the unlikely francophile

As I linger in giddy thoughts of him it is hard even to know where to begin.

Him is the one that is quiet, focused, his physical body perfect for me, his personality a little too unformed, I suspect.

Babysitting for the kid affords me random hours with nothing to do and nowhere to go but I have to stay in the neighborhood, so naturally I go to the cafe. It was in one of those hours that I was able to speak to him again. He smiled when he bounded up the steps. It was like he knew I'd be there. He said a cheery hello and ordered his coffee. We talked about school, that it was ending, what he still had left to do, etc. His main worry was a twelve page essay on terrorism. He's a political science major, I learned. And then, he said the words I most dreaded. After school was finished, just a few days away, he was going to go home for the six week break.

I told him to stop by when I was working next. I worried the desperation I felt would drown out my words. He left with a distant air.

I didn't expect to see him again for six weeks. I hoped he would come in when I was working. I planned ahead. I got a postcard and wrote him a note with my number on it. I didn't know if I would get a chance to give it to him or not. I didn't know if I should give it to him. It seemed really very dorky.

And then, he came! I was so excited I had to turn away from him and smile at the coffeepots. I turned back to his smiling face and what followed was too much to recount. He stayed for over an hour. We chatted constantly unless a customer was there, and even then he often joined in the conversation. His volume went from a quiet two to a six. He talked about himself a lot more than he ever had. He didn't just nerd talk me, like I was someone he went to school with and had nothing better to talk about.

And I found out the most amazing thing ever. Not only is he a political science major, he's a french major. He's been to France. He speaks French fluently. Fluently! I asked him, really, not like a parlor trick? And he mused, no, not like a parlor trick...

Things were going so well that I didn't want to spoil the mood by giving him the postcard with my number on it. Walter suggested I give it to him before he left, and I'd even decided against that while he was there and we were having such a good conversation. I was hoping he'd be able to do the job on his own.

Finally he began to leave. He made this little speech about how he didn't know when he would see me again, so I gave him the card. A customer came in the interim and we both awkwardly said goodbye.

And even if he doesn't call, if we never go out, if we aren't even friends someday, I just loved that he turned the volume up and seemed more comfortable being himself than he had ever been before. That is what makes me smile about the whole thing.