It’s funny.
I find it odd.
Stange isn’t it.
I still remember the way she smiled. It was like she knew something I didn’t. She looked like the kind of woman who wasn’t afraid to break some rules. Or say something flat and without emotion. Something that might hurt your feelings. The type that cares for the “truth” and being “real”. In that way at least she was sexy.
We’d been stealing glimpses of each other for a while coyly. A cat and mouse game,, are we looking, are we not.
But that died and for the past few minutes we’d been looking at each other, looking but not staring. No one made any advances or motions. But our eyes danced. There were a few other people at her table. Them I can’t remember at all. But I think there were three of them. The nature of their gathering was also hard to tell. But it seemed social. No one put on any airs.
All around her was conversation unfolding. I imagined it to be petty friendship drama and other time wasters. Must’ve been. Why else would she be looking at me? I just came here to write.
We were in a little brick-house cafe. Not far from town-center. Not that there was much of anything in the town-center. Mostly business buildings and other soul-less joints.
We held our eye-contact as I reached for a sip of my coffee. I brought it to my lips, but like a dunce I missed and spilled on my notebook and on myself.
She laughed… I sighed, a face of disappointment. I had to stop our dance so I could get a napkin. And the napkins were by the creamers on the other side, just behind her table.
A bit self-conscious as I walked I made sure not to look at her, but I could feel her eyes. I was embarrassed.
I reached for a napkin, a hand grabbed one first and handed it to me. It was her. But she didn’t let go of it.
She said “Aren’t you going to say thanks?”
“I feel like we’ve already said so much,” I said.
She just looked at me.
“Thanks,” I said.
“What are you writing?” She asked.
“Nothing much thanks to you,” I replied.
“What did I do?” she said.
I said “You were looking at me.”
“No one’s ever looked at you before?” She said.
“Writing isn’t a spectator sport.” I said.
We looked at each other… I motioned with my head towards my table.
She questioningly tilted her head?
I said “D’you want to read it?”
She just smiled. So I returned the smile with widened eyes and walked back to my seat. She followed. I handed her my notebook after drying it. She flicked through the pages. Stopped on one and read it:
Styrofoam cups and plastic people Silk linen, mountains of nothingness All around, different forms of evil The most expensive things, always worth the least Styrofoam cups and plastic people Wood-body, tile-eyes Where went yesterday, can’t find tomorrow Hidden truths, lies easy to find Every bit of joy, just one great sorrow Wood-body, tile-eyes Green-neon bright light, everything red Soft shades of off color The most alive and the most dead One in the same in candor Green-neon bright light, everything red Take a deep breath… choking hazard Air impure, not fit for man or beast Where to point the finger? Where to stab the dagger? At the human race at least Take another breath… choking hazard
We talked about it for a while, she said she liked it, but didn’t really get it. She wanted to read some more. I was starting to really dig her. But her friends were leaving.
She wrote something down. And walked towards the door. She turned around…We just looked at each other. A moment passed and she left.
I looked down:
Lauralie 405-XXX-XXXX
I found it funny.
I thought it was odd how
I skipped town the next morning. Never did call.
Dude get on it. Get in there and get totally destroyed by love. Then your writing will go to shit but after that it will be amazing ahah