Show Me Your Anger

There’s an old koan about a monk who went to his master and said “I’m a very angry person, and I want you to help me.” The master said, “Show me your anger.” The monk said, “Well, right now I’m not angry. I can’t show it to you.” And the master said, “Then obviously it’s not you, since sometimes it’s not even there.” Who we are has many faces, but these faces are not who we are.
–Charlotte Joko Beck

Apperception.

Sometimes I lack it. How many times in my life have I not learned from my mistakes. Have I not taken the experiences of my past and laid them over my new experiences like a template.

I see it happen daily and I'm trying to change. Trying to grow. To learn. I feel myself fall into ruts. Sometimes I dig hard to scale the sides of the rut. Other times I can feel myself getting comfortable in it. I begin pushing all the rocks to the side. Clearing out a nice little spot to lay my body and rest. Then, after a rest, I decide to half-heartedly attempt to climb out. It rarely works. Almost never.

It takes that impulsive desire to get out of a rut. That drive. That rush of electricity. And I think that's what I'm saying --

Sometimes I don't feel electric. And it is that temporary lack of electricity that sometimes makes me freeze. And blind. And deaf.

I become mute to the world around me and inside of me. Not seeing the events of my past. Not hearing them.

How long have I been like this?

Aftermaths.

Let the waves come crashing down.

I'm just going to write --

She walked in to the coffee shop. She had hair that looked like wheat. Dense fields of wheat piled into a beautiful mess on top of her head. She held it in place with a mechanical pencil. A modern spin on an old fashion statement. Her jeans were just tight enough to be considered tight, but they looked comfortable. Worn in the knees. Some threads of denim from being a bit too long. Dragging under the heal of her red Chuck Taylor's. The flannel shirt could have been seen as lazy looking if it were anyone but her. I imagine it being an old shirt that belonged to her Dad. She grabbed it when she was moving out of the house for the first time. She wanted something that made her feel like a little girl. Dad's old flannel shirt. That would work. It hung off her shoulders and was unbuttoned far enough to see the front clasp on her bra. No doubt a choice that she had made. She turned heads. That was her thing. She was a head-turner.

When she stood in line for her coffee, that's when he turned HIS head. Almost as quickly as he locked eyes with her, he turned back around. "Wasn't really expecting that.", he thought to himself. He decided to muster up the courage to talk to her. He was no slouch but she was the kind of woman that you had to muster up courage for, no matter who you were. She was a head-turning, courage-musterer. She was texting.

"Anything good?" he said.

She looked up from her iPhone. "I'm sorry?"

"Your text...anything good?"

She looks down. Reads the text. Looks up again and quickly takes him in. "Nope. But don't tell the guy I'm texting."

"I'll try not to mention it the next time I see him."

She looks in his hand. Sees his Blackberry. "How about you? Anything good on yours?"

"In my texts or just on my phone, in general?"

"Both."

"See for yourself." He hands her his phone.

Without any hesitation she starts to scroll through his texts. "Who's Amber?"

"She's a girl I occasionally date."

"What marks the occasions?"

"When I'm lonely. I know that sounds messed up but she already knows this. It's not like I'm taking advantage. She does the same thing to me."

She looks up from the phone. Hands it back to him. "So, are you saying you're lonely now? Because your texts are from earlier today."

"Hmm. Hadn't really thought about it. Yeah. I guess I'm kinda lonely right now. Don't know if I'd use the word 'lonely' but I've definitely been alone lately."

They move forward in line one spot.

"Is that why you're talking to me?" she asks.

"You? No. I'm talking to you because you're stunning. And because of your shirt."

She laughs. "My shirt? What is it about my shirt that intrigues you?"

"It's dirty." he replies.

She laughs heartily. "You're funny."

"No, seriously. It's dirty." He points at a stain on the lower corner of her shirt.

She looks down and notices. "Ah, damnit! I didn't even see this."

"It's okay. I love a woman with character."

"And I love a man who pays attention to detail."

They move forward in line. He's one space from the counter. His phone beeps.

"Is that Amber?" she asks.

He looks down at the phone. "Yeah."

"Anything juicy?" she asks.

Looks at the phone. "Not really. She wants to know if I have plans for tonight."

"Ah. I guess that's the big question." She smiles at him.

"Yep. Big question. Not that juicy though."

"So?"

"So, what?" he replies.

"Do you have plans for tonight?" She asks.

He smiles. "Who's asking?"

"Amber is, of course."

"Ah, I see." He nods his head. "I don't know. It depends."

"On..?" her eyebrows raised, curious.

"On you." He replies.

She blushes. Smiles. Puts her hand out to shake.

"What's your name?"

"I'm Jesse." He shakes her hand.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Amber."

They step up in line. Now at the counter.

The barista looks at them. "Hi, what can I get for you today?"

Jesse replies, "Hi. I'll have a medium drip and the lady will have a Soy mocha, half the powder, and an extra shot."

Amber weaves her hand into his. Whispers into his ear. "You're fucking cool." She kisses his cheek.

And he kisses her back.