Milk in disguise

She likes her lattes large and with one shot. I remember once I told her she looked like Amelie, and she said nothing -- just stood there trying to see herself as Amelie, with her head slightly tilted to the right. Sometimes she has that air around her, you know, like there's somebody else in the room that you can't see, and you never know what’s gonna come next. Like her lattes, you think it’s coffee but hell no, that’s not coffee, that’s milk in disguise.

She’s coming every day now, and I play to guess how she’s feeling by the way she holds her head, her pace, her eyes. She seems lonely these days. Every time, even though I know she wants a large latte with one shot, please, I have to ask her to repeat her order. She thinks it’s funny. She doesn’t realize that her eyes are yelling at me, and I can hear nothing else.

I haven’t figured out what they yell. They speak a different language, I think.