She Became My Water

by Amy DeMeritt

  There is something about Bailey that draws me in and makes me want to know everything about her.

  Just as I turn to hand a customer their latte, I spot her standing at the back of the line watching me with a tiny little smile on her face. Bailey! I feel a rush of adrenaline pump through my veins as excitement takes over. In the month that she has been coming here, she only ever comes in on Thursday’s.

  I suddenly become very focused and pump out order after order in lightning speed. When she reaches the counter, her smile broadens slightly.

  “Good morning, Piper.” I laugh a little from my excitement. “Good morning, Bailey. What will it be today, your Thursday usual or do you have a Friday usual I will need to learn?”

  “I do. Today, I would like a vanilla chai latte and a lemon poppy seed muffin, please.”

  “Good choice. The muffins just came out and they’re still warm. We’re really busy today. Why don’t you grab your table while it’s still open and I’ll bring this out to you?”

  “Ok, thank you. And no arguments today.” She places some cash down on the counter and turns to walk away with a smile on her face. I feel my face split into that ridiculous grin that she so easily forces my face to mold into.

  Naomi nudges me in the ribs and smiles as she takes my place at the counter to take the next order, while I get to work making Bailey’s latte. When we slowed down in the afternoon yesterday, I told her about my obsession with Bailey. Naomi is one of my “good friends” that knows how judiciously I select the women I want to be with.

  When I get to Bailey’s table with the latte and muffin, she already has her laptop open and is staring at her screen with pinched eyebrows. I set her order and change down on her table and she looks up with a small closed lip smile.

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course. Still working on that rag of an article from yesterday?” She lets out a small laugh and shakes her head. “I finished that one yesterday. Working on a new one today.”

  “Well, I’ll let you get to work. Just let me know if you need anything.”

  “Ok, thanks.”

  After twenty minutes or so, there’s finally a lull in the tide of customers. I clean up the counter and head to the kitchen to refill the cold pressed coffee jug. Just as I’m opening the jug, my phone pings with a new notification. Instead of feeling joy like I typically do, I feel anxious. Being in love with someone I’ve never met and probably never will, is a very bad thing when trying to form a new relationship. This thing I have for this blogger has already ruined two relationships. I stand here a moment trying to decide if I should even read the new blog post or if I should just ignore it. The lure is too strong and I quickly pull my phone out and open the new entry.

  ~ The tomes of my mind are innumerable and scream in an agonizing shriek to be heard

  ~ To seek reprieve from the urgent pressure to unleash the Words that seek desperate escape from the dark depths of my soul, I spill out digital ink on a virtual canvas

  ~ Oh these written musings only send agitating tremors through the fragile walls encasing the Volumes and Songs of my soul

  ~ The deafening sounds of a deaf world reverberate through my bones, oh Words, your cage doth shake and tremble with the pain of the pressure from keeping you locked away

  ~ Upon what peak might I find an ear to hear the Words that want to gush forth like a geyser?

  ~ Words tickle and dance upon my lips every second of every day, but the world is deaf to them

  ~ Oh sweet confidant, what tiny hamlet are you hiding in?

  ~ Oh the ecstasy that will fill my being upon opening the thick tomes of my mind to your sincere sweet ear, a strong ear with a delicate curve that receives my Words and cherishes them

  ~ The Words hum and chatter like a code through the veil of time seeking you, begging you to hear and rush to listen

  ~ In the darkest recesses of the universe my soul will seek you out till my final breath

  ~ Until then, I fill the digital world with these placid musings

  ~ Oh confidant, hear me please…

  Feeling Melancholy Today -

  “Controversial Lesbian”

  I feel a weight in my heart. It’s not often that she writes such sad “defeated” posts. This poem is shattering. I’ve always felt like I make a good listener, but am I really? Have I ever caused a person to feel this way – that they have no one they can confide in and someone to just listen? I hope not. I can definitely relate to this poem though. While I believe I’m a good listener, it’s very hard to find a person that will return that favor. It’s very frustrating when I try to talk to someone and I can tell they aren’t listening, or they cut me off and start talking about something entirely different.

  She has turned off the comments section for this particular post. That’s odd. Why would she send up a flare like that into the “digital world”, calling out for an ear to listen and then restrict the responses? Doesn’t she know that her readers would want to empathize with her?

  I put my phone away and head back out front with the now filled jug of cold brewed coffee. I’m happy to see we’re dead at the moment. There are several patrons in the shop, scattered at different tables throughout, but we don’t have any lines.

  I steal a glance at Bailey. She has her elbows on the table, her fingers pressed into her temples, and she’s staring at her laptop screen looking very frustrated and stressed.

  “Naomi, watch the counter for me a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  I walk over to Bailey and pick up her now empty scone plate. “How’s it going?” She raises only her eyes to look at me a moment before sitting up straighter in her chair and leaning back. She releases a deep sigh and shakes her head. “You haven’t the time for me to truly answer that. But for the sake of ‘small-talk’, it’s not going well. Thanks for asking though.”

