I pulled out my cell phone and checked the time again; somehow I'd forgotten in the last 30 seconds. 'I should be there in 20 minutes,' I thought. 'Maybe 30 ...? No, I should get there early. 20 minutes.' Either way I had just enough time to grab a
(more) coffee.
The line at Starbucks was long but moving quickly. I pulled out my phone yet again. 19 minutes. I just needed some caffeine. A large many wearing sweat pants and a hoodie got in line behind me while his toddler wandered around the coffee shop.
"Cooper ... Coooooper..." he yelled over the crowd. The kid kept weaving around chairs and tables and display stands.
17 minutes. The woman in front of me wanted what she had last time, and was having a difficult time remembering what that was. It had... ya know... froth? And it was sweet...?
"Cooper... Cooper!"
I felt a low growl of irritation rumble in my throat before I even knew I was doing it. What was wrong with me? Why did all of this seem so comically, tragically wrong?
***
Three years earlier...
Even during Barcelona's cool spring it was warm enough to sit outside on the terraza. I and two other students sat around a small table, chatting until the waiter saw us.
"Do we have enough time for lunch?" Patricia asked.
I shrugged. "Maybe. I think we have plenty of time. ThIs place has great bocadillos, anyway."
The waiter eventually came over. We all ordered a coffee and a ham sandwich. They were delivered promptly, and we knew we wouldn't see the waiter again for a while. We chatted some more and ate, and when we left I was glad that, in Spain, there always seemed to be time for coffee.(less)
