Aggie and the Woman, The End.

That Monday afternoon, Marième waved at Aggie when she stepped onto the train. Aggie waved back. I wish you the very best, she told the woman silently. It was all she could do.

*

As usual, Marley was waiting for Aggie when the latter exited the train station. “Did you have a good day today?” Marley asked her.

“I did, yes,” Aggie replied, smiling, before reaching over and hugging her friend. 

“A hug? Do you love me again?” Marley asked, grinning. 

“I never stopped.” As they pulled away from the Cornavin, Aggie then informed her best friend that she and Daniel were dating. 

“Thank goodness,” Marley said. “I was wondering how long his secret staring would continue.”

“You noticed all of that?” Aggie asked, surprised.

“Of course I did. Look, I may want to kill Daniel most of the time, but it was obvious that he had totally fallen for you, so he has good taste. There: I said it. Those words will never come out of my mouth again.” With that, Marley began to excitedly describe a future wedding with a bridal party clad in a variety of African head wraps that matched their dresses. “We also need different wraps for the ceremony, the reception, when we do a traditional Ghanaian dance in your honor…”

*

Later that evening, as she and the Van Strecks gathered around the dinner table, Aggie gazed around at her second family. Her eyes momentarily rested on her soon-to-be official boyfriend and purported future husband. She felt a tiny jolt of excitement at what their future held.

She felt a larger jolt of excitement at what her own future held.

Aggie then smiled to herself. She felt very much at home. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Thank you for reading, for commenting, for liking. Aggie and the Woman is pretty special to me as a writer, as I previously mentioned; sharing it with you has been the icing on the cake.

More reflections will come about the story. Feel free to also follow me @frowriter on Instagram if you’re not already; many more writerly things await you there. The link is at the very top of this page you’re on.

Let me know what you thought about the story overall in the comments, yes? Thank you, and Bon Tuesday.

Aggie and the Woman, Part 7

This is probably my favorite portion of the story.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Yaa, is everything all right?” her mother asked breathlessly when her daughter’s face came into view on the computer’s camera a few hours later.

Unlike the majority of her friends and family, her mother rarely referred to her as Agnes or Aggie. Rather, she preferred Aggie’s Akan middle name, Yaa, given to girls born on a Thursday. This suited Aggie just fine. Gone were the days of adolescent longing when she wanted her mother to call her by her English name like the other girls in her boarding school. Now, hearing “Yaa” sweetly reminded her of her birthplace, her culture, and a family she hadn’t seen in quite some time. “Everything is fine, Ma. Sorry to call you so late,” she said. Switzerland was two hours ahead; it was 1:15 in the morning in Accra.

Akosua Boateng waved her hand. “It’s fine. We just arrived home from your auntie Mercy’s house anyway. Those parties. They are endless.”

Aggie laughed. Her aunt Mercy, the youngest of her mother’s six siblings, was famous for throwing Friday night parties that lasted long into the early morning hours. Her mother both loved the parties and loved to complain about them. 

“How are you, Yaa? How is Thomas? Diana? Marley? Daniel?” she questioned. 

“They’re all doing well.”

“Are you washing your own dishes, Yaa? Doing your part and helping and thanking Thomas and Diana for their hospitality?”

Aggie smiled. “I am. 

“Work is fine?”

“Work is fine. Most of my colleagues are quite nice, and I don’t pay any mind to the not-so-nice people.”

“Good girl. Well, it sounds like everything is fine. But things are not. I can tell.” Her mother leaned forward and peered into the camera. “What is it?” her mother questioned. 

Taking a deep breath, Aggie launched into describing everything related to Marième, from their first meeting to yesterday’s jarring encounter. “I just want to shake her,” she said. “Just grab her and ask why she did this to herself.”

Her mother sighed. “You were always so disturbed when you would see those women. I should have shielded that from you.”

“It was nothing you could control, Ma.”

