In the Green Room

I’m doing something I probably shouldn’t. I mean, it would be fine if there was anonymity involved. But he knows my name and where I live both online and off. He’ll be reading this piece and I’ll regret writing it.

Last night I returned to Coffee Depot. My intentions, once again, were to spend the evening working on my book – which I did do for quite some time. I sat in my favorite chair – the comfy old one that sits closest to the unused fire place – reworking a section called “Turbulence.”

As the evening progressed, so did the number of distractions. I contemplated packing up and going home, but then I remembered Coffee Depot’s upper room.

I considered that it might be in use by the bands that were lined up to play. But when I climbed the stairs and peaked around the corner I knew the room was no green room. Okay, so it was painted green, but what I’m trying to say is the room was not packed full of musicians.

Only empty tables and chairs filled the room, with exception of one chair that held a man, whom I’ll describe as handsome. He was reading (or least pretending to read) when I walked into the room.

I quickly found a corner seat and opened my laptop, extending my writing break by checking my e-mail and MySpace. I was in the process of composing a reply to my favorite ex-boyfriend when the man across the room initiated a conversation.

I wish I could provide you with actual dialogue, but none of it seems to stand out. Maybe because I was too intrigued by him to really pay attention to what was being said.

I mean, I know we talked about his 9 (or 10) years in Kenya as an MK (i.e. missionary kid) and my aspiration to someday be on Jay Leno. And we discussed our books – the one I’m writing and the one he’ll be writing later this summer. (His book will be better than mine, but I can’t tell you what his book is going to be about because someone reading this might be tempted to steal his idea.)

I learned that he is not only a writer, but a musician as well – a guitarist, of course. For him, the room we were sharing was a green room; our time together ended when he had to go on stage.

I stayed for the show, sitting in back wondering about him, wanting to know more.

Afterwards we exchanged smiles and salutations, but not phone numbers - which is funny to me, because for once I would have actually been okay with giving mine away.