Heart of Fire

A Case of the Mondays: Part 2

A Case of the Mondays: Part 2

“Keys keys keys keys, phone phone phone phone, purse purse purse purse” I chanted to myself.  It was 7:15. I needed to be at work by 7:30. I don’t know what I did in the last 45 minutes, but it certainly wasn’t my hair.  I rolled my curly brown locks into a bun and called it a day. No way was I going to shampoo in this storm!

I stepped out onto my porch and locked the door.  I shared my three bedroom house with two guys, but they were still sleeping, so I locked the door.  I winced inwardly, hoping that they weren’t disturbed by the She-Devil’s Symphony I received this morning. 

I walked to work.  It was only 10 minutes away.  Which was great, because I didn’t own a car.  

It was also not great sometimes, because, well, rain.  And curls. The two don’t really go well together.  

I winced, this time...outwardly?  My facial expression sure was a wince.   I looked up to see if the weather forecast was partly frizzy with scattered wet spots, only to find that the sky was completely clear.  

Except for the sneakers hanging off of the electrical line, of course.  

Was that what caused that spark?  I wondered.  There were no puddles, no soggy flowers, no blown trash indicative of a rainy summer storm in Philadelphia.  If my speaker was shot due to some kid throwing their sneakers on an electrical line, I was going to be so pissed.  I mean, throwing your sneakers was so… 90s… right?

I shook myself and hustled down Market Street.  As I waited to cross the street, I longingly eyed La Colombe Coffee Shop.  I looked down at my watch. 7:23 AM. I shook my head. I did not have time for this!  Plus, there was free coffee at work.  

A warm summer breeze wafted the scent of fresh ground beans my way.  I looked down at my watch again. Who would know that I wasn’t at work by 7:30 AM any way? I thought to myself.  Nobody shows up until 8:00 AM.  Plus - COFFEE!

I scurried across the street, small backpack bouncing joyously against my summer rain coat.   As I swung open the doors of the coffee shop, I threw my head back dramatically and inhaled.  

“Nothing like the smell of caffeinated napalm in the morning, is there, Roxanna?”  a familiar voice chirped.  

Looking towards the voice, I let the door close and broke out in an ear to ear grin.  “Well, I would have preferred another hour of sleep, but an Americana made by your hands can do wonders, Joey.”  

Joey smiled at me and winked, putting the lid on a to-go cup.  I melted. I had a crush on Joey for years. I was sure that my morning coffee was a sign that he felt the same way too.  Looking into his big brown eyes with eyelashes any girl would kill for, I couldn’t quite remember why I never jumped his bones.  

“Hey, you make a fine Americana yourself… speaking of which… do ya think that you can cover my shift tomorrow night?  I have a thing.” Joey said, awkwardly putting his arm behind his neck, pulling on his long, dirty brown hair. Was he seducing me to get what he wanted?  It sure felt like it… particularly as I ogled the biceps no barista had a right to have.

Right. Barista.  Don’t s**t where you eat.  I too, was a barista at this fine establishment on Wednesdays and Saturdays.  

I took the lid off of my coffee and inhaled, over dramatically.  “This is liquid heaven.” I said, with as much empathy as I could muster, “But it’s not enough to bribe me to work here on a Tuesday afternoon.  You know I work the bar at El Enchiladas on Tuesdays… and there’s no way I’m giving that shift up.”  

Joey eyed me with what seemed like understanding.  I leaned forward over the coffee counter to give him a squeeze on the shoulder.   I was a bit preoccupied with not being able to help a friend out - and with how close my hands were to Joey’s pecs- and my Americana spilled all over the both of us.

“f**k!”  Joey shouted.  The low buzz of conversation in the cafe went dead silent.  You could hear a pin drop. Or a dozen pens, as it was in this case, when I knocked the container full of them over as I scrambled for napkins.

“JoJo I am SO SO Sorry! I didn’t mean to ruin your clothes as well as mine… are you ok?”  I said, dabbing the coffee off of his arm.  

“Roxanna, that drink was extra hot! f**k that hurt! I am definitely going to be burnt, it got all over my arm.” Joey moaned, looking up at me, and then at my chest.

Well, this was a weird time to be checking me out.  I know I have an ample rack, but come on dude, aren’t you supposed to be in pain?  I thought.  

“Roxanna, aren’t you in pain?”  Joey grunted.  

“What?”  I looked down.  My white blouse was completely doused with coffee - to the point that it was translucent.  I dabbed at my blouse lightly with a napkin. “It’s not that hot Joey. Stop being a baby…and my eyes are up here!”  

“Roxanna, I am literally already blistering,” Joey scolded while dousing milk on his forearm.  I rolled my eyes. This extent of whining was quickly helping cure my lady-crush on Joey.  

“I literally need a spare shirt - but that’s all, Joey.  You’ve been working here, how long? Shouldn’t you have resistance to this kind of injury by now?”  I rolled my eyes.  

Joey gave me an inscrutable look, holding a damp rag over his forearm.  “Are you seriously not hurt, Roxanna? There’s no burns on your ti--- erm, on your chest?”  

“No, Joey, because I’m not a baby…” I said stiffly.  I looked down again. My skin wasn’t even pink.  

Joey lifted the rag off of his arm.  “I guess I took the brunt of it, then…”

I looked at his arm.  The skin was already bubbling.  It was clearly a bad second degree burn.  I looked down at my coffee-stained chest, peeking into my shirt.  There wasn’t a mark on me “I guess so, Joe. Maybe my blouse bore the brunt of it?”  

“Yeah, I guess so.  Alright, girl, get out of here.  You’re going to be late.” Joe said, clearly annoyed with me but still affectionate.  I looked down at my watch. 7:42. Crap.

“See ya Joe.  I owe you… an arm?”  I cringed at my awkwardness as I left the coffee shop, uncaffeinated, unsure, and unburnt.  

It was the unburnt part that bothered me the most.  I knew that coffee hadn’t just spilled on my blouse.  It had gotten me in the neck, the collarbone… and then landed on my blouse.

But I hadn’t felt a thing except for the splash.