mry writes

*a story*

Behind a curved counter which once dispensed knowledge in an old library, a not-quite-young woman takes requests and dispenses tonic to a queue of people in need of a good morning coffee. She is warm, friendly, speaks with a bit of a British accent, and smiles deep into peoples’ eyes. She handles the continual queue with a cheerful efficiency, showing no sign of weariness at the unending parade of patrons in need of a fix.

The door opens and closes, opens and closes. The queue at the counter ebbs and flows but never fully disappears. A lot of caffeine, a lot of pick-me-up, passes across the counter. A minority of people linger in the café while they enjoy their coffee. Some await company, others relax and read a newspaper in a public place.

A brown haired woman, petite and fashionable, sits a table on the side opposite the counter. She seems nervous; she confessed to the barista she was awaiting a first meeting. A cup of coffee in a public space. It is easier to get out of a bad first meeting if it is limited to a meet-and-greet over coffee. She fidgets, changes tables to be more visible and to more easily view new arrivals.

The door opens. Is this the one? No, he unfolds a newspaper and settles in for a quick read, across the room from two kids and their boisterous play. How about the guy in the leather jacket? He scans the room, looking for someone. He spots his match, who turns out to be a realtor with a fat binder of local properties.

The brown haired woman lightly pounds the table. Her nerves are taking over, and she cannot sit comfortably. She finally settles at a table at the front, the closest table to the door. From here she can comfortably observe the front entry. If he is as nervous as she is he may be pacing outside, gathering his courage. Perhaps he justifies his delay by the need for a last primp. Must present a good front; must make a good first impression. She is carefully prepared, especially for a weekend morning. Black jeans, black boots with uncomfortable heels, a thin but fashionable jacket. She stands in contrast to most of the other patrons, who wear casual weekend clothing.

A man and woman, both past middle-age, walk in. Before they order their coffee they look around the café and walk over to greet a couple sitting in the middle of the room.

“Happy Holidays,” they say.

The two couples engage in a few minutes of light chatter about plans for the holidays, who is going where, and when. Their interaction is polite and superficial, providing a minimal semblance of involvement and engagement. Some fraction of it may resonate and when they again happen to meet, perhaps at the grocers, they can pick up a thread.

Their conversation is not quiet. “We are not going away this year. The cat has been sick and we think it will be better to stay home and nurse her. It is probably her last holiday.”

“Oh, that is sad. Has she been sick for long? I remember when our dog had leukaemia. It was so hard to watch him slipping away. We felt so helpless, and he could not tell us how he really felt.”

“I know what you mean. It is hard and it is sad. Still, we are looking forward to a quiet time at home, just the two of us. I do not think we have had a holiday all to ourselves for too many years.”

“Oh, I know. It is always such a busy and non-relaxing time, running around and around, preparing everything, then all the travel. Thank goodness my parents moved away. At least we cannot be expected to run between both families, or to choose which one we will see. It is so tiring and all the travel makes it seems endless. You need a holiday from the holidays sometimes.”

After a few more minutes of pleasantries the newcomers move to join the queue for their coffee. The first-comers rise, don their coats, and depart. Their table sits empty for only a moment before a pair of teenage girls flutter over to it.

Once more the door opens. The petite brown haired woman watches, hesitates, then stands and shows a tentative smile. The newest arrival wears a jaunty beret. Advantage to her -with few black men in the place, her task of picking out the right man is eased. He has to rely on her online picture, hoping the picture was a true one. Her recognition of him brings a smile to his face.

Does he look like his picture? Does she? After a moment of hesitation they smile and exchange a perfunctory hug. It is a hug of relief; a major hurdle has been crossed. She gestures toward the counter, he smiles and walks over to place his order. She sits, visibly more relaxed. First step accomplished. He came, and on time. The greetings were comfortable.