Her mother nodded slowly in agreement. “I will tell you something now, Yaa. Listen to me carefully.” She paused. “When you were born, we knew there would be no more children after you. The doctors had already told your Daddy and me. There were complications; there was nothing we could do.”

Aggie breathed in sharply, having always been told that her parents were simply content with one child, which had unsurprisingly caused a divide in both sides of a family—and a society—where multiple children were the norm. As far as that divide, it rapidly disappeared after a succession of warnings leveled by her mother to respective members of their families to keep their mouths shut.  

“The day you were born,” her mother continued, “we held you and your father looked at me and said, ‘She will always know that she is the center of our world.’ Did you know that, Yaa? That you were and still are the center of our world?”

“Yes,” Aggie whispered. 

“Good. But some women don’t have that. They were not the center. And if they were, they didn’t know it. Maybe this woman doesn’t have what you have. No love in her life, family, true friends. Maybe she believes she will find that love if her skin is lighter.” 

Stunned by the truth of what her mother was saying, she merely nodded and waited for her to continue.

“Some people, some women, are just lost,” her mother said. “I understand that you were excited to see her. But do not allow her choices to make you unhappy, to bring you down. Just wish the best for her.”

*

“Do you feel better?” her mother asked several minutes later.

Aggie had excused herself to shed more than a few tears following her mother’s words and disclosure. She smiled. “All better. Thank you for the advice, Ma. I appreciate it.”

“You will do the right thing,” her mother replied.

Aggie nodded, still relatively unsure of the matter, yet nevertheless feeling better about things than she had previously. A voice in the back of her head now urged her to discuss Daniel with her mother. She decided to obey it. “So, Ma,” she began, “I met a boy.” 

Her mother’s eyes widened. “A boy? Yaa! Who? Who?” 

“He’s very nice. He’s actually known for me a long time. I like him a lot. And he really likes me, too,” she said, recalling Daniel’s earnest entreaty from before. 

Her mother frowned. “Yaa, who is this boy that has known you for so long? It’s not Julian Asamoah, is it? Sarah Asamoah’s oldest son? I heard that he is also in Switzerland. Yaa, his head is far too big for his body. It’s not natural and your future children will suffer..”

Aggie stifled her laughter. “No, Ma, it’s not Julian. This boy isn’t Ghanaian. He’s European.” She studied her mother, waiting for a reaction. Nothing. She hadn’t actually expected a reaction, but was curious nonetheless. 

“Fine, but who is he?” her mother asked.

“And he’s not a boy, either. He’s a man,” Aggie specified, momentarily surprising her own self with that particular description and how proudly she had said it. 

“Fine, fine, he is a man. Who is he?”

“It’s Daniel, Ma.”

Her mother blinked repeatedly. “Daniel? Van Streck? Your big brother, Daniel?” 

Aggie chuckled. “I don’t look at him that way anymore, but yes, Daniel.” She then told her mother everything, from his revelation a few weeks ago to their decision to start seeing each other. 

“Oh, my,” her mother said, visibly astonished. “Do Thomas and Diana know?”

Aggie shook her head. “Just me and Daniel and now you. I haven’t even told Marley yet.”

“Well, he’s always been a fine young man. Raised well, good manners. And he has a nice-sized head. See what happens, Yaa,” her mother said. “But I know you will marry him.”

“Ma!”

“Oh, Yaa, you will. Trust your mother; she knows these things.” She then smiled brightly. “Next time you call, I want him to be there with you. I want to talk to him.”

Envisioning the many highlights of that future conversation, she promised her mother that Daniel would indeed be with her on their next Skype call. Later, after Aggie had told her mother repeatedly that she loved her until the latter playfully but firmly ended their call—she had never been one for “I love you’s”—she climbed into bed and reached for her mobile phone. 

Thank you for earlier, Aggie typed.

Almost seconds later, her phone buzzed with Daniel’s reply. You’re welcome.

