What we have is just a simple customer/caf owner relationship. She stay inside the bar, I sit at the bar, separate by the bar counter, is safe and simple.

And when the line is cross, just as the whisky cross the first gold line on the Irish coffee glass, it wont taste like the real Irish coffee anymore.

————————————————————–

What would you like to have? Coffee or tea?

Coffee, please.

What kind of coffee would you like to have?

Irish coffee.

Hey, you dress up today. Whats going on?

I… um I just attend a meeting in UCLA and and presented my final report to the board. This is harder than I thought.

Tina looks at me and shifts her eyes to my briefcase and the laptop. I understand. Youre not coming to LA next week.

I just nod. What else I should tell her? Im coming back to LA to see you?

She says nothing and starts making Irish coffee. I watch at her silently. Oh! Coffee bean is not enough. Hey! Thats way too much of whisky. Watch out for the fire!

She flame the whiskey for a few seconds, pulls the coffee shot and lay down a carpet of fresh cream. Drink. She says.

As I finish my coffee, she says, Want to hear the story about me?

Uh huh.

Im worked at the several caf after graduate from high school. Studies didnt interest me but coffee is. I made up my mind to make a real Irish coffee after I knew about the story between the bartender and air stewardess. I promised myself that Ill own my own caf once I could make a real Irish coffee and I did. I waited someone to order the Irish coffee. Seem I have a better luck than the bartender, I waited just three month.

She takes out the two different menus, one is dark brown and the other is light brown. She asks, Notice any different?

Flip through both of the menu and I realize only menu with dark brown color has the Irish coffee. Whats the reason you prepare two different menus?

Thats how the bartender can be sure that the girl he loves would be the first person to order the Irish coffee.

I had it all the while but I never use it. And then you came. First time when you walked through the door and started focusing on the portrait and poem on the wall, I know you would be different. Others would just screen through.

I tried my luck and you order the Irish coffee. You cant imagine how excited I am when I make my first Irish coffee. And I start to know how the bartender felt when he heard the sir stewardess said Irish coffee.

I watched and noticed the gratify look on your face. Do you know how it touches my heart? You said Thanks Tina. Thanks for the wonderful coffee. That means a lot to me. And do you know why I never let you pay for your coffee? Because I never think of you as a customer. She keeps on mumbling in a dreamy tone.

Let me be persistent for one last time.

What will be your reason?

You help me to experience how it felt when the bartender makes the last Irish coffee for the air stewardess.

What is your feeling now?

Despairs. The thought of loosing someone I care so much.

Someone?

A careful and discreet person.

I cant speak.

Im sorry after a long pause, she says, I forget about the tear drop.

She picks up the empty glass and look at it for a while when she says, How can I be so careless, this is your last Irish coffee, and I should She says with a whimpering cry.

Tears start rolling down her check, into the empty Irish coffee glass. She draws circles on the brim of the glass using her tears. She look up, her beautiful soft brown eyes is now full of tears. Farewell.

Farewell. I say. We dont say See you next week.

***

Life remains the same in San Diego. Work in the morning, go home at five evening. Sometime I will hang out with friends in local caf, I look for Irish coffee. If they have it, Ill order. If they dont, is ok. I guess it is ok because it wont be any where near to what I had in LA.

Winter will be over soon. The best time to enjoy Irish coffee will over soon. Will I miss the warmth it brings me? Do I miss the Irish coffee? Do I miss Tina? I like the warmth from Irish coffee or it is come from Tina?

I cant differentiate the different feeling. Which is the one I like best? Assume Irish coffee is a cocktail and coffee drinks, can I like them both?

I take a day off and go for vacation with some friends. On the way back home, we stop by at a caf for a light lunch. Im surprise they serve Irish coffee. I order Irish coffee. They got the right glass, the right taste, the right smell. Just that the caf owner is a fat guy over forty.

As if I can almost distinguish between Tina and Irish coffee. My mind starts to recap every moment back at Yeats. Alcohols start burning in my stomach and my heart.

I can feel something at the corner at my eyes, it feel warm when its cross my cheek down into my lip, into my mouth. Its taste a little bit salty, a little bit sour. The taste of fermentation from the thinking about someone you love.

I wont wait and cant wait for Thursday. I need to do what is right; you dont sit there and think about it.

Next day after work, I take the flight from San Diego to Los Angeles. Right before 12 midnight, Im now standing in front of Yeats.

I push open the door and shut the wind from outside.

Hi, welcome. She is wiping the bar counter. She never looks up.

I walk to the bar area and take a seat. Are you still pulling the same old trick on me?

She stops wiping and look up.

What would you like to have? Coffee or tea?

Coffee, please.

What kind of coffee would you like to have?

Irish coffee.

What are you doing here?

I was thinking about Irish coffee.

Want some tear drops?

I dont need it anymore.

Why is that?

I know how it felt when I missed someone.

Someone?

A persistent and earnest person.

Shes trying to take Irish coffee glass down from the cabinet above. Her hand is shaking. Getting on my feet, I walk to the opposite side, over the bar counter, over the line. Holding her hand, I help her taking out two Irish coffee glass.

I want to hold your hand, Tina. I want to be with you. I need you. I want us to be together. Saying this, I move my hand to her face. Softly touches her lips with my index finger and I lean in for a kiss.


the end