The One-Liner

By: Eve Karma



Every day, he would come into the coffee shop and sit at the counter, watching her every move. He never ordered coffee. He never ordered anything to eat. Not even one of those Danish-thingies that are really over-priced there. He said something different every day. The first time it happened, the line was, "You have very pretty hair." She gave him a weak smile, then looked back down at the counter. She moved the wet rag in tiny circles over the already-clean formica, trying to keep herself busy so that she wouldn't have to look at him.

Every day, he was there. Every day at three PM, when it wasn't ever crowded. She knew that one day she would have to face him, but until then, she would keep herself busy by making more coffee, or wiping off tables, or mopping the floor.

It went on for three months. "You work awful hard here." "You have a nice uniform." Then it turned into questions. "What kind of coffee sells the best?" "How long have you been working here?" She tried to ignore both him and the shaking of her hands.

Finally, she confronted him. When he said, "You should take a break." She leaned her arms on the counter, stared into his gray eyes without blinking, and said, "Why do you try to talk to me?" The young man ran a hand through his dark brown hair, got up from his counter seat, and walked out. He didn't look back, but she stared after him.

He never came back. She realized she missed him. She missed the man man her boss called "The One Liner."

(c) September 2001