2 posts tagged “everyday events”

Snow clings to my coat. It is a cold evening, the glass - the large windows, are coated in a sheen of condensation. It must be very warm in the coffee house tonight. As I walk in, I take my usual table - in the center of the room. I like to feel the energy around me as I work.

Setting down my Books Rock tote bag, I unbutton my coat, working quickly, eager now for a warm cup of the deep dark French roast - rich and creamy - and robust. I plan to get some serious work done tonight. The din of the coffee house a symphony as I let the words pour out of me. The clang of the mugs - cymbals - the sharp pulses of the espresso machine - a harmony of flutes - the opera of human voices - as they talk quietly a chorus and as they speak loudly in solos.

Music to the mind as words pour forth. I cannot create in a quiet room. I must feed on the din - as I allow the words to work their magic.

At the counter the Barista - already has my coffee ready. "Welcome back - we missed you last week." I smile. I was not there the previous week - not in my normal spot - not in the middle of my symphony. I had been ill.

"Yeah, I missed you. A bit under the weather, but tonight, I hope to make up for lost time."

Truth be told, I was under the weather - but not with any disease a doctor could correct. I have been stuck. Stuck in a place where the words in my head will not form - they are there but I cannot see them. We play hide and seek, they tease me - images abound, but remain in a mist. No form and substance. It is the very sickness that plagues so many of us. Tonight, in my favorite coffee house in my treasured center row spot, I hope to break through the mist and create again. The words feel like they want to flow. It feels very much as it does when one is about to cry. The welling up of tears - the sense of pending or waiting for just that first one to streak down the fleshy part of my cheek. Knowing it is coming - this is the feeling I carry with me today. The words are piling up, just waiting a moment and then they will flow forth - unstoppable until they are spent and I am exhausted from my effort to keep pace with them.

Taking my coffee and returning to my seat, I open my computer and begin to type, slowly the words appear on the screen my hands moving over the keys - as a pianists does - my eyes focused, my hands moving as if a puppeteer hidden from view is control them.

On and on I type, the story taking shape - I am free in the moment - writing and the out pouring continues for sometime - until the words - which had been piled up in my mind have ended and I take a deep breath and clear my head. Needing a rest. I look at my watch and notice that I have been enchanted for well over an hour.

Feeling somewhat depleted, I look around the room, hoping to borrow some energy from the crowd. Perhaps then I can continue.

"Well THAT is not how I would HANDLE it." She says as she rolls her eyes. The tension is think - the room vibrates with it. His posture speaks volumes - but does she hear it? I can hear what his body is saying and it deafening - blinding.

Shoulders raised - his legs tight, as they are bent at a 90 degree angle  - sitting squarely in the chair. The lines of his face - tight and ungiving. Dark eyes - piercing into her - icy and cold. No heat - the coffee in front of them now more arctic with each passing moment.

This I wonder - is this what I am seeing? The words lingering over their table - not that of hope and promise - but sharp and biting. Arrows aimed and targets hit - but not by Cupid's bow.

"I am just saying....", "Well if that is how you really feel?", "You could have said so earlier."

Closing my eyes - in my head I see - the images as I think they should be. Warm smiles. Hands upon the table. A chance bump of fingers. Warm radiant smiles - half hidden by the rim of coffee mugs. Eyes lite up with smiles and no one trying to hid the buzz, which has nothing to do with caffeine. This is about connections and what feel right.

No coldness and isolation from the outset. No icy eyes and defensive postures.

Conversation about the weather - that seems to fit. Glances and looks. A step forward and a step back - I think they call it flirty.

The room fills and crash - there was some coffee spilled. It is harder to hear now - his icy replies. The tone of his voice I can feel above the dine - the hard set of his chin. Her voice is quieter or now - I cannot hear her - but her disdain I feel. I can feel her disquiet - her utter exasperation - it hits me then - maybe my eyes had deceived me and what I thought was the beginning was truly the bitter end. Could that be the dissidence?

As I gather my things to leave - I look at them through the glass as I walk past - and I think to myself - that that is a pairing that will not last. Could a fist date really be so bad. When should you take your coffee and run. Icy and cold - for a relationship seems so wrong.

If it is the end - I ask myself - just how did it begin?