  I smile and look at my watch before calling over my shoulder, “Naomi, I’m taking my break.” She waves to acknowledge me and I sit down in front of Bailey. That tiny barely visible smile peaks at the right corner of her mouth.

  “Now, ‘small-talk’ aside, and actual conversation forward, how’s it going?”

  She just looks at me a moment with a blank closed expression. After almost a full minute, she closes the lid on her laptop and asks, “What’s the most frustrating part of your job?”

  “Is that a test question to determine if I’ll be able to relate to what you’re dealing with? I sat down to lend an open ear because you look like you need one. Are you sure you want to spend the time hearing my complaints on top of the stress you already have?”

  Bailey smiles that beautiful closed lip smile again. She opens her laptop and turns it to face me. “What do you see wrong with this?”

  I’m looking at what appears to be an article page from a magazine. The title of the article is “War on Terror or War on Peace?”. The photograph in the article is a cropped picture of an American soldier with a rifle in hand standing in front of an Arab woman and her children. They’re sitting on the ground and looking at the soldiers back with blank expressions. They appear to be cowering from the armed soldier. Next to the article is the full image. There’s a bus like van several yards off that’s on fire and appears was blown up. Around the van are some injured civilians and soldiers laying and sitting on the ground.

  “The context of this photo was altered by cropping it. In the original, the soldier appears to be guarding the woman and her children, but in the cropped photo, the soldier appears to be an unwelcome threat.”

  “Exactly! This article was published in a popular mainstream news magazine last month. The photographer threw up a flag when they used his photograph out of context, but the damage has already been done. He contacted my editor to see if our magazine would run an editorial correcting the context and story of the original photo since the other magazine won’t. So, we took the project and this is what the journalist put together.”

  She turns her laptop around, mak
es a couple clicks and then turns the screen back for me to look at. The new article is titled, “The Art of War – From Blood and Tears to Ink and Paper”. The cropped photo and the original photo are below the title. Unable to see the source of her frustration, I start reading the article. The article is about the “history of news” and its use to propagate agendas and coerce the public opinion and belief in one thing or another.

  “I’m confused. Is this guy agreeing with the original magazines deceptive use of this photograph?”

  “More like he’s attempting to appear ‘politically correct’ or neutral in not advocating nor condemning the actions of the original magazine. This article is junk and does not stand up to the principles of our magazine. I’m supposed to copyedit this piece and get it print ready by Monday. I’ve read this thing four times and I just can’t, in good conscience, put my seal of approval on this thing.”

  “Then don’t. Push it back to the journalist and your editor. Aside from your magazines principles, this article does not meet the wishes of the photographer.”

  “I know. He’ll be so pissed if we publish this. Our magazine is about striking at the heart of issues and not shying away from the truth or controversial subjects. This article is the opposite of what we stand for.”

  “Then rewrite it. Write what you feel it should be and present both to your editor and see what she or he does.” She bites her bottom lip. “I don’t know. That’s controversy on a whole different level.”

  “What do you feel is the right thing to do?” She looks at me a moment, not answering, then grabs the laptop, turns it around, and starts clicking and typing. As she types, she has a cute little grin on her face. After a few minutes, she finishes and turns the laptop for me to read.

  She has cut about a quarter of the article off the end and added a piece that basically paints the beginning of the article as the excuse the mainstream media would use to justify their deceptive reporting. It also calls out the readers to challenge the mainstream media and force them to gain a conscience in their reporting and journalism. She explains that while we have freedom of speech, reporting and journalism should be free from deceptive practices – that such practices turn reporters and journalists into “lobbyists for politicians” and disgraces them and their field.

  “This is great, but you can’t print this.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because your name is missing. You already turn rags to riches without any credit; don’t let someone take your voice as well. Your brilliant mind should be known by your readers as you, not this coward that doesn’t have the guts to speak the truth.”

  Bailey looks at me with a wide grin and then quickly tries to suppress her smile and looks down at the table. Speaking to the table, she asks, “If I do this, will you read it for me?” I smile and reach across the table to take her hand. Oh god, her hand is so soft. Her fingers just slightly curl around my hand, returning my gesture. She looks up with blushing cheeks and is slightly biting her bottom lip again.

  “Yes. I would love to read it.” She inhales deeply and lets the breath out slowly. “Ok. I better get to work.” I let go of her hand and stand up. “Need a refill?” She smiles and nods her head. “Yes, please.”

  When I get back to the counter, Naomi comes over and whispers, “That looked like it went well. Did you ask her out yet?” I shake my head. “Not yet. The opportunity hasn’t presented itself.”

  “The girl came back today for a reason. Don’t wait too long to ask and then miss your chance.”

  “I won’t.”

  The first latte I made her, I made a standard leaf design in the foam. For this one, I decide to make a heart. When I set the latte down next to her, she looks at the mug and smiles. She looks up and holds my eyes without saying anything. I feel my face spread into a goofy grin and her smile widens as well.

  “Thanks, Piper.”

  “Anything else you need, just let me know.”

  Containing this question is so very hard. I want to just blurt out, “Please go to dinner with me!”, but I think that would ruin the progress I’ve made. She is just starting to see me as someone she can be comfortable around, get to know, and even trust. A woman like Bailey needs to feel those things before she will agree to a date.