Aggie and the Woman, Part 6

“You were quiet at dinner,” Marley said to Aggie as the two strolled down a path behind the Van Streck home that evening. The path led to a clearing, which provided an even more breathtaking view of the Alps.

Since the incident on the train a few days ago, Aggie had been reliving it all in her mind, unable to concentrate on anything other than the shock, sadness, and confusion of seeing what Marième had done to herself. Glancing at Marley, Aggie nodded. “Just a lot on my mind,” she replied.

“Can I help? Is it work?” Marley asked.

Aggie shook her head. “Other stuff.”

“Like what, Ags?” Marley pressed. “Tell me. You seem so far away.”

Would Marley even begin to understand the heartbreak Aggie felt? Sure, Marley and Daniel had been raised in Ghana and had been exposed to a culture that became like second nature to them. Sure, she and Marley’s relationship was so close that Aggie considered her to be family. But reality was still reality. Would a Danish woman, born with the kind of Nordic features that Marième was attempting to recreate, truly understand? “I’m fine,” Aggie said, deciding that she wasn’t quite ready to discuss the matter with her friend.

*

But a part of her wanted to simply stop thinking about it. She ached for a distraction. So, when Daniel suggested later that they catch a film together, Aggie immediately agreed.

*

After a late-night showing of Hitchcock’s Rear Window, they drove back home and situated themselves on the patio. A few quiet moments later, Daniel reached for Aggie’s hand. Following his revelation from several nights ago, they had agreed to start dating, albeit slowly, deciding not to rush into anything simply because they already knew each other.

“Thanks for the film,” she said, studying their intertwined fingers. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on? You’ve been quiet all evening.”

“You and your sister have a lot in common. She said the same things earlier.”

“It’s noticeable. Everything all right?” he asked.

“No, but you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Quite honestly, Daniel, you’re blonde and European. There’s nothing about this situation you would understand, even if you did grow up down the street from me in Accra.”

“It’s Marième, isn’t it?” he eventually asked. “Something happened with her.”

Aggie exhaled deeply, watching her breath spin around the cool night air. “It’s all women who have been corrupted by an unrealistic ideal of beauty that can never be achieved, which causes them to desecrate their bodies and their skin. And, yes, Marième is included in that number.” Grudgingly, Aggie described the scene she had encountered on the train. “To think that this beautiful woman has turned herself into a…a caricature—I can’t stomach it. I can’t.”

“I’m sorry, Agnes. I’m sorry she did that to herself more than anything, that she felt that doing this would beautify her.”

In that moment, she recognized the rising tide of her emotions. Soon and for the second time in Daniel’s presence, she would be in tears. It was all too much and hardly part of her nature. Abruptly, Aggie took back her hand and stood up. “I’m going inside,” she muttered. “It’s zero degrees out here.” 

“Aggie, please don’t leave.”

“I just need to be alone, and—”

Daniel stood up, as well, and faced her. “I may be blonde and European and unable to understand, but I also care about you, so I’d like to think that counts for something,” he said. “When we left Ghana and came to Switzerland, I thought people ate fufu and listened to highlife music here, too. It took me a long time to realize that the world I came to know and love wasn’t the world at large. But that’s neither here nor there. You don’t have to run away from me. Say whatever you want. I’ll listen.”

Aggie gazed up at him, her vision blurry. “If this is part of your boyfriend campaign…” she began, her voice trailing off as Daniel drew her into his arms and held her tightly. But she let herself be held and held on to him, as well. 

Aggie and the Woman, Part 5

Are you on the train yet?

Just stepped on. No seats available so I have to stand. Sigh.

Too bad. Do you see Marième?

Let me look. By the way, if we lose Wi-Fi, I’ll text you when we get above ground.

Okay. 

