The Girl with the Smile

Occipitofrontalis, temporoparietalis, Procerus, Nasalis and the Depressor septi nasi muscle: these are just a few of the 26 facial muscles it takes to smile. Some smiles, though, transcend an anatomical explanation; they are more than a collection of muscles contracting and relaxing. These smiles employ empathy and enthusiasm. Sincerity and Honesty. They are contagious.

She has one of those smiles.

Her manager didn't teach her how to smile like that when customers order a latte. No, this smile is a gift she was given. She uses it not like a tyrant using a weapon (she could though), but rather, she uses her smile like an artist using a brush, a stroke, or a pallet.

Between orders, she returns to her book. For six minutes, the girl-with-the-smile and I share the entire space of a coffee shop with Chick Corea and Tones for Jones Bones. She in her book, I in mine. On the last cord she is sitting with her knees to her chest, 26 muscles now softly contracting. Even this slight smile is contagious. I can't help but wonder: what is she reading that would make the corner of her lip curl like that?

Bud Powell's You Go To My Head is interrupted, first by the sound of off-beat footsteps at the back staircase, then by her coworker's unwelcome commentary about the early hour.

"This is the third day in a row, I've had to be here before 7am. I'm dragging."

Looking up from her book, she is careful to mark the last sentence she finished. She manages to give him only 13 muscles. They are still charming enough to convey a polite interest and enough to invite him to continue complaining. He shares too much about how he has spent his morning. How could he not? Her smile, even at half strength, conveys interest and concern.

"I'm playing a gig this weekend. You should come."

The other 13 muscles respond, "Yeah?!"

"Like a real gig, with drums and everything."

"Maybe I will."

She won't but still, he believes her. Of course he does. Why wouldn't he? She has been smiling and promising to come to one of his gigs for as long as they've known each other.

"Do you want a burrito?"

All 26 muscles move in unison with sincerity. Breakfast burritos from the food truck parked down the street perhaps are her love-language.

"Yeah, if you're going."

As he leaves, I glance her way again. She finds her spot in the book and returns to her impersonation of Mona Lisa. I half-expect her to look my way in acknowledgement that the whole exchange with her co-worker was no more than a ruse to acquire a breakfast burrito. She doesn't.

While he is gone, the woman who lives in the apartment above the shop (there is conversation later about whether her name is Brook or Chloe) is greeted with a smile, a clever exchange, and an iced coffee. Brook-or-Chloe is not a smiler. She finds a seat at the counter as the bell on the door rings again. The burritos are here.

Foil wrappers are pealed away from steaming burritos. For a moment, the blank rapture of beautiful food replaces her smile and is more endearing. She eats slowly, enjoying each bite. Yes, burritos are her love language.

For him, burritos are best-enjoyed with hot sauce and a video on his phone. He is unaware that his volume setting is just louder than Thelonious Monk and uncomplimentary. Pieces of burrito miss their mark, fall to the counter or to the floor.

Mouth full, he says hello to Brook-or-Chloe and invites her to come to his gig this weekend.

"It starts at nine. We go on last...so around 11 o'clock. We're bringing a drummer this time."

An attempt at a smile, but less sincere, "Sounds great."

He has no reason to believe that she will come to his gig, but she probably will.

Traffic in the shop is picking up.

Pour-overs, lattes, and espressos are delivered with smiles and clever conversation. I wrap up my chapter, pack away my book, and exchange a smile as I return my mug to the counter.

In a few days I will return to this shop, order my black coffee and a muffin. She will say something witty and smile. 26 muscles will become 52.

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This is the first post in my Coffee Shop Narratives. This series of blog posts are experimental and experiential pursuits of narrative writing.