Relentless

By A.M. Giglio

My life has led me here as inevitably as your ancestors’ decisions led directly to your birth. But if I’m being honest, it’s still a little weird to think of my wants and needs after decades of serving others. What shall I do with what’s left of my life? Nonetheless, I am applying to colleges.

Because of my age, you could look at me and easily say, “Ludicrous,” and I wouldn’t take offense. You could say, “Crazy.” Again, no offense taken. I am simply propelled by a tailwind I can’t shake.

For weeks now, I’ve been nesting in this coffee shop downing lattes, researching programs, writing essays, submitting financials, polishing my resume, producing samples, hoping to grab that golden ticket to the rest of my life.

Today feels like a good day. Brie, behind the counter, has swirled a lacy heart into the foam on my coffee. She was biting her lower lip—just on one side—and squinting slightly as she drew it. In the weeks I’ve been coming, it’s my first heart. Did I earn it with my tips? I’ve never experienced the “café” life before. I wasn’t sure how to occupy real estate in a place of business, so I figured I’d make the employees happy. My tips aren’t outrageous. Just good—and consistent.

“Oh, that,” she’s says. “I just learned it this morning! Glad you like it.”

I like the whole place. The afternoon sunshine fills it with light, and bushy plants in huge ceramic pots dot the floor. The artwork on the walls is for sale, the mugs are made by the ceramic pot maker, muffins and scones come from someone nearby. It’s so plugged in and connected. My industry is a world of scarcity. We’d never hold hands and help each other along. It’s more of a race to the front of the line, a race you run completely in your own lane.

But today, I’m here not there, caffeinated, yet calm. Focused and fired up. I’m about to finish application number four, my last one. I really can’t afford any more.

And my café buddy just walked in. Does everyone have one, or did I make that up? It’s like a road buddy on a long trip. You’ve never met and you’re never going to meet, but for hours, you’re headed in the same direction at the same time, completely by chance. My café buddy’s been here nearly every day that I have. She reads documents and writes in her little black book. We’ve been nod/smiling at one another in recognition of our regularly crossed paths.

I’m very casual, but she’s always dressed to impress: an elegant suit, quiet but significant jewelry, and an always different hand-tooled leather bag.

She looks familiar to me, as if I should know her though we’ve never met. Why is she here every day? Surely, she has a lovely office. She works for two hours or so. And she never talks on her phone. Unlike the rest of us plugged into stuff, she’s actually reading things on paper, like reports or memos. They’re in a folder that she keeps in her leather bag. Occasionally, I see her staring into space, like she’s left the planet.

I wonder about café protocol. Is it like being on an elevator? Would it be rude to have a conversation?

Today, she orders, takes a seat, and gets to work, looking up only to say thanks for the scone delivered to the table.

I dig into the application in front of me. I want to apply to 2 more, but that’s another $200. I’m already going to need every penny I have to move to wherever I get in—if I get in—so I’m not sure 2 more applications are the right thing to do.

It’s such a bloody crap shoot. Life shouldn’t be a crap shoot. We’re not told that. We’re told to work hard and we can do anything. But what about the money to get it done? Some people say it’s luck. Like finishing your coffee to leave precisely enough time to arrive at the bus stop just as the bus pulls up. Or pushing a button at exactly the moment to bag the slot machine jackpot. Or getting on a bus with a single seat left which is beside the one who, it turns out, is the love of your life. It’s chaos out there. Believe me, it’s all in the timing. And I have no idea how my timing has been because there won’t be any feedback for weeks. So I push forward, or rather I ride my tailwind. It’s relentless, so I just go with it.

After some time, I look up. She’s watching me. I wonder for how long? That’s weird. When our eyes meet, we both look away, abruptly, embarrassed. That’s weirder.

I notice that her bag is on the table and her stuff is spread out. She doesn’t usually empty her bag. Weird again.

I go back to work. I focus on the application and figure I’ll just work through it and decide how about the other 2 later. Each application seems to need its own packaging. I probably should get another latte if I’m going to sit here another hour. Brie sees me coming, knows what I want, and gets to work. Her shift will end soon, so I appreciate that she’s still here and we don’t need the chit chat. I wander while she’s working and look at the paintings. A small simple frame catches my eye and pulls me over. It’s new. A woman is sitting in a chair, gazing out the window. Her room is so sparsely furnished you can feel its emptiness. Her gaze is intense and her head is turned toward the window. She doesn’t know you are watching her.

“Ma’am.” I hear Brie behind me. I pick up the coffee and get back to work.

