Any Good Books
7/19/03

"So, read any good books lately?" He asked, half-smiling over his café latte.

I looked up from my copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix I was reading. "No," I said. "I don't read books."

He laughed a small, tinkering laugh like the crumpling of paper. I turned my chair to face another direction and resumed reading.

Apparently, his name was Ted. About twenty minutes before he'd pulled a chair up to my single table at the far corner of the coffee shop and begun asking me questions. "What's your name?" "Do you live around here?" "Do you come here often?" I offered him nothing but cold stares and one-word answers, yet he persisted.

From this one-sided conversation, I'd ascertained more information about Ted's life than I ever wanted to know about any brazen stranger in a secluded coffee shop. He lived on Beech Street but he was originally from Cherry Hill, New Jersey. He was twice divorced, with four children spread out along the east coast with their respective mothers and stepfathers. He worked as an insurance broker, but his real dream was to be an orthodontist.

"When I've saved up enough money," he had told me with a mouthful of cappuccino brownie, "I'm going to go back to school. I just can't wait to get my hands into people's mouths."

At this statement I had sputtered and almost choked on my iced chai. He'd tried to hold a napkin up to my mouth, but fortunately I had turned my head away before he was able to reach me.

Now I was slurping up the last of my chai, and craving a chocolate croissant. One more look at Ted and I automatically decided to get it to go. I squeezed my book into my bag and rose from my seat.

"Leaving so soon?" Ted started to get up.

"No!" I shouted. Then I composed myself. "No," I said more calmly. "Don't get up. Just going to get a chocolate croissant." I gestured toward the counter, where a depressed-looking youth, decked in black, sat biting his nails and staring off into the distance.

Ted nodded and remained seated. I backed away toward the counter. "Don't move!" I called back to Ted. "I'll be right back." I kept backing up until I bumped right into the cash register. The cash drawer flew open, producing the typical "ching-ching" sound.

"Woah, dude, watch out!" The counter boy said dazedly. He moved sloth-like over to the cash register and pushed the drawer closed.
"So sorry," I said quietly. "I just want a chocolate croissant, please." I leaned in closer to the boy and said under my breath, "to go, please."

The boy behind the counter tipped his head back and shouted, "one chocolate croissant to go!"

I hid my face in my hands and stole a glance at Ted from between my fingers. Thankfully, he seemed oblivious to what was going on; he had taken to chatting up a disinterested-looking woman at the next table.

Counter boy handed me my chocolate croissant in a paper bag and said, "Two-fifty, dude."

I thrust three dollars at him and mumbled, "Keep the change." Then I slipped out the door as quietly as I could.

As I jogged to my car, I overheard Ted tumultuously asking his latest victim if she'd read any good books lately.