the barista writes a different name on my cup every time

monday

she writes sarah

on my large oat milk latte

i don't correct her

just take the cup

and sit by the window

pretending the name

doesn't sting

like a paper cut

small but sharp

wednesday

a different barista

squints at me

writes sam

which is closer

but still not

the alex

that lives

in my throat

waiting

to be heard

friday

i'm feeling brave

so when she asks

for my name

i say it clearly

alex

she nods

writes alice

on the cup

and i wonder

if my voice

is invisible

too

some days

i practice

in the car

before i go in

alex

alex

alex

like a prayer

like an incantation

like maybe

if i say it

enough times

it will stick

to my face

the way names

are supposed to

but my reflection

in the coffee shop window

keeps betraying me

showing them

someone else

someone who looks

like all the names

they've written

except mine

the regular barista

knows my order

by heart

but not my name

never my name

she calls me

honey

sweetie

anything

that doesn't require

recognition

and i'm grateful

for the kindness

even as it

hollows me out

a little more

each time

there's a new barista

today

young

with purple hair

and kind eyes

she asks

what's your name?

alex

i say

like always

she pauses

looks at me

really looks

writes ALEX

in careful capital letters

on my cup

and when she hands it to me

she says

here you go, alex

and suddenly

i exist

in this small space

between the counter

and the door

between who i was

when i walked in

and who i am

walking out

with my name

written correctly

for the first time

in three months

of coming here

i sit in my usual spot

by the window

holding the cup

like a trophy

like proof

that somewhere

someone

heard me

correctly

alex

not sarah

not sam

not alice

not honey

alex

the name

i chose

for myself

when i was sixteen

and brave

enough

to believe

i could become

who i really was

the cup is empty now

but i don't throw it away

instead

i take a picture

of my name

written in black sharpie

on white paper

evidence

that today

for five minutes

in a coffee shop

on a tuesday

morning

i was seen

exactly

as i am

tomorrow

it might be

sarah again

or sam

or some other name

that sounds

close enough

to satisfy

their need

to categorize

what they think

they see

but today

i have proof

written

in careful

capital letters

that alex

exists

that alex

orders oat milk lattes

that alex

takes up space

in coffee shops

and in the world

and sometimes

that's enough

to keep going

one correctly

spelled name

at a time