Roses At The Next Table

September 14th, 2006

the place is crowded and people are weaving in and out among the tables and chairs. mirthful afternoon chatter is bouncing off the mirrored walls and into my chocolate milkshake. the clink of cutlery and the shuffling of posteriors on vinyl booths lend a nice symphony of understated sounds to the surroundings. it’s a bustling place full of energy - everyone here has got the shifty eyes and the foot-tapping thing going on, as well as the laugh-out-loud syndrome.

but as i clasp my mug of hot water in my hands, i feel strangely relaxed. i feel like this place, this place of rushing people, grants me the prerogative to just sit back and whittle time away. in here, i am like one of those characters from one of those music videos - where everyone around her is moving in fast forward, as she sits forlornly on stairs or walks on the streets, watching slowly as everyone goes by in accelerated motion. streaked eyeliner down the cheek is an option.

here, i can be wrapped in foil and hidden away. but not today, today i must talk even though i dont want to. why cant people understand that there is such a thing as comfortable silence?

how are you?

i’m very confused.

about what?

about what happened last night.

i’m sorry.

(i’m not, really.)

briefly, we leave it at that. i know he wants to know why, but i dont want to talk about it. it’s not really important anymore. to talk about it would exhume a lot of other things, things that will take up a lot of energy and a lot of fidgeting and a lot of beating around the bush. and it would spoil the afternoon. why would we wanna do that? it’s such a nice day today.

ooh, my omelette and baked beans are here. yay!

omelette + cheese + mushrooms + sausages + onions = everyone, shhhhhhhh.

Entry Filed under: Martianisms, Musings