That Friday afternoon, Aggie looked up from her text conversation with Daniel and peered around the packed train car. As usual, there was no sign of Marième, which had been the case for the past several weeks. Interestingly enough, there was another woman sitting where Marième would normally sit, similarly typing away at her phone’s keyboard and wearing a chic pantsuit. Despite her disappointment that it wasn’t Marième, this woman quickly held Aggie’s attention. She was Black, fair skinned, and wore a long blonde wig. Yet, Aggie noticed that she was fair-skinned in an inexplicably unnatural way, as if she had packed on her makeup without realizing that she was overdoing it. But it didn’t seem like makeup, did it? It seemed like it was her natural skin, yet bizarrely not at all. Shuddering inwardly, her senses prickling at the sudden understanding of what she was looking at, Aggie’s eyes then drifted toward the woman’s hands. The hands always tell the truth, her mother used to say when they would see women like this back home. The woman’s hands were also fair…except for the dark spots Aggie saw near her wrists and in between her fingers, the areas that had been missed. The truth was clear.

Maybe she’s a burn victim or it’s a skin issue, Aggie then mechanically told herself, the same things she often whispered to her mother back then. However, she wasn’t naïve to the fact that the excuse no longer provided the same adolescent comfort it once did. It just seemed impossible to her that anyone would voluntarily cover the beauty of their skin, to bleach it like it was a stain. But the fact that skin lightening was a billion-dollar industry in Asia, the Middle East, and in her own continent of birth was enough to remind Aggie just how real it was. 

The train then lurched to a stop. As numerous riders exited the train, the seat across from the woman became free. Reluctantly, Aggie decided to take the seat. Remembering her conversation with Daniel, she glanced down at her phone and saw that her service was temporarily down anyway. Not wanting to focus on the woman, Aggie pulled a book out of her handbag.

“Agnes?”

She looked up and around her. Who knew her on the train?

“Over here.”

It was the woman across from her.

“Yes?” Aggie asked, thoroughly confused. 

The woman smiled at her. “It’s me, Marième.”

Aggie and the Woman, Part 4

“A bit hungry?” he asked, grinning.

“You could say that,” Aggie replied before taking another bite. “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He approached the refrigerator and also poured himself some milk. After warming the mug in the microwave, he sat down across from her. “Are you in the mood to share some of that cake?”

“No, not especially.”

“You’re glaring at me and you won’t share. What did I do?”

Aggie decided to confront the issue head on. “You need to explain a few things to me,” she said, pointing her fork at him. 

“What things?”

“Oh, you have amnesia now?” she asked drily. “Last night was—I don’t even know what to say about it. I have a thousand questions—”

“I’ve had a crush on you for the past six months,” Daniel said simply. 

Shocked, Aggie searched for the words to respond. “Six months—but I moved in six months ago,” she said.

He nodded. “There you were, no longer this little girl who spent every waking day with us growing up, annoying me along with my little sister. You were mature and self-assured and any guy would be an idiot not to feel like me.” He smiled at her. “Didn’t you notice me staring at you all the time and volunteering to shuttle you around Geneva when you arrived?”

Aggie shook her head. “Honestly, no. I just…never did.”

“Because I’m like your big brother,” he said. “That’s why I said what I said last night, Ags. I can’t be your boyfriend if you think of me like a sibling.”

“I just found out you have a crush on me and suddenly you’re my boyfriend?” she countered, oddly feeling less surprised about his revelation. 

Daniel nodded. “I’m 100 percent sure that I’m going to end up being your boyfriend.”

“Talk about being self-assured, Van Streck.” Nevertheless, she cut the remainder of her cake in half and pushed her plate toward him. As he ate enthusiastically, Aggie found herself leaning over and softly brushing some of the crumbs off his cheek.

Aggie and the Woman, Part 3

Later, after a hearty dinner, Aggie stood on the patio. Despite the darkness, she could make out the silhouette of the Swiss Alps in the distance. After six months in the country, she was no less transfixed by the mountains and how they seemed to touch the corners of the expansive sky. It was the kind of natural beauty that endeared her even more to Switzerland. It didn’t yet feel like home, but Aggie sensed that soon, Waldo in a sea of cookie cutter faces or not, it would. Before long, however, her mind was pulled back to Marième. The strange uneasiness she felt from earlier came roaring back. What was bothering her about this woman? 

