Caffe Cielo
If you follow me on Instagram, you may have seen my post recently about how I keep a journal when I’m travelling or when stories come up that I hope I don’t forget. So here is something a bit raw that I wrote today. It’s unpolished, because it doesn’t need to be fine-tuned. It’s merely my mind. My apologies if you find it to be a waste of your five to ten minutes, but you’ll know for next time. There’s no ego behind this, no justification for how screwed up my mind is, just catharsis...
11/09/17 – Caffe Cielo – Takadanobaba, Tokyo, Japan – 2:35 PM
I'm at “Caffe Cielo.” Last week I randomly rode the train to the Takadanobaba Station and walked back in the direction of the dojo in search of a new park. My goal when traveling has developed into; new park, new coffee shop, new museum. When I saw this cafe (or Caffe), it struck me deep. I remembered a woman I once knew, or didn't know, Cielo.
I worked at Vitamin Shoppe on the north side of Indianapolis for two years. I was there from summer to summer. One year, near Christmas, on December 23rd or 24th, a woman came in. Red hair, taller than average height, with an amazing figure and incredible smile. As she was browsing, she struck up a conversation. I cannot recall anything from that conversation. I merely recall her being intelligent, well-spoken and genuine. She had a beautiful accent. One I hadn't heard before. She told me that she called Spain home, but had been working in the States for several years, based in Colorado. As is the case from time to time, I tried to carefully decipher if she was flirting with me or simply being nice. She didn't even tell me her name, but it popped up in our system when I checked her out at the register, Cielo.
One year later, around the same date, she came strolling back in. I recognized her immediately and, surprisingly even to myself, recalled her name. She looked the exact same, just as captivating as the year prior. Much like the year before, I asked if she needed help, she declined and began to browse. A few minutes later, we approached each other, somewhat simultaneously. She almost blushed, “Do you remember me?” Immediately my curiosity was sparked even more. I told her that I did remember her from a year ago, “Cielo.” A bit flustered, she began to tell me how work just happened to bring her into the Indianapolis area for Christmas a second year in a row and she came into the Vitamin Shoppe in hopes that I would be there.
She told me that there was something about me that stuck with her that night and after she left. She told me she knew I was an authentic person and that she felt as if she had made a mistake one year ago by not saying anything or not acting on her instinct. She “felt” that I would be there that night, even though realistically the chances that I would still be working there or scheduled that specific night were unrealistic. She was only in town through the night and had to return to Colorado the next morning.
Our conversation was wonderful and real, and despite losing track of the time, lasted for some length of time. It was a great night for the Vitamin Shoppe to be dead, and my buddy Finis (a real G) definitely had my back anyway covering. She wrote down her phone number and told me that even though she was flying far away the next morning, she had to give it to me. She couldn't walk away from the situation again with any doubt again and she was glad she could make it right. She didn't even say she hoped I would reach out, but obviously that was the subtext of the entire conversation.
At the time I was in a serious relationship, so I never reached out to her. She has crossed my mind a few times in the years since. The confidence and willing to take a crazy risk, a chance. It was something that shaped a bit more the way I view life. We should never leave a huge open door like that in our own minds. Since then, I have done one or two similar, and by society's standards, “crazy” things only because I can't live with the regret, with not knowing. The beautiful, successful Spanish woman who went out of her way in hopes that we would cross paths once more. She came in, smiled at me, left her deep imprint, and walked away into whatever her future held. Last week, when I saw “Caffe Cielo,” all of this came rushing back. Today, I sat down here, at the café sharing her name to write out her story.
