PURSUIT: A Novel – 5: Encounter

Old Towne, Kansas – Monday Noon, March 6, 1989

Buzzed with so little sleep, Jerry sped down the wooden staircase to the small foyer of this restored, old row house built a century ago. He opened the outer door, its large window radiating the noon sunlight. Reaching the sidewalk, he turned left to head to the coffee house.

Another beautiful spring day. 

“Dying moments birth new ones,” he said, musing the words in his mind as he quickened his short walk to the corner. The crosswalk light beamed GO, and he continued his pace, yet looking left then right for any wayward vehicle. Reaching the coffee shop, its door open on this balmy day, he took the hewn stone steps two at a time. Everyone was immersed in reading, talking, or studying, as he walked to the counter. 

No one staring at me now.

“Triple venti cappuccino, dry?”

“You got it.” Jerry smiled, recalling the previous day. He scanned the laid back setting of this quaint, European style hang-out for college students, the walls lined with antique books, the overstuffed chairs beckoning for someone to slouch in them and peruse one of the classics. All of the tables were taken, but one by the street-front windows.

He saw her at the corner table, the morning sun glowing on her face as she leaned forward on her elbows, coffee in one hand and book in the other. His thoughts took him to the scene of her dance, deftly moving like a soft breeze blowing across a field of wheat, gracefully rising and falling with the flow of the music.  

“Late start today?” the barista said.

“Yeah, up all night trying to write a paper,” Jerry edgily stated, still cranked on caffeine but not wanting to crash.

“Get ’er done?”

“Hardly. Started over a dozen times. Can’t get beyond the block,” he said through gritted teeth.

I’m wired.

“Writers block, huh? What are you writing about?”

“Ugh, a paper for a required English comp course. Hate it. Put it off for four years.”

“Can’t relate to the topic?”

“Should be able to. It’s about self-destiny . . . what I want to do with my life.”

Dying moments birth new ones. 

“Hmmm, better know that before you graduate.” Barista chuckled.

“Yeah, thought I knew what I wanted in life . . . make a lot of money, retire at 40, buy a yacht and cruise the Caribbean. Haha. Now, I’m wondering if this is the right direction. But it’s why I chose my major . . . business with a concentration in finance.”

“Hey, I can relate, man. Graduated last spring . . . psychology major, and look what I’m doing now . . . hehe . . . triple venti cappuccino, dry?”

Jerry wasn’t listening, his focus on the girl at the table in the corner. He would not forget the long, wavy black hair that flowed behind as his mind transfixed on the memory of her dance where he first saw her. Today she wore her hair pulled back from her face, its translucence contrasting beautifully against the coal black strands. She looked up from her book, staring straight ahead over the empty table next to her, deep in thought. She wore a pastel, floral skirt with a light pink pullover shirt that snugly showed off her trim torso. Her posture was erect, a sharp contrast to the other students hunched over their computer or slouching in a chair as if they needed to be propped up lest they fall in a heap on the floor. One leg was crossed behind the other showing off a calf, long and muscular.

Deep aroma of the steamy, dark-roasted espresso wafted in the air as he envisioned her flowing to the smooth jazz that added a soothing, relaxed atmosphere to the campus coffee house. He sipped from the heavy porcelain mug. Earthy tones of rich African soil and a hint of rustic fruited flavor with thick body coated his tongue. His eyes did not leave her while gazing over its rim.

The barista followed Jerry’s gaze across the room. “Sweet.”

“You know her?”

“Part of the dance troupe on campus. She’s starring in a contemporary version of Swan Lake. There’s a famous choreographer here to train ballet dancers in his signature style. Just read about it in Campus Times, front page . . . awesome picture of her.”

The barista pointed to Jerry’s mug as he sipped the cappuccino, a milk froth mustache clinging to his stubble. 

“Three-fifty.”

“Oh . . . must be the distraction.”

“Uh, huh. I can see that.”

Jerry dug into his pocket and scrounged up three bills and some change.

“Don’t forget to wipe off the mustache . . . unless you’re famous.” Barista chuckled.

“Huh?”

Jerry grabbed a napkin and walked across the room to the bookshelf to scan the titles.

“Hmm . . . Adventures of a Young Man.” He pulled one of Hemingway’s classics.

He sat at the open table facing her, parted the book, and slouched down in his chair to watch her while pretending to read. He waited for a break in her concentration, and when she did, he put his book down, hoping to catch her attention.

Her eyes met his.

“Nice dance.”

She looked at him quizzically.

“Plant the Good Seed,” he said.

She smiled. “Yesterday, you were there?” Looking at him, she tried to place his face amongst the crowd of students that packed the church that morning.

“Yeah, picked up a coffee from here and was taking a walk . . . heard the music . . . was curious . . . saw you dancing in the aisle . . . very inspiring.”

“Glad it moved you,” she said softly.

“You have a gift.” 

“That’s what my mother said a long time ago. Use your gift for God’s purpose.”

“Well, it certainly opened my heart.”

She looked at him with more interest.

“My name’s Jerry . . . finishing my last semester here. You?”

“Christina,” she said delicately.

“May I join your table?”

“Please,” she said with the poise of a refined young lady.

The barista looked out across the tables towards the street windows. Nearly all were caught up in their inner world. In the corner were two exploring each other’s world. He smiled. Would love to hear their conversation. It must have been the coffee. Three shots of lightning.

Christina glanced at her watch. “Oh, time has slipped away. I’m nearly late for dance rehearsal. Sorry to cut this short. It was a pleasure meeting you. See you next Sunday?”

“Oh. Yeah. Hey, what’s your last name?”

“Rogers. Yours?”

“Meier. May I call you?”

“Hmmm. I’ll see you next Sunday. Deal?” 

“Deal.”

Christina quickly departed.

Jerry looked at the book in front of him. What a ruse . . . Adventures of a Young Man.  

He opened the coffee shop door as the blare of a horn sounded. His mind flashed backed to the lightning and thunder and the voice from heaven.

You are not alone, echoed in his head.

And then the pastor’s words, Dying moments birth new ones.

v v v

Copyright 2017  © Jeff Cambridge

Excerpt from PURSUIT, a novel by Jeff Cambridge, a writer of transformational fiction with characters that tell life-changing stories.

This is a pre-published scene.

To read the scenes sequentially, begin with

“PURSUIT: A Novel – Prologue”

Your comments are welcomed and appreciated. Simply check one of the reaction boxes below, write a comment, or email me at bycambridge@gmail.com.

This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses, organizations, and locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.