A backdrop of Marvin Gaye reminds me that I’m at a classier joint than that weathered, old cafe. I went there weekly for so long...yet now it’s as if I’d never been there. Was my favorite barista a mere figment; perhaps bred from the pages of my own scribbles? Had we never looked into each other’s eyes, half with surprise, and half with recognition? Recognition of our past mistakes with one another?

Marvin Gaye would have never graced that old cafe. My current caffeine pit-stop is so much more homey, but I miss the scrappy little coffee house with the equally scrappy barista. I’m sure she wasn’t a figment of a lonely writer’s imagination. She listened to my story. She teased my everlasting cluelessness about that other caffeinated beverage, tea.

I’ve always favored coffee.

As I take a sip now, I remember how she touched me - with her eyes, with her fingers, and more deeply, with her heart.

Why did she run? In the past, it was my running that pushed her away. How did I manage to make her flee like the house was on fire? The only flames I saw were the ones joining our hearts, our bodies, and our memories. I thought they burned from a shared bond, but perhaps those very flames were meant to obliterate our past.

Did she come back into my life to burn the whole world down?

Tell me, absent barista, did you play me like you thought I’d played you? I wonder if you like Marvin Gaye. Maybe one day, you’ll need another job at a cafe and waltz back into my life. You’ll set the cafe ablaze and I’ll stay there with you while it burns. And Marvin Gaye will be the backdrop to our final curtain.