“There you are.”

Aggie turned to find Daniel approaching her. “Here I am,” she replied. “Where is everyone?”

“About to watch a film. I was tasked with finding you.”

“All right. By the way, you have to stop teasing Marley.”

Daniel nodded. “I know. I’ve apologized profusely. It won’t happen again.”

Aggie laughed. “That part I don’t believe. Isn’t it written somewhere that older siblings have to torment and tease their younger siblings endlessly?”

“Well, yes, it is in the handbook.” He peered at her. “So what are you thinking about?”

“How do you know I’m thinking about something?” she asked. 

“People don’t usually gaze at those mountains for no reason. Plus, I’ve known you since before you were born, so I have a clue when you have something on your mind.” He gently tapped his fingers against the side of her head. “So what’s going on in there?”

She proceeded to tell him about Marième, from their first meeting to not seeing her for the past several weeks.

“So what do you think is troubling you about her?” Daniel asked. 

“I can’t figure it out,” Aggie replied, sighing. “It’s just this peculiar feeling, like something is off.”

“Well, let’s hope for the best. I’m sure you’ll see her soon.” He paused. “She’s really important to you, isn’t she?”

Aggie shrugged. “There’s something kind of amazing about seeing someone like me on the Cornavin. Silly, right, to connect so quickly to a total stranger?”

Daniel shook his head. “Not silly at all. I’m sure you miss home.”

She nodded, envisioning her parents likely gathered in their house in Accra alongside her manifold aunts and uncles from both sides of the family, almost certainly locked in heated debates about a variety of topics. The image naturally came with a lump in her throat. Aggie hadn’t seen her parents since last year, when she had traveled back to Accra for a month-long stay after completing her graduate studies. Skyping twice a week just wasn’t enough. She missed the scent of her mother’s cooking, her father’s bellowing laugh. As her eyes quickly grew misty, Aggie felt Daniel’s arm encircle her shoulders. “Thank you,” she muttered. “Maybe you are a good big brother after all.”

“But I’m not,” he replied quietly.

“Not what?”

“Your big brother.”

“Well, you’re like a big brother to me. You knew me before I was born, remember?”

He gently turned her face towards his. “Don’t think of me that way, okay? Not anymore.”

Aggie frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Without replying, he squeezed her shoulder before walking back into the house.

What just happened? Aggie asked herself. 

*

At 3:30 that morning, Aggie’s eyes flew open. After a restless, sleepless night, recalling Daniel’s comments from the previous evening had won the battle—she was officially wide awake and confused. Did Daniel have feelings for her? After all, to insist that she eliminate the “older brother” view of him had non-platonic, romantic implications, right? And how did she even feel about that? Relationships were typically the last thing on her mind, despite her mother’s mild threats about the matter. Aggie considered turning on her laptop and Skyping with her mother, who, despite the early call, would nevertheless engage in a long, undoubtedly animated conversation about the matter. Of course, the conversation would have nothing to do with the fact that Daniel was Danish and a different race; before Aggie left Ghana for school in the UK, her parents had merely expressed that she not take up with a murderer (Dad) or a poor man (Mom). If anything, her mother would be far more interested in receiving the green light to plan the wedding of her only child. In any case, Aggie abandoned the Skype plan. Perhaps it wasn’t time to discuss something she herself hardly understood.

The questions continued to overflow, enough for Aggie to throw on her robe and quietly make her way out of her room. She needed an interruption to her thoughts. Soon, she was in the kitchen and helping herself to a generous portion of the chocolate cake Diana had baked for dessert. Daniel found her like this some moments later, feasting on cake and sipping from a glass of warm milk. 

