Watching the world go by
By Diane Neilson
A bottomless coffee
I enjoy the peculiarity of people, I always have; and sit for an hour every day just to watch and imagine.
I position myself deliberately in the window seat of the café, opposite the marketplace. The library is on the corner opposite, and all sorts walk by: the breadth of humanity, from ladies to farmers, mothers with children, and at three, the school bus empties - a whole new world. I sit with a 'bottomless coffee', a genius idea that allows me to witness the world for as long as I like, unobserved, veiled in anonymity, for who would care about a solitary woman watching the world go by?
An unusually tall lady passes, striding purposefully. She has stylish silver-grey hair and a bright silk scarf. Her high cheekbones are dusted with pink and her lips are scarlet; I imagine her to be a 'Sophia' or maybe a'Charlotte', on her way to a business meeting; suited and booted with her shiny brown briefcase; sunglasses and pace ensuring that nobody dares stop her.
A small child races by, heading for the road. I tense - almost stand - and then tut quietly as his mother hurls herself towards him, grabbing his arm in the nick of time, yelling at him, her face a picture of anger rather than relief, or guilt. He bursts into tears, snot running down into his mouth as he melts into her, and I see that she is now mortified by her reaction. Its strange how we behave when scared, I think, often contrary to how we feel. I warm to her; it isn't easy being a mum.
The librarian trots down the steps. It must be her lunch break. She will come through the door in a moment - "Caramel latte with an extra shot please, and a chicken salad on brown." The same every day - a creature of habit. Whose business is it if she has the same every day? Certainly not mine. She looks like a librarian, Ithink: short cropped hair, large glasses. Elfish, one could say. I can imagine her shushing people politely as their literary conversations become heated; reshelving the books, quietly soothed by it's exacting order.
Mike from the cheese stall rushes by. He's always rushing, I often wonder why. Where is he going? Maybe he calls on his aging mother in his break; or nips out for groceries; I wonder if he smells like cheese - and if so, which one; what ridiculous thoughts I have! He's a nice looking man; short and squat with a friendly face; his smile always reaches his eyes, you know the kind.
Ah, the school bus! Like ants they teem as the doors open, hardly waiting for the pneumatics to drop the step to the kerb. Do they listen to each other? I often wonder because they all seem to chatter to each other at once. Maybe you can chatter and listen at that age, I can't remember. Oh dear, two of them are jostling, a larger boy knocking the smaller one's backpack from his shoulder. Jeering and doing it again and again, his cowardly little mob egging him on. The little one is almost in tears now; runs across the road and is almost hit by a car, on the other side, wiping the mbarrassing tears from his face with the back of his hand before anyone sees them. I've seen them though, and I wish I was brave enough to go and confront those boys. Maybe I will one day; I'll wait at the bus stop and knock their bags to the ground - see how they like it.
"Top-up Jean? Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump. Penny for them..." I am startled as the lovely Rachel brings me back to reality.
"Yes please love." She pours me another cup of kindness and squeezes my shoulder as she sneaks a choc-chip muffin onto my plate. You wouldn't know it to look at her, wouldn't guess she was an angel in disguise: tattooed arms, piercings everywhere, spiky green hair - well it's green today anyway - and those leather pants! How does she breathe?
The cafe door opens and a tall, handsome man walks in. Everyone looks at him. He smiles easily and asks Rachel for a coca cola, he never did grow into hot drinks.
"Hi Gran," he smiles as he bends to hug me and kisses the top of my head, "...how are you? People-watching again?"
"Just waiting for you love, that's all, and I'm all the better for seeing you."
He smiles and sits down, stretching his legs out and eyeing me curiously. "Don't you get bored coming here every day."
"Bored? Never! How can you ever get bored of people? And anyway, it means I get to have a cuppa with my handsome grandson everyday. Nothing's better than that.
About the author
"Come on you two, I'm all done."
We both get to our feets and I watch as Rachel links my boy, and walks out of the cafe, shift over."
They will invite me for tea and I will refuse. They need their time alone.
I will sit in the garden later, thinking about all the people I have seen and wondering what they might be up to on a warm summer's evening. I will admire my roses and breathe in the heady scent of the jasmine and honeysuckle and I will think of you, my love.
Am I lonely? Not at all. I miss you, but we had fifty years together which makes me feel very lucky.
And I have young Jack and Rachel just round the corner; maybe I will accept their invitation tomorrow.
iane is a new writer and her aim is to entertain and inform. She lives in the UK and likes experiments with a range of genres including poetry and short stories. She has released four books, and has had several stories published by Cafelit.
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