For Richer or for Poorer
or, "Hanging out in a European Café."
Laura and I had an early morning meeting at a Cyber Cafe here in Puerto Rico, in Rio Piedras. We arrived early because traffic was light due to the day of remembrance for President Ronald Reagan. What are we going to do for half an hour in Rio Piedras, we asked ourselves?
"You know it kinda feels like we’re in a small European town square," Laura remarked.
"Yeah," I said, "If you cover your eyes, your ears, your nose, and your sense of aesthetic." I chuckled at my own joke. Laura didn’t laugh. I repeated it in a lame attempt to get a smile at least. She giggled slightly.
Then, in her ever indomitable spirit of can-do, she stated, "Let’s see if there’s a coffee shop." We took a couple of steps up the block, passed a stray dog, a homeless man, a coin operated laundry mat, and abandoned our search.
"Hmmm, Europe, you say?" I chuckled again.
"Let’s check behind this street. I ambled off at Laura’s heels like the dutiful dog that I am. It was eight in the morning and already it was hot. I began to sweat as we walked across a large parking lot to an adjacent street. "Hey, this looks promising," Laura said, nodding toward a corner café.
"Yeah and as we walk in, I hope we don’t startle the grizzled old woman as she finishes her cigarette in her nightgown." It looked like that kind of place.
Once we stepped inside, the atmosphere changed. Gone were my visions of an old woman in her pajamas with a shotgun and a cigarette clenched between her teeth. No, they were replaced by the cold grim reality of a couple of college kids in a sparsely established tiny corner student hangout dump.
"Well, we’re here, I guess. What should we have?" I mused. I checked out the selection. "Let’s get quesitos and coffee. That okay with you?"
"Sure." I ordered two expresos (that’s espresso in Spanish for you snobs out there), and two cream cheese pastry rolls. We scoped out a clean table near a window with decent chairs and sat down. We were then next to the street in front of a large glass window. As the second homeless man passed, Laura remarked.
"Don’t you just have the feel of a European café nestled here against the window gazing at the street?" She started to laugh.
"You know I like hanging out with you, Laura. We should do these mini dates more often. I’m having fun in my European café."
Laura started laughing harder and a tear formed in her eye. "And you know if we put chairs out on the sidewalk we could drink in the rich aroma of urine." She started to lose it in a giggle fit, mascara streaming down here face.
With a flick of my wrist and a wistful French flourish I sighed, "Aahh," and sat back in an artful recline. Laura could not contain herself as she turned into a hapless puddle of giggles and tears. She could barely sip her coffee and eat her pastry. We commented on the buildings, how wonderfully artful they were, with their square corners covered in mold and pealing paint, and their imaginative shapes, concrete boxes stacked one on top of each other for as far as the eye could see.
"This is the life," I said. "An eternity of European cafes couldn’t replace this one moment I’ve spent with you, my dear."