The Wrong Key Cuts You Up

I work at a cafe. My half-opened eyes are usually a reflection of my state of mind until around nine am each shift. But today they did the most unusual thing at eight am that I’m still trying to process at 5:55 pm.

Just checked. Weird timing.

A girl and guy appearing about my age — young twenties — walk in together. She has a perfectly fitting navy blue sweater on to complement her clean cut, brown bob and gold jewelry ornamenting her round face. He has a light green flannel on to match his slight eyes and baggy jeans that somehow emphasize the sharp bone structure of his face.

They look like everything I’ve wanted.

They order kindly and calmly. I ask the name for the order and he says, “Mia”, and hands his card to me.

And for some reason, my eyes instantly well up with tears. The boy’s voice saying his lover’s name slip right through my ears, dribble down my throat, into my lungs and manage to pierce a part of my heart that I’ve kept locked for an awful long time.

Quick like a pocket-knife that’s left a slow leak running down into these words I write.

Keeping my head down to avoid any eye contact while handing the card back, I proceed to do a little dance behind the counter to distract myself and anyone else from seeing what’s going on from the neck up.

A mirage of the few boys I’ve allowed myself to get near enough to bombard my mind.

One day, I always say.

One day we’ll walk to coffee together and it’ll make sense and he’ll say my name when the barista asks who’s it for. And we’ll do it for more than one morning, a few mornings, a period of mornings — we’ll do it for forever mornings. Because it’ll make sense.

One day I’ll have that. And it’ll make sense.

Because it’s never really made sense. The way they leave. The way I leave. The way it doesn’t feel quite right. The way that it’s mine to touch but never long enough to hold when it does. The way it’s snatched from me before I can get a grip and say — “No! I want you! This is ours to keep!”. To fight for someone I know is worth it, and they fight for me because I’m worth it to them. The way love came at times before I reached an age where I have a better idea of how to hold onto someone rather than run from them. The way love crumbles in the most unforeseen and unfair ways seemingly possible — and to never have a solution or explanation or substitute for it.

Maybe this deep, hidden ache to love and be loved is just a part of womanhood. Maybe it’s just coming of age. Or maybe it’s a rarity only few individuals are plagued with. Perhaps it was bad timing to see this couple whilst on my period — hormones raging. Maybe it’s just humanity.

Whatever it is, I’m fucking terrified of it. Of this feeling. And it never being fulfilled and only watching it from behind a counter. To be taunted and haunted by it for the rest of my life.

I don’t know if I’ll ever have love. A love that’s mine.

I do know some people in this life aren’t put on earth for that purpose. It’s not that this is my ultimate sole desire, but I think, naturally, it’s a part of human experience I’d like to have in the cards of my fate. Either way, I guess it will make sense one day.

All I know is that the wrong key cuts you up. It doesn’t make sense and it leaves your heart locked up tighter each time you try. I’m not sure who holds the right key. Could be me and I’m too busy trying to pry it out of these boy’s hands.

But maybe, just maybe, there is a guy out there that holds the key, dangling from his belt loop. That won’t be scared of the blood and the scrapes left by those that came before him. And that little part of my heart will be opened with ease. And it’ll make sense. It’ll finally make sense.