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She took our order, well my order, and Jonathon and I moved to wait for my coffee.
My coffee arrived in a large yellow mug.
I looked at it dumbfounded.
“Um. . . Where’s the to go cup?” I asked.
“In Europe they don’t serve to go cups. You’re supposed to sit down and drink it,” He said grabbing the steaming mug.
“Oh, I didn’t know,” I said.
“Well, you are American so how would you know?”
We picked a table in a slightly dark, secluded corner, made for two.
Jonathon pulled the chair out for me. I sat and he pushed me towards the table. The yellow mug was in front of me.
Up close the mug was not only yellow. It had been hand painted and throughout the mostly yellow mug were tints of green and purple. The mug was chipped and cracked but I loved it.
Jonathon sat across from me.
I blew the coffee slightly so it would begin to cool down to drinking temperature. I wrapped my fingers around the mug warming them.
“So any interesting stories to tell me?” I asked looking into his silver eyes.
“Um. . . I’ve lived through pretty much everything. What do you want to hear about? The time I met William Shakespeare? The time I was commissioned to paint a picture of King Henry the VIII? When I fought in World War II? There are plenty of stories I can tell.”
“Okay, okay I get it. Start with the one about William Shakespeare.”
“Well first off in my opinion he is a squirrel of a man with beady black eyes. He was quite rude and scatter brained. He kept muttering non sense about butterflies. And I think he may have, how do you Americans say it? Hit on me?”
“William Shakespeare hit on you?” I asked flabbergasted and trying desperately not to laugh.
“Yes, you do know he was gay?”
“I didn’t know. I’d heard about William Shakespeare possibly being gay in English class, but I didn’t know it was confirmed!” I said still in shock.
“Well, yes, he was. Historians probably don’t know for sure because there is nothing on record but trust me he was gay.” Jonathon chuckled.
“So, you painted a picture of King Henry the VIII? Is that the King of England who started his own church so he could get a divorce and killed several of his wives?”
“Yeah, he’s the one who created his own church for a divorce and beheaded several wives. You know your history,” He stated.
“I’ve always liked history. Come on tell me about him,” I pressed.
“Well, he was a complete pompous jerk. He treated me like scum. He said I did not capture his ‘true’ image. If I were to have captured his ‘true’ image he would have looked like the devil. He tried to get me beheaded. That was quite funny. You should have seen his face when I barred my fangs and said ‘You just try your highness. It won’t work. I’ll just reconnect myself and come after you.’ Poor guy wet himself and went running from the room screaming like a mad man proclaiming that the great artist Pulmer from Italia was a vampire.” He laughed at the memory.
“Wait maybe you can see it. Close your eyes and empty your mind. I’m going to try to project my memory to you.”
I put my coffee cup back down. The black liquid sloshed in the mug like lava.
“Alright,” I said. I closed my eyes and tried to think of nothing. It was harder than it sounded.
Suddenly I felt a prodding at my conscious. It was the strangest feeling. Like a slight nudge to my thoughts. I took a deep breath and then was engulfed by the scene of Henry the VIII squabbling with Jonathon. I saw everything from Jonathon’s point of view and the scene was very interesting.
King Henry was short and stout with a red face which was made even redder by his anger. His face was puffed up like a puffer fish tryi
ng to make it seem more intimidating and deadly. Jonathon was standing in front of a canvas that was half painted. The two were arguing.