When he comes back with his coffee they move to a rear table and begin to chat, initiating the dance of finding a comfortable groove while closely assessing each other. They are overheard. After a few minutes she confesses she has not done this often, but she has talked with friends who had horror stories. Even after exchanging email, after talking on the phone, Prince Charming turns out to be a rogue, even a Neanderthal. One friend described a guy, a real charmer, who immediately suggested they skip the coffee and head to her place to ‘get more comfortable’. ‘You never know’, her friends told her. Great. Just what she needed to boost her confidence in the whole resume dating process. He nods

Does the public image match the private, online, image? Does his persona fit his online messages? Is she truly the person she presented via bits and bytes? And more importantly, is this a beginning, or will this meeting spell an end to the online flirtation? Vexing questions, and a snap judgement is called for. Twenty minutes, thirty minutes, forty minutes of banter.

Then, seemingly by mutual consent, they smile and rise from the table. They discard their coffee cups as they walk out the door. After a last -or is it?- hug, they part and walk off in different directions. An end, or awaiting the next chapter?

An elderly couple shuffle in and claim a pair of the coveted overstuffed seats. While she settles in he shuffles to the counter to order a pair of small coffees. On his way back to his seat he picks up a newspaper left behind. While the woman sits and quietly observes the room, the man carefully reads the paper. They interact psychically, but not overtly, in the way of many long-standing couples. Aware of each others’ presence, they seem to sense each other’s presence and thoughts, not needing to be actively engaging.

She picks up a section of his paper and begins skimming through it. Finding a point of interest in an article, she leans to him, points to the section that caught her, and explains briefly how it caught her. He chuckles at her explanation, then smiles before turning back to his paper. Her engagement in the paper is only partial. She frequently looks up and surveys the room, looking for other points of interest. She observed the meeting of the brown haired woman and her date, but that show ended. Must be something else of interest to watch. With all the flashy people around she must rarely be at a loss for a subject to study, and the glittery people do not mind. Many of them seem to crave attention, in the manner of showy birds flitting in trees.

She slips into a quiet revery, looking lost in thoughts, memories, feelings. A couple of times she looks over at her husband, who is engrossed in his paper and oblivious to the cacophony around him. She smiles toward him. She is apparently wandering through some gentle memories. Not in a hurry to be elsewhere, they linger over coffee and the paper for almost an hour, until he finishes a section of the paper and notices her watching him. He leans towards her, nods his head toward the door, and quietly speaks. They get up stiffly, climbing out of the soft chairs with a small degree of difficulty. As he helps her with her coat, she suddenly leans to him and kisses his cheek. He holds the door for her as they leave.

A young woman, apparently home from college yet trying to avoid being at home with all of its memories and cacophony, sits at a centre table. An older woman brings two lattes and a muffin. The resemblance suggests mother and daughter, out for a casual cup of coffee and a moment to catch up. It is an easy conversation, of the kind that occurs once a girl passes through her teen years, when her parents are a continual source of consternation and obtuseness, and begins to appreciate her family once more.

They split the muffin, dropping crumbs on a napkin spread as an improvised tablecloth.

“How is your new schedule? Is it going to be lighter than the fall term?”

“I do not know. I am trying to push through the year so I can focus on my major courses next year.”

“How are the distractions? Are you still seeing that guy from Indiana?”

“Ok, mom. First, my social life is not merely a distraction. I need a break from books sometimes. Second, that guy from Indiana had a name. Has a name. But I am not ‘seeing’ him. And to answer your next question, I am not seeing anyone right now.”

“I was not meaning to imply that you should not get out and have fun. I am curious. We do not see each other every day now that you are at college. I am still interested in your life.”

“Oh, I know. It is just that I am a big girl now, and I want to be trusted to have my own life.”

The daughter picks crumbs off the napkin and pops them in her mouth. She brushes her hair back with her hand, and the resemblance between mother and daughter is quite apparent. Hair, eyes, complexions. It is as if a time mirror is placed in front of them. The girl that the mother once was, and the woman the daughter will become, are at that moment visible.

The moment passes and they begin catching up on events and people. After several animated minutes of conversation they pause. The daughter has a direct and open look, and she tilts her head in a quizzical manner while her mother talks. Mother looks at daughter and smiles. She reaches over and squeezes her daughter’s hand.

