I know her name now. The sultry tall woman at the coffee gallery who reminds me of Katie Homes in “Wonder Boys” is named Lindsay. Nice to meet you Lindsay, I’m Brett. It’s pretty dead here on a Saturday, huh? Yeah, she says, and really boring. We exchange Nice-to-Meet-You’s and I walk just as casually as can be to my table without sprawling into any chairs.
It is dull here. I watch traffic pass by the plate glass windows. It’s like I’m sitting on the curb, but protected from the noise and heat and exhaust fumes. Instead I hear classical music from speakers behind the counter. I hear keys tapping under my fingers, the scrape of wooden chairs across wide cedar plank floors, the clank of the cash register sliding open. Coins jingle in Lindsay’s palm and then drop into plastic trays, the coins I tipped her moments ago when I should have tipped paper bills. Too late to run back now.
Lindsay must be wondering why I am hanging around this boring place when I could be anywhere. If I could be anywhere or with anyone, where would I want to be? Sitting out on the banks of the Mississippi watching my dog swim. At home watching World Cup Soccer. Reading books all day on a park bench. What I’d really like to be doing is hanging out in the back yard of a friend’s house while he’s standing over a smoking grill. I’ve got a beer in my hand, and I’m doing some sort of trick to make his kids laugh. I’m talking to his wife about my latest dating follies, and she’s telling me about cute friends of hers that she’d like me to meet but I politely decline. Maybe he’s grilling salmon steaks and asparagus, and there’s fruit tart for desert that I bought at the Café Latte in Saint Paul. We play Spanish music from a CD I bought at a concert at the Cedar Cultural Center the week before, where I’d taken a woman out on a date. We danced at the back of the crowd, lost ourselves in the music and the buzz from the Corona’s, then went back to my place and lay on cool white sheets lit only by the city lights filtering in from the window. I’m thinking of this now while my buddy is talking about the Twins ore something I don’t really care about as he turns the salmon steaks. After we eat we light a fire in the fire-pit and show his kids how to roast marshmallows just right, toasty brown and melty. I go home around ten and find my dog jumping on the front door, excited for his nightly walk.
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