Tuesday, February 8, 2011

I'm Sorry I Went Away For A Year.

I wonder what the old woman thinks about as she prunes the bushes in her yard wearing a floral bathrobe, her hair in rollers. Her daughter died in a car accident two years ago and her son committed suicide earlier this month. She has no children left now.

My mother always says that no mother should ever have to bury her children.

Location: Pastry Art

A girl I know is sitting at a table behind me. She is using the free Wi-Fi here at the cafe. I'm not sure she noticed me as I entered. If she did then I should feel guilty for not having flashed a smile or gestured a wave at her. She is a friendly girl, one I would expect to have tried to grab my attention and let me know she has spotted me. She did not do this so I think I am safe to assume she hasn't seen me and is now peering over the top of her Dell pondering whether the blonde haired girl sitting here writing is indeed a girl she knows as me.

The table I am seated at sits four. It is comprised of two smaller tables meant for two that have been pushed together. Two women entered the cafe just now and began to whisper about whether or not they would be justified in splitting the tables apart to claim two of the three seats that still remain available in the dining area. I cannot hear them, I just know by their eye contact and subtle pointing that this is what is being discussed. I don't mind. I love eavesdropping and will do just that the minute they seat themselves next to me. They ordered drinks and pulled half my table away only about 6 inches or so to form a semi-private bubble of their own where they are now free to converse. I wonder if they are suspicious of me tapping into their bubble. I doubt it. They probably are assuming I am some local college student scribbling away in her journal writing about a boyfriend or perhaps working on a poem or venting about a bad day. I am doing nothing of the sort, but am instead listening to every word they say. One woman worked at Stafford as a teacher. The lady she is with is similar in age. The ex-teacher is blonde. I can see her out of the corner of my eye. They both are not native to the area, and both lived in Washington D.C. at one point in their lives. The blonde moved here recently, the other has been here since '02. They seem to both agree that "there are a lot of idea people here, " says the blonde "...but no follow through." says the other, finishing the blonde's sentence. Doesn't that apply to almost everybody in any town? They are now discussing non-profits and setting up practices, having "familiarity with the medical side of things". They do not know one another well or they would not be discussing where they went to school, where they have lived over the past twenty years, and what their husbands do for a living. The Stafford blonde's husband writes software and works for G-Whiz, a hands on science center here in town. I am now lost. It is hard for me to keep up with them in between answering text messages. I now have to go. A sushi date awaits me a few blocks away. Should I walk or drive?

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