“Shall we go shopping now?”

The daughter stops at the washroom, then they walk out arm in arm, the girl seemingly not embarrassed to be seen with her mother now that she has gained some independence.

Two tables each contain a pair of women, neighbours or friends, taking a moment away from the fast pace of the week to relax, converse, and commiserate.

At a rear table two women discuss their kids, share holiday menus, vacations plans, and goals for the coming year. One of the women has two young children. After finishing their hot chocolate the kids are charged up and fidgety. The older one, a boy about 4 years old, twists and squirms in his seat. The squirming picks up pace until it becomes a dance around the seat of his chair. Eventually, he probes the floor with his foot.

Upon finding that there is no immediate response from his mother he slides off the seat and begins exploring the underside of the table. From there it is a short move to exploring the neighbouring tables, then doing laps around the room. Several half-hearted attempts by his mother to settle him fail, and the younger child decides to join in the fun. Faster and faster, louder and louder -their boisterousness becomes a nuisance for others, until their mother gives up and gives chase to pack them up. This only incites further rowdiness, with one escaping while the other is corralled. Eventually, with the help of her companion, the mother herds both kids out the door. So much for a few moments to relax with a friend.

At a front table two women lean toward each other across the table. One of the women has brown hair pinned up on her head, revealing blonde streaks. She wears worn blue jeans, a brown sweater over an orange t-shirt, and sheepskin boots. She has a look and physical attitude of someone who has dealt with plenty of nonsense, who has fought her share of battles and is prepared to fight more if necessary. Her face is worn and lined, her eyes -easily her best feature- are large and dark.

Her companion looks younger, fresh-faced and relaxed. Her dark hair is worn loose, draping over her shoulders. Her style is a bit more coordinated, but still comfortably casual. Neither woman appears to be in a hurry, as if they were squeezing in a few moments in a tight schedule. Their cups go mostly untouched, their conversation dominating their time.

The younger-looking woman seems to be trying to sort out a relationship.

“I just cannot figure out who it is I am with. He is as sweet as could be one day, then foul and sarcastic the next. It is hard, not knowing which person is going to be at my door.”

“I know he really likes you. He can be a real dumbass, but he sees good things in you, and he really likes you.”

“I was falling in love with him until this other side of him started showing up. Now I question the whole relationship. Has he always been like this?”

“He has been a sort of a roller coaster for a long time. Ever since Dad died, in fact. I was 12, so he was about 8. That is 24 years of up and down stuff.”

” And how has he kept it hidden for so long?”

“Oh, it was not always hidden. Dad kept our mother on an even keel. When dad died she fell apart. He took the brunt of it. He learned to cope by developing a bite, a dark sarcasm. After he left for college, he calmed down and became the sweet guy you first saw.”

“And where did that guy go? And why? Why now? Why me?”

“I think you two are getting close and the other close relationship in his life was with mother. So maybe some of that old frustration and fear is coming in to your relationship now. It reflects how he views close relationships: potentially ending and causing pain.”

“So what do I do? Do I bag it and get out now, or is there hope? I know you are biased. You are his sister; his only relative. But I have to ask you because you know him best.”

“I am not going to apologize for him, or make excuses for him. If he is a dumbass, I will call him a dumbass. But I like you. I see you guys are good together. Maybe we can work on it for a bit before you give up.”

“How? What do you suggest?”

“How about you guys come over to my place? I will tell him to come at 7 and lay it out to him. Tell him he is an idiot if he loses you because he cannot properly appreciate you and treat you right. Then you come about 8, and we will talk to him together.”

“Do you think it will help?”

“I hope so. I love my baby brother I and want him to be happy. If he needs to be slapped upside the head and made to see what is good for him, I will do it.”

Woman two laughs. She watches as a group of women sit at a nearby table and place a baby carrier on one seat. Smiling at the baby, she turns back to her coffee and conversation.

The baby carrier crowds the table. There appear to be three, maybe four, generations represented at this table, counting the baby. The senior woman is young to be a grandmother; perhaps the middle generation has two widely separated children, an early 20’s woman and the baby. It is not readily apparent who the baby’s mother is: the middle woman or the young one.

