Light

In a large blue sweater with a lion mid-air, she stood behind the cash register and with a big smile asked for my order, the sleeves stretching over her hands. “The dark roast coffee is fine,” I told her, catching the band-aid on her neck when she turned to pour my cup. Was she cut or scratched by her cat? I remembered she had adopted two cats, each missing an eye from a fungus, and I asked about the culprit. She said she’d had fun last night until the city’s lamp lights were replaced by the sun’s glow, her earrings catching the skyline light when she smiled, and I thought innocence is not the reason people fall in love. I swirl my coffee and watch her walk outside, the phone rings, Her back rests against the brick wall, blonde bangs covering her face, and she bursts into laughter reading her phone, her full cheeks loud. I mute the call unnoticed. “A boy, huh?” I learned she met him on a dating application, he works in aerospace. Up the street, an older couple hold hands at the crosswalk, a man with white hair in a V-neck shirt and a woman in a thin-strapped yellow dress leaning in to kiss. I tell her I need a new bed, the last woman to share mine left marks on my neck years ago, and she gives me an uncomfortable stare as the distant voice asks a question. “I should take this,” and I walk away.