Bongo Java Girl

True Story:

There was this little blonde chiclet I met, briefly, in college. I was nocturnal, taking an absurd 22+ hours a semester, sleeping every two days to complete coursework. I'd come into the habit of writing outdoors past midnight, if I weren't on the soccer field exercising.

One night I diverted from my normal schedule. Instead of heading to the cafeteria patio tables, — which conveniently circled an eerie-lighted bell tower. Perfect for writing. — I walked to a coffee shop, Bongo Java, down the street from my apartment. It was a small house with a large patio notorious for being frequented by high school and college students wanting liquor from the gas station next door. All of whom were chased away by the coffeehouse owner, except for the legal ones, who he sat and drank with. In a sense he chaperoned the students and kept an eye on his business. Smart man.

I was wearing my leather Victoria's Secret jacket. A soft motorcycle leather I earned with blood and sweat building theater sets. It was a cool Spring evening. Or technically night. Several of the insomniac university students were there. One I knew from an English class. Didn't recognize anyone else.

At first, I was hesitant to join. I wasn't sure how many were drinking. There were about twelve students and the adult. I climbed the wheelchair ramp. Most of them were smoking and sober, talking about people I didn't know. I wouldn't have had time to know them anyhow, and sleep deprivation made it difficult to remember names. I could recognize faces, but rarely place them in a setting. The boy I knew, still can't remember his name, was chain smoking a bag of tobacco. He'd scooped it out, roll a cigarette in seconds and puff away. His skin appeared to be boiling from the inside out. It was amazing he had teeth.

Suddenly the crowd looked up.

"Hey, come join us! What's your name?"

A dark-haired boy with his arms wrapped around a girl who appeared to be his girlfriend, waved me over. From his caffeinated perk, he must've been drinking coffee all evening.

I took a standing spot facing a large bench, where the majority of the group perched. For a moment I thought they looked younger than me, but then I remembered I was 21 not 40 and that we were the same age. I didn't feel like sitting. In fact it was better to stand to avoid falling asleep. There was also this incredibly beautiful girl crammed between the couple and two other friends of the main clique. She had beautiful blonde hippie bangs and lean features like a runner. I couldn't help but gaze at her. I wondered if she saw me looking but she seemed to keep her eyes down and her knees to her chest as she cuddled for warmth between her friends. The couple seemed to notice my attraction to her. The boy took bliss in it and the girl smirked, possibly jealous.

I introduced myself and they them.

"Where you from?" One asked, curious of my accent.

"New York City."

The conversation proceeded a bit. I'm not sure what I said or what anyone said. But I answered a lot of questions and it was determined I was brilliant. Personally, I think that's an opinion; therefore, not applicable to being an unbiased characteristic of myself. If I were brilliant, I wanted hard proof or I wouldn't believe it. And here I was in a group of people I didn't know trying to take the compliment sincerely. It's not easy to fake sincerity.

For the most part, I felt socially... unconnected, awkward, tired, wanting connection that would last and mean something, and unbearably incapable of keeping my eyes off the incredibly pretty girl. I felt embarrassed. I had starved myself to appeal socially, but couldn't fit the part completely.

I was stiff, rigid with nerves, when a beautifully bizarre thing happened. The girl I couldn't stop looking at sprung from her cramped seat and hugged me. She never looked me in the eyes, but I dare say she was a wonderful hugger and hugged no one but I. It was the best and longest hug of my life, during which we talked. I even offered her to put her hands inside my jacket for warmth as the evening got cooler. I still can't remember her name. But I remember she wanted to be a veterinarian, and was unsure about working and student loans. We were all wrecked by student loans and clinging to our breath in prayer that there'd be enough money to finish our degrees. With the amount of fear and stress we all felt economically, socially and emotionally, her hug was the best gift I received for years. Enough that I dreamed she hugged me all last night.

"You two have been hugging for 45 minutes." The boy of the couple said.

"Sh!" Snapped his girlfriend."

"Something going on over there?" He asked with a ridiculously big grin.

And then she stopped hugging me. I was deeply dismayed and trying not to show it. I wanted to take her home with me. We would've made incredible body pillows for one another. However the condition of my home was grotesquely hoarded, and I was not financially secure enough to live on campus and have a place of my own. If she'd seen where I lived, it would've scared her; and, I didn't know her well enough to feel okay asking if we could go to her place. If there were an open coffee shop, or any 24-hour store, I would've suggested that.

Group conversation continued for awhile. My girl had tucked herself back into the group. And her friend and her, who's boyfriend had teased us, were whispering back and forth, giggling.

Eventually everyone got tired and wanted to cuddle into their beds. We peeled off two by two, until it was the core group. The girl I liked and her friends decided it was time to go, as we were the only ones left.

"Would you like to come with us? There's a party we're going to." Asked the boy. His girlfriend was encouraging me to come, but the girl I liked remained mute. Her eyes continued to be averted, pointedly peering at her toes. I had no idea who these people were and to go to a party as exhausted as I was. I wish I'd asked for her phone number, but I was so exhausted I could barely stand, much less remember names or numbers. I walked home disheartened.

I kept asking my peer about her. For four months she didn't show. I eventually gave up. I didn't know what county she lived in. She was definitely not attending my school as there was no veterinary degree offered. But if there had been and she was, I would've tracked down her building and studied between classes outside her classroom, for the chance to talk to her before and after class.

By the fourth month, I was crossing the street, returning from writing. Just as I was passing the coffee shop, someone shouted, "Hey, is that you? Come join us!"

It was the boy from the couple, and sure enough his girlfriend was there too. I walked briskly up the handicap ramp, eager to see if she was there. There was a slender blonde girl there with the same short hippie bangs, but I couldn't be sure if it was her. It was dark once again and difficult to distinguish faces.

Just when I had a moment of doubt, that it wasn't her because I'd seen no recognition of me in her eyes. She leapt forward into my arms. Confirmed by her hug, it was her! I soared with joy.

Conversation rung around the group, jabbering with glee. The hug was shorter than 45 minutes; however, she repeatedly stood to hug me over and over and over. I went at one point to use the gas station restroom. It was there I realized I was so excited I forgot to get her phone number again! When I returned she and the boyfriend's girlfriend had left. It was late and everyone was tired. I'd just wished I'd gotten her phone number. That was the last time I saw her. I can't remember her name or face exactly. But I remember her hug. If I ever see her again, I wish she'd have to the courage to hug me as she did, because I am a well-rested graduate and fully prepared to take her out.

Last night I dreamt we hugged each other all night. In the dream I was having nightmares. Each nightmare was greatly detailed, like a regular dream. But then I'd wake from the nightmare in fright and see her hugging me. It was wonderful. My bedroom was as it is now, dark blue bedsheets, black shabby-chic iron daybed with twisted metal roses and decorated with christmas lights. It was real. There were moments I thought she was real too. I didn't want to wakeup. But then I would. Alone in bed, not knowing who she is.

If I'm lucky, and she reads this, she can always write me here.