Coffee With A Friend- Vignette

It was 2AM, the sky was still veiled in a deep velvet darkness as we sat in the little, run down diner on 17th st. with some old fifties song playing in the background. The coffee was bitter and strong but I always liked it that way, with a kick that would keep the nights alive and my thoughts turning. No cream or sugar, I wanted to feel the gritty residue lay over my tongue undiluted.1

He sipped from a faded yellow cup and looked up at me with that grin I had come to love over the twenty years that I'd known him. His presence was magic and he knew it. We didn't have to say a word, we each knew the other's mood. Tonight it was troubled but not truly sad and we covered it with friendship. Our laughter played in sarcastic notes across the empty cafe' and the wafer-thin waitress with bloodshot eyes sent a weary look in our direction. 2

'So she took my Cd's but left all the cases for them neatly stacked up in the rack. I have 83 CD covers, not one damn CD' he said. His laughter had a sour edge. It was his fifth break up in all the time I'd known him and each time we'd shared the following night here in this same booth drinking thick, stale brew. 'I can sure pick 'em.' I gave him a sympathetic look and shook my head. This one was not as painful, it seemed, as the one before and the irony was not lost to me. I held his hand across the mucky, little table as the waitress refilled our cups.3

'She was an idiot and didn't deserve you anyway.' I said and recalled that I'd said that same thing several times before to him. The funny thing was that I meant it. Every time. 'One of these days you'll find a person who appreciates how wonderful you are.' God, could I get more cliche'? I was running out of encouraging lines but I knew that being there was the most important thing, not what I said.4

He squeezed my hand. 'How do you put up with me? I'm always crying on your shoulder.'5

I could see the first faint glow of dawn across the horizon.6

'That's what friends are for.'7