Even though I hated him for it, Pete was right to question my relationship, if only because I was hidden in my turtle shell of denial and refused to poke my head out. Vanessa was the result of unknown cosmic forces aligning or colliding or just shitting luck on my head. On paper anyone could see that we have nothing in common. She can be seen next starring in a Scorsese film opposite Robert De Niro, a role already earning her numerous accolades from film critics. I can be seen next standing in line at Whole Foods wondering if I bought enough cheese and trying to be discrete when scratching myself. She is tall and stylish, emerald eyes that whallop you with whatever emotion she chooses, and voluminous brown hair you see in shampoo commercials. I'm average in every sense of the word, own a wardrobe of strictly faded indie band T-shirts, and never wear hats due to the intense belief that they'll only make me go bald faster. Her hobbies include rock climbing, sail boating, and attending glamourous premieres. My hobbies include sitting in waffle houses.
We met one blustery Sunday morning in a local coffee shop. A chain of "this doesn't happen in real life" events started when she forgot her wallet and couldn't pay for her latte. I stood in line behind her, and didn't realize it was her until I had handed the barista money to pay for her drink. "Oh, thank you, but really that's not necessary. I can just come back." I was stuck with a sudden and maddening case of cotton mouth. "No, please, it's not a big deal," I said, desperately trying to swallow, "no point in standing in this long line again." Her cheeks became slightly rosy, and I started sweating, my neck splotchy with nerves. "That's really nice of you, thank you." I managed a jerky nod. As I was handed my coffee, I surveyed the place and realized there was only one available table left. Vanessa was just draping her jacket over one of the chairs, and looked up to see me watching. She smiled and waved me over. "We can share. Really, it's the least I can do after you bought my coffee."
My legs walked me to her table without my permission, and I noticed the other coffee patrons failing to mask their glances at us. I slid into the chair opposite her, mumbling a nearly inaudible "thanks" and quickly taking sip of my coffee. The liquid seared my tastebuds, my face contorting as I struggled to hide the pain. She stared at me, and I tried to think of what to say to a beautiful movie star. I had imagined countless times what I'd say to someone famous, a witty remark or profound observation that would make me seem as interesting as they were. Instead I said, "Coffee's hot."
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