I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell that was I doing here-- managing Mocha Daze when Hillary was lying dead in her coffin? I imagined her decaying body, then thought of myself dead like Hillary diminishing into nothingness. I looked at my mural painting of struggling people, I looked at the empty tables, and I looked at the still cash register. No one wanted to be here for fear that death itself was contagious. And wasn’t it, I thought? It’s really very simple to understand because the fact is that being born gives you the curse of death.

As my sadness grew, my desire to be held increased. I knew I didn’t know Paul but something inside me, like a trigger point, made me believe I could love him and what I truly wanted was for him to love me back. To hold me and to kiss me. Unfortunately however, my phone calls went unanswered and all my hope lay alone in the hands of his little sister. So now it was time for me to wait-- like Hillary waited for her operation, like she waited to die.

I made myself a latte and sat at a table wishing I was not alone when suddenly my wish came true. Smiling like an eager child at the door was Henry, needing me to give him permission to come in. I waved my hand and said, “Hey!” I was glad to see someone-- anyone.

“Hey, right back to you.” He sat across from me. “Guess I should have gotten the hint when you didn’t return any of my phone calls, but I suppose I don’t have real good control when I’m interested in someone.”

“You’re interested in me?” I asked, thinking of how much I wanted to do the same thing with Paul, just go find him and talk to him.

“Well, what do you think it means when a man calls you consistently without any return calls?”

“I’m sorry Henry, I’ve just been going through a hard time. I just lost a friend,” I said, feeling guilty for using Hillary’s death as disingenuous excuse.

“I heard. Pretty shocking. Was it true she was getting a sex change operation?”

“Yes, it was. Can I get you a coffee?”

“Sure, that’d be great.” Henry trailed me to the counter and silently watched me froth the milk.

I slid the coffee on the counter. “No charge. An apology for my rudeness.”

He reached for a sugar and ripped it open with his fingers, pouring it in the cup as he stirred with a spoon. “I’m lonely,” he said casually, like he was saying he had a cold. “Are you?”

My eyes watched him stir, “Yes, most of the time.”

We sat back at the table and sipped our coffees in silence, but not complete silence. A sexual tension bubbled and we both waited for some organic fruition without pushing it.

Finally I stood, locked the front door and headed for the bathroom. Again Henry followed me and it felt good to have someone trailing me-- to know he was there, that he wanted me, and that quite possibly he loved me.

In the bathroom Henry and I touched each other with need. I realized I hadn’t thought of Paul like I thought I would. I thought of Henry needing me and me wanting to be desired. It was enough.

Once we were finished, we each had another latte and he left without kissing me. He asked me to call him, if I wanted, because he would not call me. He would wait.