The women chatter busily, keeping two or three conversations going at once. The baby does not have a coffee, so she is not as hyperactive as the others at the table. The women are clearly accustomed to this style of multithreaded conversations, but the din from their table is baffling to onlookers. The baby has some learning to do in order to keep up with her family, but at the moment she prepares for it by napping.

The coffee break looks like a quick stop in their day. After about 15 minutes of chatter the women move on, to the obvious relief of the next table over.

A young girl, high school age, sits on the side with her laptop and a notebook. Remarkably, for a teenager with a computer, she is doing schoolwork rather than chatting online or otherwise finding distraction on the Internet.

After a while an older woman comes up to her and introduces herself. The woman is an alumnus of the college, as shown by her badge and her college-labelled notebook. In a low key manner the woman conducts an admission interview. She encourages the girl to talk about her strengths and goals, her other school prospects, her plans for life. They talk about other schools the girl is interested in, and some of the differences between the various schools. They discuss possible careers and how difficult it can be to decide on a plan for study and, by extension, for life, at this point in the girl’s life.

Before parting the woman makes a pitch for the school. She describes her experiences and her pathway through her school career. After half an hour the interview ends. The woman stands, takes her coat, and shakes the girl’s hand. The woman gets a cup of coffee and departs. The girl turns back to her computer and continues her work.

A middle aged man, looking a bit rough around the edges in this region of pristine denizens, surfs the Internet on his older pre-modern laptop. He has a bag stuffed with papers and gear and has spread his setup into the equivalent of a portable messy desk. Papers and notebooks are spread across two chairs, while computer, mobile phone, headphones, mouse, and coffee cup consume the entire table top. His appearance, and his demeanour, match the disarray of his portable office.

He is not satisfied with something he sees on his screen, and he makes little chuffing noises. His expression darkens. He takes a notebook and flips through it. Not finding what he is looking for, he flips through the sheets again, with obvious frustration. His noises and his actions make the young girl with the laptop uncomfortable. She is at an adjacent table, and she looks over at him. She shifts slightly, as if an additional 10 cm of distance will ensure her safety.

His phone rings. He glares at the screen, then answers the phone with a gruff “What?”

His responses to the caller are loud and aggressive. He attracts scowls, but is oblivious to the effect he is having on the mood of the shop. He abruptly ends the call and gathers his things. He haphazardly stuffs them in his bag, and nearly upsets the table when he suddenly stands. As he storms out the door, a chill breeze rushes out.

An elderly man walks in and rearranges an easy chair and a side table, positioning them so he can reach his drink easily. He sits alone and reads a tabloid. He keeps his jacket zipped to the collar and his red baseball cap on his head. His foot occasionally taps in time with the music playing in the shop, seemingly responding on its own. He is hunkered down and does not give the impression of a toe tapper.

His appearance, his careful rearrangement of the furniture, his attitude, give an impression of fastidiousness and a straight arrow approach to life. Perhaps his life has been an unending, unyielding succession of predictable or controlled events, and that pattern continues into his later years. Or, perhaps, he was a wild one, a hellion in his youth, and he is now straightening his curvy path through life.

Either possibility is easy to imagine. His jaunty baseball cap and athletic shoes are not congruent with his tightly fastened jacket and his pinched mouth. Perhaps he has a thousand and one great life stories to tell. Or, after a long narrow life, he is boring as hell. No one risks finding out, and he does not invite interaction. Eventually, after a long hour of slowly perusing the worthless paper, he carefully folds it, tucks it under his arm, and stops at the washroom before leaving.

As the day turns from morning to afternoon the sun disappears behind thickening clouds. The wind gusts and a few first snowflakes fall, swirling and dancing. The barista goes outside to capture a sidewalk sign that is threatening to become airborne. She looks up at the impending snowstorm before heading back inside to the warm smell of fresh-ground coffee. Perhaps there will be a white blanket for the holiday this year.

Back inside, the writer in the back corner continues to tap-tap on their keyboard.