Ethan
August 1st, 2014, 12:07 PM
approx. 750 words
I watched her in bored detachment, she sat in the window of the café from where she could see the street outside. Her demeanour was one of waiting, waiting for a friend, a business acquaintance, a lover? I sipped my coffee, too hot to gulp, as I gazed around at the other customers. Two middle aged ladies deep in conversation, both talking over each other neither hearing what the other had to say. One business type, blue suit and matching tie, probably off the peg judging by the poor quality of material, was reading the Daily mail. He read the sports pages first, which took him out of serious management criteria.
Behind him were two teenagers, one busily texting, while the other, sitting opposite, tried to read the literary masterpiece upside down. I looked back at the girl in the window and decided she was not waiting for her boyfriend. No makeup, hair whilst not untidy, wasn’t how it should be for someone wanting to impress. Again she glanced expectantly up and down the street.
The waitress approached her table and lifting the girl’s empty cup, raised her eyebrows in query, to which the girl responded with a nod and another quick look up the street.
Yes… definitely waiting for someone.
People watching is not a hobby of mine, but lately i have found myself, on too many occasions,guiltily indulging in this rewarding pastime. For an amateur I quite pride myself on my intuitive skill, still, I have been wrong on occasion and with that thought I lifted my cup and turned again toward my quarry.
She fumbled in her handbag, a shapeless multi coloured woollen sack really, probably knitted by her favourite aunt. Still, it is in keeping with her dress sense, red duffle coat, navy blue woollen dress, and black woollen tights. As I noticed her footwear a smile creased my lips. My best guess is that they were Laplander boots; you know the kind of thing, all mocassiny with brightly coloured embroidery and fur lining leaking around the edges. On the seat beside her lay a red woollen cap, the type with earflaps and string tie, and just to finish the ensemble, a bobble on the top. Probably the ‘ in’ student trend, or the latest ‘twenty something's’ must have. A student or an office junior, I ventured, maybe work experience in a solicitor's office, or a bank. Tidy and trendy without the obligatory blouse and pencil skirt uniformity of the city type.
I sipped my coffee.
The waitress, divorced mother of two, abusive husband, bored with her job, life in general ,and just going through the motions of a grey existence, returned with her order and set it on the table without raising her head, yet another trick of the waitresses trade. I watched her disappear back into the kitchens, again avoiding unnecessary eye contact with any of the customers.
The girl stared hard into her coffee cup, her handbag clutched tightly on her lap, a casual interview, or the end of a relationship perhaps? Whatever she was waiting for was not something she was looking forward to. Another glance outside but this time she stiffened and quickly lowered her head as a couple, giggling and pushing each other playfully entered the café.
He was thirty five to forty years old, well dressed in an office manager sort of way, dark grey suit and flamboyant tie, hair greying at the temples. The office Lothario was my first impression, probably has a pretty but boring wife, two kids at college and enough money and time to fool around a little. His companion was a different matter. Tall and elegant, wearing a stunning red dress that highlighted her lustrous blonde hair, which she tossed with the assurance only truly beautiful women can.
Her bright red lipstick, shiny and moist, accentuated her pouting lips as she blew him a playful kiss; in return the man playfully patted her pert bottom.
His smile quickly died as he turned toward the window.
I too turned to look at my quarry, standing now, gripping her knitted bag tightly to her chest. Staring directly at the man, her eyes fixed and hard with rage.
She stepped forward, ignoring the table as the contents spilled noisily onto the floor. The sudden crash drew every eye in the café as the girl uttered the only words ever spoken by one of my projects that truly shocked me.
‘Mom, how could you?’
I watched her in bored detachment, she sat in the window of the café from where she could see the street outside. Her demeanour was one of waiting, waiting for a friend, a business acquaintance, a lover? I sipped my coffee, too hot to gulp, as I gazed around at the other customers. Two middle aged ladies deep in conversation, both talking over each other neither hearing what the other had to say. One business type, blue suit and matching tie, probably off the peg judging by the poor quality of material, was reading the Daily mail. He read the sports pages first, which took him out of serious management criteria.
Behind him were two teenagers, one busily texting, while the other, sitting opposite, tried to read the literary masterpiece upside down. I looked back at the girl in the window and decided she was not waiting for her boyfriend. No makeup, hair whilst not untidy, wasn’t how it should be for someone wanting to impress. Again she glanced expectantly up and down the street.
The waitress approached her table and lifting the girl’s empty cup, raised her eyebrows in query, to which the girl responded with a nod and another quick look up the street.
Yes… definitely waiting for someone.
People watching is not a hobby of mine, but lately i have found myself, on too many occasions,guiltily indulging in this rewarding pastime. For an amateur I quite pride myself on my intuitive skill, still, I have been wrong on occasion and with that thought I lifted my cup and turned again toward my quarry.
She fumbled in her handbag, a shapeless multi coloured woollen sack really, probably knitted by her favourite aunt. Still, it is in keeping with her dress sense, red duffle coat, navy blue woollen dress, and black woollen tights. As I noticed her footwear a smile creased my lips. My best guess is that they were Laplander boots; you know the kind of thing, all mocassiny with brightly coloured embroidery and fur lining leaking around the edges. On the seat beside her lay a red woollen cap, the type with earflaps and string tie, and just to finish the ensemble, a bobble on the top. Probably the ‘ in’ student trend, or the latest ‘twenty something's’ must have. A student or an office junior, I ventured, maybe work experience in a solicitor's office, or a bank. Tidy and trendy without the obligatory blouse and pencil skirt uniformity of the city type.
I sipped my coffee.
The waitress, divorced mother of two, abusive husband, bored with her job, life in general ,and just going through the motions of a grey existence, returned with her order and set it on the table without raising her head, yet another trick of the waitresses trade. I watched her disappear back into the kitchens, again avoiding unnecessary eye contact with any of the customers.
The girl stared hard into her coffee cup, her handbag clutched tightly on her lap, a casual interview, or the end of a relationship perhaps? Whatever she was waiting for was not something she was looking forward to. Another glance outside but this time she stiffened and quickly lowered her head as a couple, giggling and pushing each other playfully entered the café.
He was thirty five to forty years old, well dressed in an office manager sort of way, dark grey suit and flamboyant tie, hair greying at the temples. The office Lothario was my first impression, probably has a pretty but boring wife, two kids at college and enough money and time to fool around a little. His companion was a different matter. Tall and elegant, wearing a stunning red dress that highlighted her lustrous blonde hair, which she tossed with the assurance only truly beautiful women can.
Her bright red lipstick, shiny and moist, accentuated her pouting lips as she blew him a playful kiss; in return the man playfully patted her pert bottom.
His smile quickly died as he turned toward the window.
I too turned to look at my quarry, standing now, gripping her knitted bag tightly to her chest. Staring directly at the man, her eyes fixed and hard with rage.
She stepped forward, ignoring the table as the contents spilled noisily onto the floor. The sudden crash drew every eye in the café as the girl uttered the only words ever spoken by one of my projects that truly shocked me.
‘Mom, how could you?’