The next time I look up, my café buddy is gone. Now I wish I had said something. But what? And then I see her folder and black book on the chair beside the one she sat in. I’m not surprised. Something was off today. I should take them to the counter for Brie to hold but I want to finish this annoying essay about how I will be a perfect fit for the program—is there such a thing? A perfect fit. Is that a reasonable thing to ask someone to describe? Or to be?—so I step over and scoop up the book and folder and lay them on the chair beside me. I’ll take them to the counter later.

What’s a perfect fit? I’ve never had jeans that are a perfect fit. How can anyone be a perfect fit? On the surface, their program looks like what I want. But I also know that it’s a whittled description and once I’m a few months in, I’m certain things will get messy and complicated. I will no longer be a “perfect” fit. And vice versa. We’ll have to reach some sort of compromise in order to continue. So why do we start out with this lie? Like both my marriages. I guess the lies were the best part…

My mind wanders over to the painting. What is she looking at with such laser focus? Why doesn’t she care that we’re watching her? Ahhh. What she wants is outside of that room. And she will have it. If the artist had waited one more second, the woman would have been caught rising from the chair to leave.

“Excuse me?” The voice is behind me. I jump.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” I turn, and I see her: my café buddy.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m wondering if you’ve seen my papers? I may have left them there.” She’s pointing. I smile and reach for them on the chair beside me.

“Yes,” I said. “I think you mean these.” I hand them over to her.

“Oh my god, thank you!” Genuinely relieved, she stops short of gushing, but looks a little pale. I offer her a seat at my table. “Would you care to join me?”

“Yes, yes, thank you.” She sits and then stuffs the book and folder into her leather bag, patting it once they are safely inside. Her color returns. “Phew,” she says. “You have no idea how worried I was.”

“Well, I was going to bring them to the counter, but I didn’t want to stop work that long and Brie was leaving and I don’t know these people on this shift, so I thought I’d hold them here and decide what to do later.” It all just tumbled out.

“No, this is perfect. The fewer people who have access, the better.”

What, is she CIA? That never crossed my mind…

“I mean, it’s my corporate data and projections. My Dream Book, really. It’s all about the future. And it has to be secret.”

I notice that we might be around the same age. I must have looked puzzled, because she continued, “Every quarter, I spend 3 weeks planning. I firmly believe if you fail to plan, you plan to fail.”

“You’re not afraid to plan?” It just slipped out. “I mean, we have such little time left. It’s all so important. It’s so risky.”

She stared at me for a moment before responding. Wheels were turning. “Of course, I’m afraid. Frankly, I’m always afraid. No matter how solid you think things are, something unexpected can happen and destroy everything—business, love, health—just like that.” She made a loud snap with her fingers. It sounded like a bubble had burst.

“Yes. I know. It’s timing.”

“Exactly! Too soon to market, no one’s ready. Too late, you get leftovers. You need a confluence of things…I think it’s even the same with marriage” .She looked away for a moment. “May I ask what you’re working on?”

“Well, I’m planning my future, also.” I hesitate to tell her. “I’m applying to college.”

“Really? In-state or out-of-state?” She didn’t say ludicrous. Or crazy.

“Both, actually. I want to apply to 2 more. The applications are running about $100 each these days!” I notice that her necklace could pay for a few. “But I’m not sure about tuition and everything else. My planning can only go so far. Will anyone give me a scholarship at my age? I guess I’ll find out in a few weeks. It’s pretty much a crap shoot.” Again, it just slipped out.

She ponders for a moment. Then she reaches into her bag and pulls out a checkbook. “Let me help you,” she says. “You’ve done me an enormous favor today by securing my work. The least I can do is help you!” She’s smiling.

“But…”

She cuts me off. “Let’s see. You said $200 for the applications, you’ll need to move, add a zero, and the first semester will be tough, so add one more zero. $20,000. Will that do?”

I can’t speak. She doesn’t seem to care. She fills it in and says, “I’ve left the ‘Pay To’ blank, so you can write it in directly. I’m done working here at this shop—I use different cafes each quarter—so I wish you luck.” She tore the check neatly from her checkbook.

She’s already out of her chair. Her arm is extended and she’s offering me the check.

“Why?”

She sits again and leans in. “Look, at our age, going to college takes a special kind of courage and a very solid reason. And I believe in supporting women. It’s rough out there. We need more women. Everywhere. Please. Go to college. Do what you’re planning to do. Please?” She slides the check across the table.

I pick it up. We smile at one another. She rises from the chair. I watch her walk out the door. And then she’s gone.