Lonely At The Odeon
There’s a girl in the cafe downstairs, sitting in the corner on the faded green chair. I like that chair because the arms are at just the right height, and the cushion is just worn enough to be comfortable. She’s been staring out the window, watching the pedestrians with a certain expectant eagerness. She’s disappointed, but hopeful.
I was waiting for my coffees-to-go; standing at the bar, looking across the room. Scavenging for eye occupation while the espresso brews and the milk is steamed. She walked to the bar and asked for ‘another while I’m waiting, please?’. She asked with a questioning tone at the end, all at once pleading for mercy and kindness, preserving dignity with a snigger and shrug.
She sat down again, same faded green chair and pulled out her cellphone. She hesitated and then set to it, with determination. She exerted a thumping angry force on the keypad, and hunched over it like a demon working a lathe. So firm and hard, her thumb hitting out the message.
When she looked up again, and caught my eye, I looked away. Stood up and caring far too much, there’s a damp glint in her eye. You can see pride rising up, and melancholy approaching over her shoulders and into her belly. She cares too much for it to be trivial. Someone’s on the last chance, the close pass on thin ice and it can’t be good.
She’s as empty a vessel as ever I’ve seen in the few short weeks we’ve lived over the cave of the Odeon. I’ve not seen her before, and may not again, cos it seems like she came a long way to get here today. I left, and she’s probably leaving soon.