Aggie and the Woman, Part 2

Marley Van Streck, Aggie’s lifelong friend, usually picked her up from the Cornavin train station in the evenings. After accepting her new position, it went without saying that Aggie would live with Marley and her family in Geneva until she found her own residence. Of course, if it were up to Marley, Aggie would never leave.

“You should say hello to her,” Marley said that evening after Aggie told her about the woman’s acknowledging smile. “Exchange information.”

“That’s an idea.”

“Just don’t replace me. You know I’m yours forever,” Marley said, grinning.

“Without a doubt.”

*

The following afternoon, Aggie leaned across the aisle and handed the woman her business card. “I’m Agnes,” she greeted. “I thought, since we see each other so often, that we might as well know each other’s names.”

The woman smiled brightly. “Yes, I completely agree,” she replied in a French accent. “My name is Marième.”

“Do you work in the city? Perhaps we can meet one afternoon for lunch.”

“I do work in the city, and I would like that very much. I am out of business cards, but I will definitely send you a message.”

“Wonderful. One last question: where are you from, Marième? I’m from Ghana.”

“Senegal. We are neighbors, of sorts.”

Aggie smiled and nodded. No, she had hardly inherited her father’s skills. 

*

Several weeks later, when she didn’t hear from Marième, Aggie chalked it up to the reluctance to reach out to a stranger. Fellow African or not, they simply didn’t know each other. However, she was also missing from her usual spot on the train. Was she all right? Aggie wondered. Did something happen to her?

“You said she wore an engagement ring, right?” Marley asked as she pulled into the driveway of the Van Strecks’ home that evening. “Maybe she had her wedding.” 

Aggie nodded. “I forgot about that. Highly probable.” Satisfied with the possibility that Marième was celebrating her wedding, Aggie decided to put it out of her mind. Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny the puzzling feeling that consumed her. 

The aroma of food instantly greeted them when they entered the house. Moments later, the two sat in the airy kitchen and watched Diana Van Streck, Marley’s mother, carefully place a tray of just roasted Cornish game hens on the counter. “A few more minutes to cool and they’ll be ready,” Diana said.

“But I’m starving,” Marley said melodramatically, closing her eyes and slightly groaning for effect. 

“I say if you don’t work, you don’t eat,” announced Daniel Van Streck, Marley’s older brother, as he entered the kitchen.

Marley shot him a withering glare. “I have a job, thank you very much.”

“Going to the playground with the kids? Is that working?” he asked. “I was told you spend more time on the swings than they do.” He quickly winked at Aggie. She shook her head disapprovingly at him. 

Marley shot up from her chair. “Let me tell you something—”

“Enough, you two,” Diana said. “Daniel, kindly apologize to your sister. Being a nanny is indeed employment.”

“I was just teasing. Please accept my apology, Marls.”

“Revenge is mine.”

“Marley,” Diana warned. She then rolled her eyes, glancing at Aggie. “29 and 32 years old and they still argue like toddlers. Be happy you’re an only child, Agnes.”

“She’s not an only child,” Marley said, still glaring at her brother. “We’re sisters. I’m an honorary Boateng, remember?”

Aggie laughed and nodded. “That she is.”

Aggie and the Woman, Part 1

I spoke in my previous post about the transformative short story I wrote about a woman who had more in common with me as a person than I’d ever known in my own written fiction before. Happily sharing that short story with you in daily excerpts. See below for Part 1.

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Aggie and the Woman

For the past four months, Agnes Boateng found herself sitting across from the same woman on the train. It was a feat to notice the same face in an endless sea of people, much less to end up seated adjacent to one another every day, but she guessed that they left their jobs around the same time. The woman was clearly a professional; typically clad in a smart pantsuit and tapping away at the keys on her mobile phone like most of the other commuters. But there was something else. When she first saw the woman, the excitement that ran through Aggie was undeniable: she had found another brown person.

