POEM

Unlikely Reunion

A Tale of Forgiveness and Romance

AC0040
The Poetry Club

--

Photo by Andriyko Podilnyk on Unsplash

As a kid, you’d never catch
Owen turning book pages
at an evenly lit bookstore.
Owen needed resolution
to life’s loneliness that only
a book could reveal.
Owen still had it in him
to seek forgiveness from
a girl from way back when
high school bells rang.
Mila, a woman he crushed over,
thought the worst of him.
Owen’s fault played little
into her embarrassment.
But here he sat at a table,
sipping a mocha
and turning pages in a book.
Self-help books said much,
much about nothing.
But he hoped he’d find
something between
the lines.
Baristas did their thing
as coffee machines ground beans
and whisks whistled warm milk.
But that was when
his self-esteem was out
of control.
He had a suave persona to defend.
Nerds, to him, read books.
But he fell into the trap
of lacking words
to swim to the surface.
But here he was,
30 and newly single.
By newly single,
he’d tell you a month,
but he’d been void
of a date for over a year.
He sulked in his tears of pity.
Owen let go of trimming his hair
and lining his beard.
Owen’s home had clothes
spread throughout the room,
and the TV was on.
The coin lost its toss
and he straightened
his collar in the bathroom mirror.
Owen forced a smile to sparkle
his teeth in the reflection
of better years left in pictures.
Against his better wishes,
he exchanged dark beer
for nicotine gum — an odd
trade-off to ditch liquid courage.
But God pulled him through.
He still wasn’t who God
promised him in a prayer
over losing his savings of a life
which he spent his frustration
clearing a path across
the little things that he
turned into mountains.
A woman at a table away sneezed.
“Bless you,” Owen said, his eyes still
following the text.
“Thank you,” she said.
Owen put his finger on his spot and lifted his head. “Of course.” His polite gaze eased into a blush.
“Owen?” Mila said, removing her dark-framed glasses.
“In the flesh,” he said, swallowing hard.
“Has hell frozen over?” Mila arched a brow. “Frankly, I didn’t know you could read.”
“It wasn’t me, okay,” Owen said. He grabbed his book and moved to her table. “In senior year, I didn’t put the pie in your bag.”
“I’d never been more embarrassed,” Mila said, moving strands of her long, red hair behind her ear.
“A friend did, but I didn’t.”
“You’re probably single, jerk.”
Owen gave Mila an anxious glance.
Mila shrugged. “What? Do you want sympathy from me.”
“No…”
“I knew she’d leave you,” Mila said. “It was only a matter of time.”
“Excuse me?” Owen said. “You knew my girlfriend?”
“Know her?” Mila laughed. “She was my college roommate.” She sipped her latte and pushed the cup away.
Owen lifted and lowered his hands on the table. “I’m confused.”
“You sure are,” Mila said.
Owen motioned. “I know you hate me.”
“Hate you?” Mila said, arching a brow.
“I’m looking for a book that will tell me what I did wrong.”
“I don’t hate you,” Mila said. “I notice you coming here every weekend. I look at the books that you read.”
Owen’s mouth opened, not closing. “I feel as embarrassed as you must have felt that day.”
“If only that were true.” Mila laughed.
“Wait,” Owen narrowed one eye and gestured, “your family owns this place, right?”
“We do, well, I do,” she said. “My parents passed away three years ago.”
Owen turned his head and moved his eyes around. The beige walls and oak floor blended well with the pine tables, espresso shop, and soft pop playing through the ceiling speakers. The evenly spaced art and upcoming book list fit well.
People peeped at the cover and description
on the back and went up to purchase the book.
“You’ve done amazing,” Owen said.
“I’m glad that you don’t hate me,” Owen said, a wave of relief washing over him.
“How could I hate you when I’ve always been in love with you?” Mila’s words hung in the air, a shocking revelation that left Owen speechless.
Owen laughed, but Mila wasn’t smiling. “You’re serious?”
“All those sleepovers with your sister weren’t because I wanted to watch chick flicks.”
Owen blushed. “Why don’t we write our own story?”
“I can live with that, and it first starts with a kiss.”

(© 2024 AC)

(Amazon Kindle, Spillwords, The Writers Club)

Other posts at The Poetry Club

--

--

AC0040
The Poetry Club

U.S. Army Veteran. Paratrooper. Runner. Nonprofit. Education. I write short stories and poems.