The Cloister Café, New York City

Photo: R.C.O.

I don’t know what it means to be married yet. I’m sitting with a young man who I’d like to kiss. But he’s having coffee with me, coffee in big bowl-like cups, nothing more. That’s all we’ll ever have. Words and different forms of water. Sure, I’ll profess my love and lust at some point, but I haven’t just yet.

And within all that, he somehow turns the talk to marriage that day at the Cloister Café. He states quite confidently, I know who you’re going to marry. This is good. While he doesn’t want to date me, it definitely looks like he wants to get married.

I don’t understand yet that there’s an in between. I flash my best showgirl smile. He says, You’re going to marry a foreigner. You’re going to marry someone who isn’t from the States. 

The lights dim in my teeth. Show over. Because the young man that I want to kiss is clearly from the States. Clearly not a foreigner. I sip my coffee quietly.

The spell that boy cast between my quiet sips of coffee at the Cloister Café.


2 thoughts on “The Cloister Café, New York City

  1. Isn't it crazy how you get from one point to another in life? And to look around and say que que que que? How did I build my blocks up so high to be able to be here right now way up high looking down on my life before when I was so innocent as if that person would be a friend from your past that you would like to say hello to and give a little hug or advice to – just something to ease her uneasiness (that you remember that you used to have). Giselle you are truly an artist. I love this photo as well it fits. Talk to me.


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