Scenes from a Café

There she sits same place, day by day. She orders the same thing every day, coffee, cream, three sugars and raisin toast with a liberal smearing of cream cheese. She sits there smug in her own superiority wearing her black designer suits and reading the finical reports, her cell phone always on the ready.

He sits three tables over, chain smoking Players king sized. Dressed all in grey, coffee black, no food, no time, his cell phone permanently placed on his ear, scanning the business section of the paper.

Neither of the two are wearing a gold wedding band on their finger. Of course not. Relationships take time and time is money; you have no time to start a relationship when you are busy crawling out of the corporate basement one rung at a time. Anyone you meet is just one more person to step on, on your way up; you have to be able to use the people around you as a means to an end. Friendship loyalty and compassion are for the weak.

Across the room sit a young couple sharing dessert. Their silver spoons cut smoothly into the flesh of the cheesecake. Their eyes transfixed on each other, lovingly feed each other their love. The light from the window plays off the diamond of her engagement ring complementing the sparkle in her eyes. Nothing else permeates their space all they see is each other, and the brightness of love.

Dressed in loose baggy sweater and sweats Glasses sits in the corner nose buried in a book, wet tea bag slouching on the saucer crumbs from a half-eaten Danish as its only companions. Never looking up, she is always behind her protection of the book world. It is safe there; she is free from worry, stress, and torment. The torment of the red jackets, ‘four eyes’ one yells at her, ‘loser’ says another, ‘virgin’. She arrives alone, save for her book, and she leaves the same way. Her friends are the characters and places that are in her books. You can’t help but see the sadness in her eyes behind her glasses.

An old man clasps the cup with two shaky hands as he slowly brings it up to his mouth. The coffee runs down the lines on his chin and collects on the napkin on his lap. His eyes sparkle despite the frailty of his frame. His hair has no colour and is almost all gone, but it does not seem to bother him. He sits quietly, sips his coffee, and stares out the window at the people passing by. He’s never in a hurry to do anything. Once and a while he looks down and touches the wedding band on his finger, he remembers, and then he smiles.

The clerk in a pressed white shirt and black pants moves smoothly and effortlessly behind the counter. Serves everyone with a quick hello and a broad smile. A smile hiding her hurt. A single mom. A husband taken too soon, three little ones asking when is daddy coming home. The fatigue showing in her eyes it’s her third double this week.

People come in and out all day grabbing coffee and pastries in and out in and out like bees in a hive, some stop to sit and linger while others run out as fast as they came in. But not me. I like it here. It is warm, there is lots of food, and except for the cook with a rolled up magazine. I am pretty much left alone to sit here on my wall and watch.