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Steve sits the stool in front of the mic and smiles out at the crowd of people. Instantly, everyone quiets. He tips forward, his lips hovering above the mic, and he says in a gentle tone, “Welcome, everyone. I hope you have all gotten some coffee and sweets from the counter. We have gluten-free brownies and dairy-free raspberry cheesecake prepared for us by Amanda Lee. Wave your hand, Amanda.”
I look over my shoulder, watching as a woman dressed in all black with dark bobbed hair smiles brightly while waving her hand to everyone in the café.
“Let me tell you,” Steve continues with a chuckle, “I’ve had a bite of both and they are absolutely to die for.”
“Oh, stop!” Amanda giggles.
Steve claps his hands together. “Our first poet of the night will be the ever so handsome Lucas Brent.”
My face heats as all eyes turn to me. Instantly, I step toward the stage. When I get halfway, I pause, wondering if it’s even time for me to go to the front. I’ve never gone first. Should I turn around and wait? Should I tell Steve I can’t start without my girlfriend? Should I run away?
“Come on up, Lucas,” says Steve while waving me forward. “We have your throne right here.”
I grimace while watching him pat the stool. I would call that black, dinky thing many words, but throne is definitely not one of them.
I grab my papers before sitting on the stool, quickly unfolding them and glancing over the words once more. I practically have this thing memorized. Steve angles the mic toward me and I hear him whisper, “Don’t worry. You’ll do great.”
I wish I had so much confidence in me, but Steve is a gentle, kind soul who would never hurt a fly, or a spider, so of course he believes in me. As soon as he walks away from the stage and toward the counter, I feel any semblance of calm leave me swiftly. The table in front of me, which was supposed to be for Rachel, remains empty. I stare at the chair, wishing Rachel would just get here. I need her. She’s my rock. What could be taking her so long?
I look at the door, demanding that it open, but it remains shut. Several pairs of eyes stare at me, expectant, scrutinizing everything from my hair down to the very shoes I’m wearing. It’s time. I can’t wait for her. Two minutes of torture is all it will take and then it will be someone else. I inhale deeply, trying to calm my heart, but I don’t think it will ever stop pounding so violently.
“Hello,” I say with a forced smile. “My name is Lucas and I will be reading—”
The bell dings and I stop as I watch the door swing open. Rachel rushes inside, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide as they land on me. My smile grows and I gesture toward the table in front of me. She gets the message and stumbles toward me, mumbling, “Excuse me. So sorry,” as she steps around the tables and people standing in her way. She plops herself into the chair, her bag dropping to the floor while she leans back in her seat.
My smile grows, not caring that she’s late, just happy to know she’s here to support me. “I will be reading my newest work titledGreen Eyes.” I clear my throat while holding up my papers, my mouth suddenly feeling very dry. “Her eyes watch me, here and there, and they taunt me every night and day. There is no hate in her gaze, only beauty and joy, and I wish to stare into those orbs until the very end of time…”
The words flow out of me as I read. My gaze lifts every now and then to Rachel, watching her smile grow and her eyes brim with tears. I feel as if it’s only us in this room, and I am serenading her with my words, because no one else really matters. I do these poetry nights in order to get more self-confident about my work, to get my name out there and become a part of the writing community, but also, I feel like I do these more for Rachel. I want her to know how much I care for her, how much I love her. Every time I put pen to paper I think of her, and her eyes are the one thing that constantly bind me to her, for it’s her eyes telling me when she’s happy and when she’s sad.
These days she appears more sorrowful than ever before, and I can’t help but feel anger when I think of Hunter and what he’s doing to her. Sure, it was their decision to make, but I hate seeing how Rachel waits for Hunter, how she is constantly thinking about him rather than living her own life. There must be another way. I don’t want to push Hunter out of the group. He’s my best friend.
But this just isn’t working.
“Thank you,” I say when I finish reading my poem, receiving several snaps and nods of approval. Rachel stands while snapping, her smile wide and her eyes filled with such joy. At least, on nights like tonight, she’s back to the old Rachel, not the one pining near her phone while lying in bed.
“Amazing,” she says while I step down from the stage. “It was absolutely beautiful.”
“Really?” I ask while pulling out a chair and dumping my exhausted body next to hers. I feel like I have run a marathon. I’m probably sweating like I have. Who knew reading poetry could feel like such a workout? “You’re not just saying that because you have to?”
Rachel shakes her head while she leans into me, pressing her lips against my cheek. “No, you were absolutely brilliant.”
“Why, hello there!” I hear Steve say brightly. He nudges between us, placing two large cups of coffee in front of us as well as a raspberry cheesecake with two forks. “I hope you don’t mind, but I felt like the both of you needed something sweet.”
Rachel claps her hands, eyeing the cheesecake hungrily. “You read my mind!”
Steve chuckles before disappearing into the crowd. I grab my fork and stab it into the cake while Rachel takes a very generous gulp of her coffee. “Are you sure you should be drinking that this late?” I ask between mouthfuls of cheesecake. Steve was right. It’s absolutely to die for. “Don’t you get free coffee from work?”
Rachel rolls her eyes. “Work was terrible,” she groans. “There was a huge line when I left. I tried to stay and help as much as possible, but I couldn’t cancel on you, especially since I spend most of my time at The Café whenever I can.”
“Jason really needs to hire a couple more people, huh?”
“But no one is interested,” Rachel says while stabbing her fork into the cake, taking a very large helping and stuffing it into her mouth. “I don’t understand it. Jason is nice.”
I scoff. “Jason is the grumpiest guy I know.”
“Only because he spends all his waking hours at work. He probably wouldn’t be so grumpy if we had more help. I think he’s going to talk to the owner about raising wages.”
“I bet the owner will love that,” I say dismally.
