Looking Back

Sitting in the stale air of the small café, I begin to miss how much softer it seemed when the room was heavy with smoke. The coffee and the cigarettes allowed me to feel content and almost appear as if I was not alone. Now we stand awkwardly outside; silent strangers huddled together, our lonely, half drunk coffee cups waiting for us at the table.

It’s been a long twelve months working at the company, but I spend my days in here until night. They say that it is not much of a life: Paying the rent with the day job, writing whatever comes in my mind on my notebook, and drink when I can, but I don’t mind it. It gives me the time I need to observe, listen and retain the few remaining grains of my sanity. I have engaged with nothing but the paper and books for as long as I can remember, but I was never one for taking part. Being left alone is superb; the highest social standing you can find, however, they are things you miss and you miss them hard.  

I throw my cigarette on to the pavement as the cars go by, driven by no one –not really. I imagine my smoking cigarette butt bouncing through a radiator grill and igniting the cars flammable life source. BANG!

Excitement…

I can only imagine it, because in this reality… Sorry, my reality, excitement is dead. I turn away from the street and lower my head to sway back in to the café, avoiding the eyes of all those too much like me to be likeable. I take my seat and sigh.

Yesterday is still playing on the head; another desperate phone call that finalizes this distance… I should have learnt by now: If there is one human trait that is found unattractive by all, it is ‘desperate’… It’s hard… I stare in to the mirror and remember who I looked at two years ago: The ebullient face of content now replaced with empty eyes and wild hair. I leer where I used to gracefully observe. Yesterday was a reminder… There is no hope.

 “Can I borrow your lighter?” I looked up and saw a student who probably works part time. I nod at him and he smiles nervously while I lend him the new lighter that I bought from 7-11.

“Would you sit down here with me for a while?” I said to the student. I can’t believe I just asked him that; I’ll be flogged out of here. I’m 21, stressed and solitude. He is vibrant, toned and waiting anxiously for the time of his life. Those eyes… They are yet to be touched by sorrow; they still shine and open wide.

“Okay, my friends aren’t here yet.” said the student.

“I understand.” I replied.

The words fleeted instantly as I realized this was the first stranger I had spoken to in two years. Everything I had put to paper describing missed encounters… All of the passion I could fathom on to paper… It was not there in speech. So I stared. I studied his eyes, then his lips, then his hands. He had me. Then, the tell tale signs: He scratched the back of his neck, began to shuffle, puffing at his cigarette.

“It’s quite strange.”

“What?”

I sighed again, and took my time.

“It’s strange… I haven’t even tried to speak to a stranger since… That doesn’t matter. I had this unstoppable flow of words coursing through me, which I could write down, but… It didn’t help. You’re the first in two years, and now all I want to share with you… is silence.” “I need a cigarette… do you like to have one?”

“No” said the student.

“Fine… okay… well… thank you, and enjoy your day.” i replied

“Aren’t you staying for another coffee?”

I looked down at the empty cup and offered a wry smile.

“Okay, but I need to smoke first.”

I got up and walked outside; lowering my head I lit a cigarette and walked away. What I needed was to look forward to a new day, new love and a new me.