45 minutes

    The walk from Ferguson to Einsteins was exhilaratingly beautiful. The warm rays of the sun on my skin brought visions of browning skin and cool, fresh lake water to my mind. The 95 on that mid-term paper in the navy folder that I carried in my arms was singing with a joyful noise, I was so happy.

            Checking my pink and silver watch, I realized that there was plenty of time for coffee before my friend, Lisa, got out of class. I could smell the rich aroma of it as the front door slid open. Dark roasted visions of steam clouded my memory for a split second. As I wiped away the condensation in my brain, I was lulled deeper into the restaurant by promises of warm caffeine trickling down my throat and into the pits of my empty stomach.

            Most customers had already come and gone back to classes; a mere handful was present as I entered the establishment. I went and retrieved my coffee and then found a table to sit my anxious body down at. As I sipped my hot drink, I notice a young woman on the sofa in the back left corner of the room. Her long straight blonde hair draped casually over her left shoulder as she nonchalantly munched on a sandwich. I noticed her gray flip-flops resting easily on the floor beneath the coffee table in front of her. Then…one small white foot peeked out from under her crossed gray clad legs on the sofa.

            This place felt comfortable, like home away from home really, the aromas from the kitchen created warmth in the body. I grinned to myself as I watched her answer her cell phone with a wide and toothy smile upon her graceful face. Yes, it felt just like home.

            A couple of employees sat at a nearby table having their own lunch. The carefree banter from their lips fragranced the atmosphere with a sweet and inviting flavor all its’ own. If I could paint this vision, it would all warm and light hues of brown, gold, yellow, and green; wrapping the spirit of a soul in fuzzy blankets of welcome.

            I didn’t come here to write, I actually came to read and wait for Lisa to get out of class. I swear, when I sat down…my notepad opened of its’ own accord and my pen jumped out of my purse! As my fingers pulled my hand across the table to grab the pen and pad…I realized that a story was waiting for me to arrive. You see, I had no choice in the writing nor in the story itself. It just sort of appeared all by itself.

            It was forty-five minutes of my own destiny, a slice of time that was meant to be written, experienced, and then shared.
            So, where did your forty-five minutes lead you?