Post by Absinthe on Jun 13, 2006 13:44:09 GMT -6
She sits alone at a table in the corner, facing the window. The ground outside is spattered with white from last night's snowfall. The silent town is beginning to rouse from sleep; a car pulls through the ATM at the bank across the street and a man bundled against the cold wanders toward the law office no one ever realizes is there. She sighs and looks down upon the book that lay open on the table in the front of her, wrapping her cold fingers tighter around the mug in her hand.
She has been nursing the same cup of coffee for nearly an hour. A half eaten bagel with a bit of butter and cream cheese sits in front of her, beside her book. She lifts the off-white mug with a small chip above the handle and takes a slow sip of the liquid inside. It is lukewarm, but the bittersweet taste and velvet texture bring a small smile to her lips none-the-less.
This morning is unusual.
She savors the quiet peace of the restaurant and its surrounding areas. The regular patrons chat quietly with the owner, the waitress, each other. She observes them through their reflections in the glass barrier to the outside world. One man tells of his son - an adventurous little boy who has a tendency to fall out of trees and twist ankles. The man is relatively young, perhaps late twenties to early thirties. He is wearing a rugged baseball cap and a black carhart jacket. He then starts to tell of the time his son nearly cracked his head open climbing out of the back of a pickup truck.
"It was the scariest moment of my life."
She smiles as she can hear traces of fear left over from trauma in his voice. She can tell just by that one simple statement that he loves his son dearly. The waitress wanders over, a middle aged woman with dark hair and even darker eyes. The watch on her wrist glistens in the rising sun as she asks if a coffee refill is needed. The girl looks into her mug, seeing it half empty (or half full depending on how you view it) and then at her watch. It is five minutes after seven. She should be leaving soon. She says no thank you and begins to place her things back into her bag. The other patrons have begun to pack up their things and leave as well, heading off to their simple jobs.
The waitress behind the counter smiles as she brings up the bill to pay - two dollars and forty-seven cents. She hands over a five and waits for her change. Moving back over to collect her things, she drops a dollar on the table. She knows the tip is half the bill, but the waitress is friendly and has eyes gleaming with kindness. She likes to think that she is a good judge of people and that the waitress will appreciate the gesture. Who knows? Maybe she is completely wrong. Maybe the waitress isn't generous or friendly at all. Either way, as she pulls on her jacket and gloves, she feels a sense of calm and happiness come upon her.
She wishes she could do this every morning. The people going about their simple lives intrigue her. She could easily sit for hours, just watching the patrons come in and out, always the same scenario. The owner knows every one of them, talking animatedly about old friends, children, and distant memories.
She wonders what it would be like if she were to make her life here. While the small town life has always seemed so suffocating, this morning it feels like freedom. Sitting in the small diner is so much different than being at home, waiting for the bus to pick her up for school.
She has always been an early riser. Her friends often tell her she's crazy for getting up an hour earlier than she needs to. She tells them that she likes the ability to sit and drink a cup of coffee - relax a while before beginning the day. Somehow, after this morning, her hour of "relaxation" at home doesn't seem so relaxing. At the little restaurant, she is at peace, having to do nothing but drink the bitter sweet life force and think. At home, even as she is sitting, everything is rushing about - within her, without her.
She contemplates her small town morning, deciding that she wouldn't mind having the same type of morning often, but not every morning. While she loves the tranquility of it, she thinks that, were it to become routine, the effect would falter and die. The peace she feels now would eventually turn into numbness. The quiet would soon turn maddening. And while she admits that the small town morning and the small town people are intriguing, she will always be a big city girl at heart.
She has been nursing the same cup of coffee for nearly an hour. A half eaten bagel with a bit of butter and cream cheese sits in front of her, beside her book. She lifts the off-white mug with a small chip above the handle and takes a slow sip of the liquid inside. It is lukewarm, but the bittersweet taste and velvet texture bring a small smile to her lips none-the-less.
This morning is unusual.
She savors the quiet peace of the restaurant and its surrounding areas. The regular patrons chat quietly with the owner, the waitress, each other. She observes them through their reflections in the glass barrier to the outside world. One man tells of his son - an adventurous little boy who has a tendency to fall out of trees and twist ankles. The man is relatively young, perhaps late twenties to early thirties. He is wearing a rugged baseball cap and a black carhart jacket. He then starts to tell of the time his son nearly cracked his head open climbing out of the back of a pickup truck.
"It was the scariest moment of my life."
She smiles as she can hear traces of fear left over from trauma in his voice. She can tell just by that one simple statement that he loves his son dearly. The waitress wanders over, a middle aged woman with dark hair and even darker eyes. The watch on her wrist glistens in the rising sun as she asks if a coffee refill is needed. The girl looks into her mug, seeing it half empty (or half full depending on how you view it) and then at her watch. It is five minutes after seven. She should be leaving soon. She says no thank you and begins to place her things back into her bag. The other patrons have begun to pack up their things and leave as well, heading off to their simple jobs.
The waitress behind the counter smiles as she brings up the bill to pay - two dollars and forty-seven cents. She hands over a five and waits for her change. Moving back over to collect her things, she drops a dollar on the table. She knows the tip is half the bill, but the waitress is friendly and has eyes gleaming with kindness. She likes to think that she is a good judge of people and that the waitress will appreciate the gesture. Who knows? Maybe she is completely wrong. Maybe the waitress isn't generous or friendly at all. Either way, as she pulls on her jacket and gloves, she feels a sense of calm and happiness come upon her.
She wishes she could do this every morning. The people going about their simple lives intrigue her. She could easily sit for hours, just watching the patrons come in and out, always the same scenario. The owner knows every one of them, talking animatedly about old friends, children, and distant memories.
She wonders what it would be like if she were to make her life here. While the small town life has always seemed so suffocating, this morning it feels like freedom. Sitting in the small diner is so much different than being at home, waiting for the bus to pick her up for school.
She has always been an early riser. Her friends often tell her she's crazy for getting up an hour earlier than she needs to. She tells them that she likes the ability to sit and drink a cup of coffee - relax a while before beginning the day. Somehow, after this morning, her hour of "relaxation" at home doesn't seem so relaxing. At the little restaurant, she is at peace, having to do nothing but drink the bitter sweet life force and think. At home, even as she is sitting, everything is rushing about - within her, without her.
She contemplates her small town morning, deciding that she wouldn't mind having the same type of morning often, but not every morning. While she loves the tranquility of it, she thinks that, were it to become routine, the effect would falter and die. The peace she feels now would eventually turn into numbness. The quiet would soon turn maddening. And while she admits that the small town morning and the small town people are intriguing, she will always be a big city girl at heart.
