29 December 2012 fiction, "Coffee Shop" unfinished

            I met a girl at a coffee shop once, and it is an instance which I will never forget.

She was sitting quietly at her own table, with a single mug of steaming coffee and nothing else. She was staring out the window, her fingers gripped tightly around the teal mug, her cheeks rosy, and her eyes wide.

As I walked past her table to get to the sugar and creamer, I noticed a twenty dollar bill lying a few inches away from her feet. I walked over to pick it up and give it to her, figuring it was the right thing to do. She smiled and said thank you, then paused for a moment, staring kindly at me. I was about to politely excuse myself when she asked me if I wanted to sit down with her.

We chatted about the weather for a little while, but I noticed she kept glancing outside and losing her train of thought. Taking the bait, I asked her, “Is something on your mind?”

She looked over at me and smiled. “I’m pregnant.” It came out so matter-of-factly that I couldn’t help but be taken aback.

“Congratulations. How far along are you?”

“Twelve weeks.”

“Well, um,” I stuttered, at a loss for words about whether or not I should find some other way to initiate conversation about the obvious.

She laughed sweetly. “You’re feeling uncomfortable, I can tell.”

I smiled, and she continued.

“You know, I am twenty-four years old, and happily married. This baby couldn’t come at a better time, my husband just got a promotion at his job, and my parents are moving back home after a year spent traveling abroad. I’m sure that they will be unbelievably ecstatic to have their youngest baby provide their first grandchild. I’m looking forward to the day when I can tell them in person.”

I smiled again, wondering what she was going to say next, and settling into my seat as she continued.

“We’re thinking about buying a house. My husband is really excited about it. I love him so much, he’s the kindest, most caring man I’ve ever met. I know he will be the best father my baby could ask for.”

I nodded, soaking in her words.

“You know, sometimes I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.”

She smiled again, but suddenly I saw tears in her eyes.

“I’m so happy, I really am. But, if that’s true, how can I be so sad?” a single tear slipped gently down her cheek, and she brushed it away.

Before I could answer her question, she answered it for me. “I know why. This baby, this little life inside of me, it means that my life is no longer only about me. And that’s the way I have always wanted it.”

More tears slipped out of her eyes, and I leaned forward and listened as she looked into her coffee cup and began to whisper.

“I only ever had one sibling. A sister, and she was older than me by two minutes. I adored her from the moment we were born. She was my everything.

But our birthdays were spent in the hospital, and all I remember is my mother holding my hand, but holding my sister’s hand tighter. I blew out the candles every year with only one wish—let my sister be okay, and I swore that I would do anything.

Years went by, and things got really tough. My sister’s death came quickly, though expectedly. I remember wishing with all my might that I could wake up and none of it would be true. I could start again, and life would give my sister and me another chance. I promised to be altruistic, if it meant I could have just a little more time with her.

My sister’s death took the attention away and gave it back in ways I never asked for. My parents tried so hard to make things okay again—normal. But I knew that as long as I woke up in the morning without her hand to squeeze mine reassuringly, to let me know we were ready to start the day, things would never be normal.

I loved her more than I loved myself, and there were days when I hated myself for being selfish enough to claim life at my own sister’s expense.

And now, I’m pregnant, and this little baby will claim my love as my sister always did. And I can’t tell you how terrifying that is. I’m so afraid to love anything the way I love my sister, because the potential of losing it is crippling.”

She looked up at me, and sighed, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry to burden you.”

“You are not burdening me in the slightest!” I cried softly. “You have every right to be sad.”

“You know the funniest thing? My sister hated me for my health. She loved me, but I knew in the back of my mind that she always resented the fact that life had spared her the chance it had always given me. And I can’t tell you how much I hated myself for that. I never asked for this, and I don’t think anyone understands how much I wish I could give this life away. I don’t want it, I never wanted it, and, and, sometimes I wish that my sister could have taken my chance and made it her own. I would gladly die and wonder than live for guilt.