there is a waiting man, standing,
then turning.
he seems uncertain of his next move.
the morning is early, way too early to be confused.
then i shrug.
its easy for me to think so.
I've got stacks of work on my desk, a mug of hot creamy coffee before me and the newspaper___
I'm turning it over browsing through the commercial page, nonchalantly.
my favourite page because it makes me look more important than i know i am.
i love this cafe. most especially this seat by the window.
weekday mornings are such a joy-stealer; coffee in this spot is all i can do to get warmed up to face my desk, my boss, my boring life.
today may be different.
the man, perks up my curiosity.
he is standing a few feet from my window but i can tell from the rather anxious look on his face that he is waiting for something or someone...
i could profile him...
I've got an hour before office officially opens.
where's my pen?
note pad?
i can tell he is waiting, looking at his watch at intervals of 2 to 3 minutes. the paper in his hand is a charade of his real intention at this spot. he just doesn't want anybody snooping in his business.
no one would anyway, everyone is dashing through the slight drizzle to get to the familiar safety of their work place.
maybe away from the screaming kids, a lousy hubby or a terrible housemate. but he is not running from that. he is trying to find his way back___
retrace his steps in a direction where he missed it
what?
he walks to the table, directly next to me. only the the glass between us , makes us total strangers. he pauses as if to sit but glances at his watch again and seems to think twice about it.
he is turning again. his eyes sad and distant. his soul in an emotional limbo, then he pulls out his phone, stashed away in his trench coat pocket...a beautiful masculine piece...
a message.
"can't make it, Tcherrie. will call you"
and i watch his face. his jaws get taut for a split second. his slightly callous fingers smother the phone as if asserting his masculinity over it. then his hold relaxes and his face softens
in a sad despondent mode, he raises the phone and punches a few numbers- then thinks about it...
and we glance at our watches simultaneously.
its time to go.
and the coldness of the day uncannily edges deeper into my soul.
i swallow my last drops of coffee and get up. he gets up too. i cast him a sympathetic glance and realise he is watching me too..
he knows i know.
we seem to communicate, beyond the cold glass
and his eyes speak back. it will be okay
i smile faintly, reassurringly, as i shoulder my limp bag, i hope she calls
