Swirling the remnants of my Monsoon Darjeeling tea, I stared at the paper cup as it tilted in circular motion. I plucked the knotted tea bag out of the cup, its contents bulging out in a less than aesthetic manner, and took a sip. It was bitter.
“There’s a somebody I’m longing to see—” Ella Fitzgerald crooned slowly.
It was as if the barista knew to play this song for me. How did he know I’m absolutely nuts about this song? I couldn’t have imagined a better time for it. Ella’s hauntingly beautiful, rich voice slowly lulled me into a state of angsty romantic thought. I quietly inhaled and took a sip once more. I thought to myself that surely this is a picturesque moment, something worth writing a vignette about.
I began to sing along with Ella, uncaring as to what my audience would think.
“I’m a little lamb who’s lost in the woods—” we sang in unison. “And I know I could always be good…”
I rested my right elbow on the table and laid my cheek on my hand. Slowly, I began to drift away into another world. As I gazed into the giant mirror hung on the wall, pictures of romantic grandeur flashed before my eyes. I imagined polished pianos, men in black coats, and lovers in the alleyways— clouds of cigarette smoke, passionate whispers, and tangoes into midnight.
I looked outside through the reflection of the mirror. It was dark, cold, and blustery. A man stood outside of the door, puffing on a cigarette and watching the clouds go by.
Staring down at my textbooks, I thought to myself that this was anything but romantic. As Ella finished off the last lines of her song, my illusion slowly faded away and I was back into the dull reality of homework. Maybe one day, I thought to myself. I proceeded to wash down my feelings of faux nostalgia with a gulp of bitter tea. Clinging to what little energy I had left, I packed my belongings, and left the coffee shop.
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