  “The heart was a nice touch. She looked like she wanted to kiss you.” Naomi is acting like she’s wiping the counter down when I get back and has a small grin on her face. She turns to straighten some cups and lids and lets out a small laugh when she sees my giant cheesy smile. “Piper, if you start dating this girl – treat her right. Don’t let that blogger obsession of yours ruin your chances of happiness again. This girl is here in the flesh – that blogger is no more than a character in a book.”

  “I know.”

  Naomi’s five years older than me, married to a very nice guy named Henry, and she’s three months pregnant with their first child. Her husband makes more than enough money to support them, but Naomi’s not a woman that can sit still and look pretty. She likes to work. I don’t doubt that she’ll keep working right up to the moment her baby is ready to enter the world and will be back into work only weeks after delivery.

  When I first started working here a few years ago, I had a big crush on Naomi. It almost broke my heart to learn she’s married. She has a very chameleon like personality – able to shift with the mood and personality of others easily to make everyone as comfortable as possible. It’s not like she’s a conformist and just acts like what she thinks others think she should be. It’s more like she can read a person and adjust herself to fit just enough that she still maintains her own identity, but not in such contrast that its unsettling.

  Like I can be sometimes. I’ve calmed down a lot since being friends with Naomi. I used to be a bit too “spunky” as she used to call me.

  Aside from her great personality, she’s very pretty. She’s a fuller figure at a size twelve with curves that could cause an accident if she was to cross the street during rush hour. She has long hair the color of golden wheat and dark brown eyes that remind of a chocolate Labrador.

  My appearance is just as highly contrasting from Naomi as my personality is. I’m between a size six and eight, a couple inches taller at five foot eight inches, and I have pixie length black hair. My eyes are bright sage green around my pupil and a caramel brown around the outside rim of the iris.

  After an hour of delivering her latte, Bailey comes over to the counter. “Uh, excuse me.” I look up from the chocolate covered strawberries that I’m currently drizzling with white chocolate. She looks nervous as she shuffles slightly back and forth on either foot while twisting her hands on the counter. I give her a small smile and set the squeeze bottle of white chocolate back into the tub of hot water we use to keep the chocolate soft and squeezable.

  “How’s that article coming along?” She slightly bites her bottom lip. “I just finished. Do you have time to read it before I leave?” I nod my head and start to walk out from behind the counter.

  I sit down across from her and she turns her laptop for me to read. She has changed the article title to “The Devastating Loss of Conscience in the Mainstream Media”. I smile and start eagerly reading line after line of her brilliant minds exploratory thoughts and questions. The depth of the thought provoking words and statements is overwhelming. I feel like with each sentence I read, my mind is being pushed to consider arguments and emotions it hadn’t realized should matter to me.

  When I finish reading, I look up at her and can’t contain myself anymore. “Can I take you dinner tonight?” She looks taken back and surprised, but she quickly smiles and nods her head. “Ok.” I smile really big and watch her cheeks lightly blush. She looks down a moment and then looks back in my eyes. “Is the article ok?” I laugh and nod my head. “It’s brilliant.”

  “Thank you. I hope my editor agrees. I’ve never written anything for the magazine before.”

  “Your editor would be insane not to publish your piece over that o
ther one you had me read.”

  She takes a deep breath and turns her laptop. She looks at the screen and smiles in a proud way before closing the lid. She looks at me and asks, “Where are we going tonight?”

  “Anything you can’t or don’t like to eat?”

  “No allergies, and I like just about any kind of cuisine.”

  “Can I pick you up and surprise you then?” She smiles and nods her head. “Ok, you surprise me. I need to get into work to discuss this article change with my editor since we go to print on Monday. What’s your number and I’ll text you my address?”

  We exchange numbers and then she packs up to leave. As she stands up, she hesitates a moment and looks nervous and shy. “Piper, what if he doesn’t like the article? What if he gets mad that I took it upon myself to write this?”

  “Then that magazine doesn’t deserve to have you. That is the most brilliant thought provoking article I’ve ever read. I can’t wait to read more of your work.”

  “Can I text you after I meet with him?” I smile, take her hand, and gently squeeze it in an encouraging way. “Of course, Bailey.”

  She smiles and looks at my lips for a moment before taking a step away from me. She squeezes my hand briefly and then we release each other’s hands at the same time. “Thank you. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I feel like I’m floating. It’s so hard to find a person I’m attracted to physically, let alone mentally. Bailey is beautiful on the outside, but after reading that article she wrote, I think she has the potential to have the most beautiful mind I’ve ever known.

  Chapter Three

  I’m so excited that Bailey said yes to dinner tonight. The instant the question flew out of my mouth, I admonished myself internally thinking perhaps the loss of control over my excitement was going to scare her away. I pegged her a shy quiet woman that would probably take several days of talking and gentle flirting before it would be safe to venture a request to see her outside of the coffee shop. I’m surprised that after only two days of being attentive to what she was saying that she was ready to hear and agree to my request to take her out.