XXI. The World.

The Coffee Shop—MORNING

The Waitress and I sit back in the coffee shop again. The Waitress is behind the counter and I at my usual stool at the counter. She is being a bit flirty with me because she knows I am so down. In appreciation, I’ve tossed a sizable tip on the counter with every refill. We chat about how hard it is to meet someone on-line, especially because people look at one attribute and then reject you.

“Deal-breakers,” I say, “That’s what they call it. For me it is my height.”

“Really?” She says, surprised “You’re not too short.”

“Have you never had a good look?” I ask.

She shrugs.

“Most of the time I’ve been sitting on a stool next to the counter.” I reason. She comes around the front of the counter. I step off, finding her much taller than me.

“Yep, you’re short,” she frowns, “And going bald. Forgot about that.”

With that she seems to lose all interest, and goes back to her work. I melt into a puddle. At length she notices and drops a bagel on a plate before me, saying, “On the house.”

I tear up a slice of bagel. One of the regulars points at my bad manners and laughs.

“Tearing up your food? That’s a bad thing.”

I gnaw at the bagel. The Waitress slams two more bagels on the counter before me, condemning “That’s your dinner? You’re cheap!”

“I’m cheap?” I beg, “I can pay.”

“Whatever,” she huffs and spits. Sits on a stool opposite me.

Now we are both staring blankly at each other, my mug and the bagels both left untouched and growing cold between us. At length, the pay phone on the wall rings and I dash over to pick it up.

I smile to hear on the other end of the line a faint “Piteux, are you there? It’s me.”

It’s her. Andrea.

“Yea, it’s me. I was waiting.”

“Come home.”

“Okay. Coming.”

I eagerly slam the phone down and grab my satchel from the counter. The Waitress frowns. I say in sum, “It’s her; she wants to see me!”

The Waitress frowns even more deeply on this, but I hurry off, happy that I have her back.

I have My World back.