Bridgehead Run In

You know what is even more awkward than seeing your ex-boyfriend of two days in a coffee shop? A coffee shop in which you know he hangs out but where you figured you'd probably be pretty safe because it is early in the afternoon, and really what are the chances, and anyway you are right out of coffee beans and the thought of not having a coffee tomorrow morning is unbearable?

I will tell you.

What is more awkward is sucking it up, going over to his table, realizing from the quick twist of shock and pain across his face that he had not seen you walk in, and then saying

"Hey. How are you?"

How are you? How are you?! Fuck me. I could see how he was. He looked as hollow as I felt. I had the grace to feel a bit bad to be grateful for that.

He smiled, lifted and dropped one shoulder, a wall coming straight down. Said "You know."
"Yeah. 'Bout the same over here."

What is also more awkward is staring blankly at the mesclun mix in Hartman's, tongs in hand, immobile, crying, and whispering Why are you such an idiot*? How could you let me get away like that? Why couldn't you love me?

It is awkward for me even though I can't help it, it is awkward for the produce guy four feet down the aisle with his hands in the lettuce. It does not seem to be awkward for the old woman squeezing green peppers beside me, who has probably been alive long enough to become inured to overly dramatic shows of emotion in grocery stores.





*I hasten to add that I don't actually think Eric is an idiot. He is actually lovely, smart, clever, and funny. Which I am generally trying not to think about right now.