Having moved to Switzerland six months ago and subsequently starting her new job as an economist at an international banking firm in Geneva, it was rather easy to pick Aggie out of the commuting (and general) crowd; she was usually the only person of color, a quick-to-find Waldo in a scene of cookie cutter people. That first afternoon when she saw the woman sitting across from her was a moment worthy of celebration, especially since the woman also appeared to be African like her.

One afternoon, while once again studying the woman seated across from her on the train, Aggie wondered if she was East African. The woman’s distinct, angular features seemed to point that she was either Kenyan or Sudanese. If her father were there, he would of course know. She certainly hadn’t inherited his uncanny ability to correctly guess the ethnicity of just about every African person he saw. (When she was 14, her raging curiosity about the accuracy of one of his guesses inspired Aggie to race back to an elderly woman they had passed at Makola Market to ask where she was from; to her infinite shock, the woman had confirmed that, yes, she was indeed from the nation of Chad as her father had presumed.)

She wore a gray pantsuit with a bright pink blouse underneath the blazer; her coily hair sat atop her head in a large bun. The enormous diamond ring on her left index finger sparkled underneath the train’s overhead lights as her fingers rapidly moved across the phone’s keys. Naturally, as a result of Aggie’s open, fixed gaze, the woman suddenly looked up. Meeting Aggie’s eyes, she flashed a broad smile at her before peering back down. Despite Aggie’s slight embarrassment at being caught staring (“your eyes can be too much,” her mother liked to say), she took the woman’s smile as a gesture of solidarity. We’re in this together, her smile seemed to say to Aggie. You and me and our dark skin and our giant Afros.

Adjoa on a Monday.

This post was originally  published on February  16, 2018 and updated today, February 3, 2021. The months are entirely coincidental. Or are they? Read on to learn what my dream job would be and why it remains my dream job, three years later. 

Ever since my early twenties, coffee shops have been my true love. Many a coffee shop had me inside of it; ordering a cup, listening to the beans whir in the grinder; hearing the quiet hum of conversation as patrons did everything from chat with each other to type away at their laptops for whatever projects they were working on. (I almost always think the laptop-bearers are burgeoning novelists.) When I worked at my dearly departed Borders Books (see memories here and here), one of the areas I was assigned to, other than at the register or the info desk or shelving books, was the cafe. There, I learned to make a variety of espresso-based drinks, recipes that I still remember all these years later. It was, in a way, my first foray in working in a coffee shop. And I loved it something awful.

Naturally, I’ve always wanted my own shop. So in my mind, my shop would be called Adjoa on a Monday. Adjoa is my Ghanaian day name for ladies born on a Monday. The decor would unsurprisingly be rustic-y with a French touch; the French part is me, as you know, but I’ve also grown to love the rustic idea for a while now. Funny, huh? This Square Peg, who favored not-busy, not-busy, super modern spaces now longing for burnished wood finishes and Mason jar centerpieces? Girl, people be changing…

*All images derived from my boo Pinterest.

Anyway, further details about AOAM:

  • Free WiFi. I love the idea of people inhabiting that space and working on whatever their working on.
  • Open mic nights. At Borders, I freely took advantage of sharing my poetry with audiences. That college student had plenty of spurned-love poems to share, thank you very much.
  • Themed evenings every now and again. Paris jazz spot Tuesday. Speakeasy Fridays. Etc.
  • An assortment of staffers of different ages and backgrounds. This one is important to me. When I worked at Borders, a true pleasure was working with everyone from fellow college kids to part-time History professors and everyone in between. It was amazing.
  • A mini-bookshelf/donate-a-book area. Because you know books have to be involved.

More ideas abound. Will it happen one day? Will I venture out and start my own business and finally see this coffee shop of mine with my own two eyes? *Kanye shrug* I’ve never been ashamed or shy to dream out loud. Perhaps that’s the first step?

What thing/idea/venture/adventure have you nursed for ages? I’d love to peek…share it in the comments below.

And now…

friday