| ::02:26:08::
::: Coffee Break :::
She stared into the cup of coffee in front of her, a blank expression on her face. A quick stolen glance to the nearby clock was all she needed to obtain the information. He was late. Again. Not that it was her job to keep track of him, but still. She felt entitled to their little visits, no matter how brief. Perhaps the clock was off, she told herself, barely nodding in satisfaction as she took another sip. They had been talking about getting a new one, and perhaps they just hadn’t found the time yet. The batteries had simply… died, spoke her inner monologue, and a soft smile graced her lips. Yes, that was it. It was merely time’s fault, and not his. He was on time, every day, and had been, for the past six weeks. He wouldn’t pick now, not a random day, not today, to show up tardy. It wasn’t like him. She knew him, she didn’t question that.
Every day it was the same table, and every day the same request. Peach scone, small coffee. Black. He didn’t even have to ask for it anymore. Lyla knew just what he wanted. She greeted him the same way, like some tired but kind old waitress from a classic diner.
“Peach and black?” To anyone else the request would seem so strange, so utterly bizarre when taken out of context. Her polite smile widened at the thought as she reached for the tablespoon and began idly stirring her coffee. She thought he was a strange one, coming in every day, the same place, with a somehow forced smile on his weathered face, barely peeking out from the shadow of his fedora. He had such lovely movement to his form, such lovely lines. The dark sinews of his cape-like jacket, how they blanketed the back of his chair with such grace as he leaned back and started into the day’s chapter of that book. The old one with the cloth cover, like her mother used to have in her old house. So many things about him reminded her of different things, and of memories in her life. Happier times.
She tried so many things, she willed it to happen, but it never did. Her moment never came. In fact, the only words that were ever spoken between them were brief and trite; just casual remarks about the weather, or about the strong bitterness of the coffee, that day. She cursed herself a thousand times over for never delving deeper. Any fool could scratch her surface but he knew her. He knew what was in her heart. Somehow those strange, mysterious eyes saw deep into her mind. She felt so open to him. So vulnerable, and yet secure. Why wouldn’t he talk to her? What’s so wrong with me? She questioned, silently, looking to the cup again, as if for an answer. We both like coffee… he’s odd, I’m odd… and as she tried to continue, she realized that she couldn’t. She didn’t know him. She merely thought she did. And she cursed again, but mentally, letting the spoon drop from her fingers to the table with a soft clatter, a sound that barely stirred the others in the café. She looked to the clock again.
Ten minutes had passed. Ten agonizing, strained, longer-than-time-itself minutes. He will show, the whisper hissed past her lips, just low enough so as not to be heard by anyone but herself. Another slow but stern nod of her head, a sip of the drink, and she sat up straighter. She had to be ready, after all. Today was the day she’d planned to talk to him. Today of all days, he had to be late. She’d put on that beautiful sundress of hers, the light rose-coloured one with the satin trim. The one her mother said made her look like a “Hollywood starlet”. She smiled again as a flurry of images momentarily clouded her mind. She always liked to imagine herself as Rosemary Clooney or Judy Garland; a real class act, she was. Soft high heels, not too tall, but humble. She crossed her legs and eyed the street from the window, and there he was. His shadowed visage was an unusual blessing to her tired eyes, even in the broad daylight. She saw a couple people stare as he walked by, but she only smiled… beamed, even. It was Christmas. It was New Year’s. It was Easter and her birthday and the last day of school.
She sat up so straight she thought that she might float from her chair as she saw him enter. What was this? Who was… she? A blonde. Tall, shapely, with lovely legs that peeked from the bottom of a gorgeous pink dress with satin trim. She knew the dress, but she knew not of the girl, and she didn’t care. She was perfect, too perfect to be replaced. The hope was gone. The sparkle left her grey eyes as quickly as it left, and her heart sank into her knees. She was cold. Her body slumped unmethodically into the curve of the modern furniture, and one last glance was given to him and his new companion as they sat down. A new table, she remarked silently, lowering her gaze in disappointment. Her idea, no doubt. Lyla seemed just as surprised, but in a more pleasant state as she took their orders; raspberry scones and tea. She didn’t know this man. She had been forgotten, and her dreams had been crushed. There was nothing left for her now. At the sound of a soothing, delicate voice, she looked up, and the blonde smiled to her.
“Excuse me, miss… Yes, you! That’s a lovely dress you’ve got on.”
Written by: ~ Lynsey Moon |
