Waking up this morning, I realized everyone has a story. Every person born on this planet has a story. Some are good. Some are tragic. But, like it or not, miserable or elated, everyone everywhere has their own story.

               Of course, there are common elements: love, hate, mistrust, lying, friendship, happiness, wealth, poverty, and redemption from a life plagued by addiction or substance abuse. Each of these is a story in and of itself, a testament to how difficult life can be for some; for others, it’s blessing after blessing.

                Something I enjoy is listening to public conversations, which, to some, may sound like eavesdropping. But here’s the thing: I’m not going out of my way to listen in on these particular conversations – they are loud and public. Like the coffee shop, I’m sitting in. Not at all like sneaking around and trying to intentionally overhear a conversation. What I overheard in Shek’s Coffee and Pastry store is amusing. Shek’s is a pseudo-pastry and coffee shop. There is more coffee than food, but they have the best pastries money can buy. That’s why the affluent come here, even though they have to see and interact with us middle-class people who insist on spending a fortune for good coffee.  

“Jenny, you have to say something to him.”

               “Oh, like what, Sasha?”

               “I don’t know.”

               “That’s not helpful.”

               “Well, I know it’s not helpful. But you have to do something. Say something to Rickie about coming home late every night.”

               “He’s not drinking.”

               “You’re certain of that, are you? Brent kept his drinking hidden from me for years before he got his first DUI.”

               Jenny sat in silence, swinging one leg back and forth. For a brief second, I wondered if it helped the anxiety she was expressing to her friend. I stared at my phone, continuing to watch and listen to the two friends I now knew as Jenny and Sasha. I sipped my coffee, writing notes in my Moleskin notebook, never looking straight at either woman. My thoughts wandered off, and I wondered what Jim looked like. What did he do for work? I suspected he was wealthy, based on Jenny’s attire, the pearls hanging from her neck, the three gold rings on her right hand, and the large diamond ring on her ring finger of her left hand. Her dress was made of crème-colored silk from some name-brand designers like Givenchy or Dior. The sandals on her feet were leather, showing off her pedicured toenails that matched her fingernails.

               Her friend, Sasha, wore fashionable clothing as well. Instead of a dress, she chose designer jeans, tight-fitting accenting all the right curves, hiding all the ones women want to keep hidden. Sasha wore a hat atop her straight black hair, tilted back on her head. It accented her face, which was flawless and beautiful. The cardigan she wore covered her blouse, but I could tell it hung all the way to the floor. She was sitting on most of it. Instead of a necklace, Sasha wore a few gold bracelets that jangled and clanked together when she spoke. Her hands moved as much as her mouth. It surprised me that neither woman had their phones on the table, instead choosing to leave them sitting on the floor next to their feet in their respective purses.

               Sasha sipped her coffee in the silence, waiting for her friend to continue the conversation.

               “No, Sash. Rickie’s not drinking.”

                Sasha held up her hands in surrender. “Suit yourself, Jennifer Mullins.” She stood up, snatching her purse from the floor. “You know I’m your friend and all that.” Sasha sighed, pulling the bag over her shoulder and picking her phone out of the recesses. “Crap. I’m going to be late for my 11 o’clock.” She bent down, threw the phone back into her bag, and kissed her friend on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, Jenny.” I didn’t see her put the sunglasses on, but there they were, sitting on her nose, her eyes visible over the top of the lenses. “You are coming to the club tonight, yes?” Jenny looked over Sasha’s shoulder. She was daydreaming. Like she wasn’t even present in the coffee shop.

               “Hmm? Oh, yes. I’ll be there.”

               “I expect Rickie will be fashionably late, per his M.O.”

               “Likely,” Jenny replied, sipping her latte.

               “So be it. Bye, kid.” She waved at Jenny, and with a flourish, her cardigan blew out behind her. Where the breeze came from to blow it perfectly behind her as she left, I don’t know. Her candy apple red heels clicked on the floor, making her presence known to everyone in proximity. Perhaps it was coincidental, but I didn’t think so.

I thought about talking to Jenny for a brief second. But I changed my mind, instead writing all the subtle details about their conversation as fast as I could. Again, not looking to eavesdrop, but when it’s a public place, it’s hard not to overhear.      

                Jenny reached down into her bag, pulling out the vibrating phone. It was loud enough to hear the vibrations over the heels clicking on the tile floor of the coffee shop. She appeared bored before she looked at the phone and answered the buzz. “Hello, Mary.” She reached down and picked up the bag from the floor, slung it over her shoulder, and picked up her coffee, all while holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder. It amazed me how anyone could do so many random things at once, all without so much as blinking! “Yes, of course, I’m coming. I’m on my way now.” She adjusted the bag on her left shoulder. “What? No, that’s not right, Mary. There’s supposed to be at very least twenty.” She walked right past me, not even looking at me. “No. I know it’s not your fault, but you are responsible for correcting it, yes? So, you need to get on the phone and talk to . . .” And that was the last I heard of Jenny’s conversation.

               A little research, and I found out that Jenny was married to the infamous Dr. Rickey Mullins. Dr. Mullins is one of the top fifty neurosurgeons in the United States. The couple were in pictures all over national news and social media. They even managed to grace the pages of a few tabloid magazines because of his reputation as a flirt. In the pictures, it appeared Jenny was fifteen years younger than Dr. Mullins. That’s not true, being they graduated from the same private high school in 1978. I wondered to myself if they dated while in high school or if they actually connected while he was going through medical school. Pictures in their yearbooks weren’t published online but were seen with their wealthy parents at different events. Some were fundraisers. Others were benefits. And a few were politically motivated events, generating significant revenue for the Republican party.  

               None of that mattered, of course, being that I had nothing to do with her or her husband. It’s funny that I should overhear that conversation in less than ten minutes.

               I’m still wondering what Jenny’s last phone conversation was about.