Deleted Scene

Well, it finally happened. I had played this scenario out in my head countless times over the past 2 1/2 years. I'm only surprised now that it didn't happen sooner.

November 19, 2008.

I stepped mindlessly off of the 5 train onto the platform at Union Square. Some guy in a business suit, who was still seated on the train, kept his eyes glued to my ass until I had cleared the door. I attempted to sport some tights with a stretchy skirt today and neglected to calculate the clingy factor, that must be it. Or, maybe I had money hanging out of my coat pocket. Probably, he was just an asshole.

50% of the time, people begin to step onto the train while I am trying to step off. On this particular day, they waited for me to clear the door before scrambling on. That was nice.

I started my trek down the platform toward the stairs. I happened to notice the 6 train unloading. He'd be transferring from the 6 to the 5, naturally. No one in their right mind would take a local train all the way uptown. This shit plays out in my mind completely on its own. I have spent too many hours of my life simply considering him and his existence, which apparently has made it impossible for me to find the off button for this subconscious, auto-pilot obsession.

My iPod was playing. It had switched to "No Air" by Jordan Sparks, a guilty-pleasure iTunes purchase that I had played into the ground at the beginning of the summer.

Then, right in front of me, I recognized his coat. In nano-seconds, I assessed his height, gait, and jeans. They all checked out. There had been false alarms before, but this was not one of them. My mouth dropped open in disbelief. I was three steps directly behind him. This is really happening? He stepped onto the 5 train. I must have stopped or was moving without direction, because the short man coming toward me had to do a football-style juke to get around me. I was frozen, yet at the same time completely determined to know for sure whether or not it was really him. I kept my head turned to look at him as I passed. All I could see was his back. He began to turn his face. At first, I thought no. But his head continued to turn, and I saw his trademark sideburns. Unmistakable. I assume that he was looking back to see if anyone else was coming onto the train after him, but he was looking up, over where any heads would be. My instinct was to look away. Immediately. I turned straight ahead toward the stairs before there was even the slightest chance that we could make eye contact.

As I made my way up the stairs, and as I became aware that my legs had turned to jelly, the movie scenarios began to play in my head. Would he jump off of the train, run after me, yell my name, and tell me that he was sorry for all that he had done? Would we lock knowing eyes as his train passed by me? Would I ultimately stand defeated on the platform for the L train only to receive an unexpected tap on the shoulder? No. To all of the above, no. It took 5 or so minutes for me to regain stability in my legs. My shaky hands took longer.

Life is really funny that way. 3 years ago - almost to the day - we sat next to each other at a Mexican restaurant in Reston Town Center sharing Negra Modelos and tortilla chips, and he told me that he loved me for the first time. Present day, this happens. 3 years ago we longed to be in the same city, in the same room, in the same bed. Present day, those feelings are mere memories. He had bought a small glass bowl as a gift for my mom. We made one hell of a paddle ball team, even in sub-zero temperatures. He had called me at work on Valentine's Day, and simply said, "Jeannie." The single happiest moment of my life.

If love is a roller coaster, this is the part where you are in your car on the way home from the amusement park, stuck in traffic.

It's emotional purgatory.

Wait, I've got a better one. This is a deleted scene that is included in the bonus features of the DVD of your favorite movie. It seems out of place and unnecessary. It doesn't fit the story. Why didn't the director realize this before wasting the actors' time? There was a beginning, middle, and end; why does this need to be dragged out further? What business do the characters have left that hasn't been addressed already? Is this what passes for an alternate ending these days? Why am I watching this, anyway?

Much like a deleted scene, there is no grand meaning to extract from the chance non-encounter. The fact is, we both spend most of our time on the same, tiny island called Manhattan. We were bound to almost run into each other at some point. In the scenarios that I had played out in my head, though, he always saw me and not the other way around. In real life, I saw him, and I decided to just keep moving.

Is that a Carrie Bradshaw-style ending or what?

JAVahhhh!

I love The Coffee Shop. I don't know what I'd do without it. It's warm. It's welcoming. Sure, it's expensive... but no one can make me feel more "at home" than say the Uro Cafe in Greenpoint. Or the Beaner Bar in Williamsburg... or Starbucks in Manhattan. Unless we're talking about my mom in CA. But you guys! The coffee shop! How great is it? Sure I could make my own coffee at home and save myself loads of money... but it wouldn't be the same.

I love having things made for me. And I love when those things only cost me $2.25 and give me more joy than... heck, than a new pony. I love racks of free newspapers and magazines... mags that I would NEVER subscribe to because A. they're too expensive B. they're too alternative or C. I've never heard of them before. I love stacks of pretty brochures and postcards. Postcards for events that are A. too obscure B. too mundane or C. bullshit. And I love seeing artwork on the walls that I normally would have A. never seen before B. never noticed before (unless I had to wait 10 minutes for my freaking Americano!) or C. could not afford (obv)... But still, I love looking at the pretty colors.

I love the "coffee-shop people". I love that there are dudes there that don't seem to have any job what-so-ever and can live every day just looking up blog after blog. And I love the older, middle-aged woman. You know, the one who is friends with the owner and comments on my coat.... and I especially love that 75 year old man who comes in for two lattes! Two! I mean, COME ON! What is greater than that? I mean... any functioning person wouldn't be able to resist conjuring up images for his possible recipient.*

I love having three different milk choices. I love wooden stools and bright orange espresso machines. I love open patios in the summer and warm, gas fires in the winter. I love all of the lame, inside jokes and comic strips that are taped onto the cash machines. I get it! If I don't tip I'm a terrorist!!! Ahh!

Thanks Friends with your Central Perk, orange couches, and bad, live music. And thanks Seattle with your "shop-on-every-corner," fresh Top Pot Doughnuts, and intellectual novels in every crevice. Mom! I realize I would save hundreds a year if I could just make my coffee at home or wait for my coffee at work... But I would lose a friend. A therapist. A home. And it's not worth the loss!

I love the coffee shop! It's something to look forward to on my day off. And a treat on my day of work. It's a lifestyle. It's a neighbor. It's a friend. And if this recession hurts anything, it better NOT touch my coffee shop... or else it's gonna have to... or else I'll make sure to... well, I guess I'll just go to Dunkin' Donuts.

*Possible recipients:
1. Lucille
2. Nancy
3. Jess
4. Mason
5. Millifred
6. Bill