"Living in Hotels" by Eva Konstantopoulos
She pushes her pile of change to the register as an offering.
Our Starbucks trainee sighs, “That’ll be 1.58, Ma’am.”
“Oh, right.” She reaches down deeper into her pockets and pulls out a paper clip, a quarter, and a penny.
The line is out the door now. I shift around my back pocket, pull out a crisp single, and hand it over to the trainee. He reaches to pinch up Anna’s quarters on the counter.
“Wait!” she cries. Heaving her bag in front of us with a thump, she reaches into the recesses of her baggage and deposits next to the trainee’s hand, a comb, a travel-size toothpaste, and two wrinkled Holiday Inn soaps.
Anna keeps digging as her cheeks blush a deeper crimson, “I’m sure I’ve got it. It’s only a few more cents.”
A man behind her steps in. “Here,” he says, slapping a dollar on the counter.
The trainee rushes over and fills a tall cup with our freshly brewed blend of Guatemala Antigua. A small round of applause erupts from behind her. Anna collects her belongings.
“Watch it, it’s hot,” The trainee pushes the coffee cup towards Anna’s side of the counter.
She stares at the register, the man behind her, the trainee. Her face is red as she stumbles to pick up the coffee with shaking hands and bustles over to a stool by the window.
She stares blankly at the man that sells newspapers outside the Government Center T stop. I want to tell her that she is beautiful, but only when she is about to ask a question, only when she is afraid to venture out to the kitchen to make our morning tea and she tickles the inside of my arm and asks me to come, too.
Finally, she shakes her head and stands abruptly. Hauling her overflowing bag unto her shoulders and shuffling towards the door, cradling her coffee, which she has never once ordered once when we were together, with a few fingers of one hand.
And I am pushing past the crowds of workers and men with trimmed suits that I all know by name. I am rushing out to catch her, to stroke her hair. I am wrapping my arms around her small shoulders outside the Government Center T stop by the gruff man that sells newspapers. To the right of us an old lady is feeding an assembly of pigeons and seagulls by the American flag. She smiles and winks, throwing Wonder bread and peanuts at our feet, and the birds swoop in and rise and swarm around us in celebration.
“It’s so bright,” Anna says. “Everywhere is so bright.”
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