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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1640127-The-Reluctant-I
Rated: 13+ · Other · Relationship · #1640127
#1 from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley
This is a writing exercise to be 600 words, told in 1st person and only using the first-person pronoun (I or me or my) twice. I have put off this assignment for a long time but I did it today...with results I truly love. :)

It’s raining outside the small coffee shop. It’s not a heavy downpour, but rather it is a steady drizzle, the kind that is beautiful, so long as you’re witnessing it through a window while sipping a caramel macchiato or are standing in it with your lips pressed against your lovers. Kissing in the rain, that’s something I’ve never understood.

With the rain comes the regulars. They sweep in and shake off their umbrellas violently before shivering and smiling, heading to the counter to order their caffeine rich drinks. Sweet nector.

Eyes are often drawn to the umbrellas for all know that you can tell a great deal about a person by their choice of umbrella in rainy Seattle. Sleek and black usually means business professional; floral usually means housewife; rainbow usually indicates college student…or something else entirely. The umbrellas congeal at the entrance way and most have been bewildered to discover their umbrella among the missing. It only happens rarely but it does happen.

The coffee is growing cold in front of the seat across the table. Steam no longer rises seductively from the dark liquid, her lipstick still lingers upon the cream coffee mug. To go mugs allow for more coffee indulgence, but she has always had a flair for the classics. Black dress with shiny black high heels, a string of pearls against her fragrant neck, brilliant red lipstick upon her full lips, thick, black mascara around her lovely gray eyes, soft curls in her raven locks. Yes, she was definitely a classic.

The shift in the room notifies the senses that she has returned. She slips through the tables like oil through water, distant and sultry. She slides into her seat like chocolate melting in the hot sun, lithe and beautiful, wearing her red lipstick and black mascara. Today she wears a form-fitting black sweater with beatnik-style pants. Classic. Absolutely classic.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, her lips moving like dancers in a seductive sway. To be distracted by her is entirely too easy. “The coffee is cold.”

“Now it is, yes,” Coldness leaks out in the response but there is no reason to hide it. The reason we are here, the reason we are in a public place, our place, meeting over coffee, was painfully obvious. Why not be cold?

“So…will we be okay? Truly?” She asks and lifts the mug to her lips, a caress never again to be experienced.


“Keith, you cannot truly insist that we continue to be lovers! Not after…” She pauses, as though it is too painful to speak.

Anger removes any hesitation. “Not after you and Ben had sex in our living room. No, we surely couldn’t continue to be lovers. Not after that.” Callous. The coffee is gone but the cup remains and the grip upon its handle is intense. “No.” Calmer…but still cold.

“Well, this is good-bye then. For now,” the last part is a rush from red lips, lips that never kissed mine in the rain, lips that kissed Ben’s with great passion. Ben…the best friend of youth and Lily, the classic beauty with red lips of fire, upon the living room couch on a rainy afternoon.

“Good-bye,” Poison. She rises and walks toward the door. The rain has quickened a bit. She slips her hand among the umbrellas and pulls out her cherry red one, throws one last glance over her shoulder and slips out of the coffee shop, red umbrella unfurled above her head. Classic. Even in the midst of pain and good-byes, poison and coffee, Lily would always be classic. And that was what made her so desirable.

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