling.

"Yes, I mean any other creatures which showcase signs of life. Barring the other trees off-course. Since, it is a forest you know," I tried my best to simplify the situation to her.

"Huh. Off all the roof-top cafes' in this town in the whole state, you happened to walk into mine," she said to me, locking her eyes with mine, making my insides all warm and gooey.

"You know, paraphrasing Casablanca and quoting it to me is not going to get you any brownie points, you know, answer the question the best you can," I said to her, trying my best to avert my gaze from her deep brown eyes.

"A woman can only try," she retorted, while picking up her hair to tie it in a bun.

I have to admit that when a five foot ten brunette with a figure to die for quotes Casablanca to you, few things in the world make any sense to you. Since you are that shy guy whose logic has been tossed out the window by a woman whose charm and wit are only outmatched by her own beauty, you tend to be the best version of yourself. Now, I don't anything about you but that is me at my best.

"Oh, by the way, I forgot to ask, what is it that you do?" I asked her, remembering that I know nothing about her apart from what Steve told me.

"Me? I am a student. I am pursuing my masters in business administration. It is something my father wants me to do. So here I am, miles from home, trying to make him proud." She said.

"Honestly, I don't know if it is something I want to make a career out of. But it is what everyone tells me I am good at. Asking others to do things and making sure they do it." Her eyes became steely when she said this.

"And you? Is marketing something you always wanted to do. I mean, you seem to be pretty good at it. This cafe' has really turned out to be the 'haunt' after you took over the marketing." She said, twirling her hair that had fallen out of her bun, only breaking her habit to use air quotes while saying haunt.

Her statement gave me a flashback to my college days. I remembered that fight I had had with my father the day I told him liberal arts was my calling. Being conservative and by the book, becoming a lawyer or an engineer were by best options according to him. For me, understanding why the human mind chooses emotions over logic while living life was the question I hoped a liberal arts degree would help answer.

"You know, you zone out every so often. Is there a 'Secret Life of Walter Mitty' kind of thing you are doing that I am not aware of?" She said, giggling.

"No, no. Nothing of the sort. Far from it. I was just remembering my college days. I had to drop out because of some personal reasons. Being in marketing is a far cry from what I wanted to do in life. But circumstances led me down this path," I said.

"Steve and I were in high school together. Needless to say, we were not fast friends back then. I mean, look at how contrasting our personalities are. We happened to cross paths sometime back. He told me about how he was setting up a cafe' and asked me if I would be willing to help him out and here we are, four years later. I run my office out of a corner of his cafe' and help him out the best I can."

Pausing briefly and looking at Steve, who stood with his back towards us, sweet-talking another customer, she slapped the table as if she had stumbled on a great thought and excitedly asked me: "So, I presume you were not the ladies man Steve was and continues to be?"

Mindlessly taking a long sip from my coffee, burning my throat in the process, I was unsure how to proceed. Focusing my eyes on her fingerprints on the table, left behind when she had slapped the table, I sighed and told her the only thing that came to my mind.

"Nope. I don't think I can say that. I think my interaction with the ladies peaked when Stephanie Dewan asked me to the prom and I stuttered my reply to her," I told her, avoiding looking in her eyes as I blushed.

"You stuttered? And now you do marketing? Why do I have a hard time believing that?" She asked, confused.

"Well, I have always been curious. But my curiosity was never with the anatomy or biology of the opposite gender. It has more to do with the psychology of human beings. I only stuttered back then because her question caught me off-guard. I never thought I was going to ask someone to the prom and definitely did not expect to be asked to accompany someone. And marketing only happened because Steve thought I could do it," I tried to explain it the best I could.

Letting her hair down from the bun she had made a while ago, she paused to take a few sips from her coffee cup, running her hands through her cascading black hair, smoothening it while she was lost in thought.

"So, I guess Steve is the reason I am sitting here talking to a man who quotes obscure lines from Notting Hill," she asked, while her hand still played with her hair.