I walked in calmly as often and said Hello to Rem.
Upon hearing my voice and with his head down he asked me my order. I gave him the note.
He looked up; our eyes locked.
I apologized for the sense of urgency and disheveled appearance, having no shoes or socks, smeared mascara, uncombed hair and lipstick smeared across my face and thanked him for what he was about to do.
I followed him to the table in the back as customers stared, took pictures, and dialed other customers who are familiar with my order, Starbucks and wear blue.
My story began.
I told him that last week had been extremely difficult for me, much like every week. It was Friday; I left work as always and drove straight home.
I entered my home to the sounds of screams; my son who was having a tantrum.
My husband who was tired, sat on the couch afraid to address him fearing that he would do more harm than good having no patience. My oldest son complained of being hungry.
I explained to Rem that I went about making sure everyone was ok.
I held my son until he was able to tell me what was wrong. He stated in between tears that his father did not ask him what he wanted. I did. I gave him Froggy. Froggy has big brown eyes. My son also has big brown eyes.
I then began to cook.
I told my husband to take a much needed break. I too needed…
The night progressed and sleep took the place of complaints.
My attention turned to the kitchen. There sat, what seemed to be, hundreds of dishes of all shapes and sizes. They were beautiful dishes much like the colorful ones found here at Starbucks, but they were not organized, scattered about, with remnants left by hungry men.
I asked Rem if he were following me.
He said, “Yes.”
The crowd increased.
I spoke of laying down at 2 in the morning only to arise at 5 am because my youngest child had awakened from a terrible dream. I held him. Oh how I held him. I stroke his beautiful hair and as I watched my beautiful boy fall back to sleep and unable to fall back to sleep, I went about my morning preparing breakfast for everyone.
Saturday afternoon and evening came and went. The members of my household were happy. I let them be; why ruin it, you know?
Rem shook his head.
Sunday, I completed the laundry, no time to write. I planned for the week ahead.
I asked Rem if he were ok.
He asked me to continue.
I told him I had no energy to dress today and that I walked until I found the one person who would ask me what I asked my son and that I followed this gesture as if it were the aroma of grounded beans down 14 blocks, up 1 hill, and around 2 stores.
I took his hand; he let me; for we understood the aroma of grounded beans.
I told him that I knew that sitting across from him in this state, crying with concerned and some amused customers and now an ambulance outside must be frightening, but I assured him I would not hurt him.
He asked me to continue.
I told him of thoughts I’ve held, equivalent to his daily order count, and that to full-fill these thoughts would only bring about unimaginable consequences; something like spilling hot coffee on a guest.
A while went by and Rem was urged to leave me by fellow customers in blue.
I apologized to Rem and told him I would not be back. This time; however, instead of a note I asked a favor.
I asked him to save an order for my son, who in a few years, might stop in. He’s the child that everyone says is just like me; the kid who only wanted one thing to be ok, and what my note read,
“to be heard.”