Try as I will, I cannot concentrate, though I’m certain onlookers could be fooled by my apparent total immersion. The reality is… I'm staring mindlessly at a glossy magazine. You know the type. Brightest colours, skillful photography, (especially of food!) Just as well I've finished my lunch... amazingly. Thought I'd never be able to swallow a single mouthful, but I DID promise Dr. Ruth I would, no matter what! And although it mainly tasted about as palatable as cardboard, I persevered and ’womanfully’ gulped it down.
I cannot bring myself to look again at the action taking place outside the cafe, across the street. It was bad enough the first time they came into view. The bright umbrella they shared caught my eye as they paused to talk; to gaze into each other's eyes; all but oblivious to the rain; or indeed, to anyone else on earth. If only they hadn't stopped for another embrace. STOP IT, I wanted to shout. They are so obviously lovers. I swallow hard and tighten my mouth. But I can't tighten my thoughts from wandering where they will... to think — Lovers like we were... or so I thought. Shh! Don't go there! It's dark, and cold, and painful beyond anything I've known. Raindrops running down the window and splashing off the sill are far too much like tears.
Despite my best determination, my head begins to ache. I prop it on my fist and am thankful none can see how the other hand under the magazine is clenching... SO tight, those fancy, manicured nails dig into the soft flesh of my palm. Attempting to distract myself, I concentrate my memory on the appointment with my manicurist, earlier. Sally would not be pleased with my unthinking abuse of her special skills.
Nor that my time with her giving me such kind and caring treatment hasn't achieved the relaxation we both willed to happen. It's too true, some days we win little and lose lots. Some days. Seems this is one of those 'lesser' days.
If I sit here just a little longer, forcing my breaths to even out, and deepen too… just maybe I'll find the strength to steel myself to cross the road; see nothing, hear nothing, and most importantly, feel nothing.
See the plan growing? Feel my resolve strengthening? I WILL skirt around that couple, though now they share that umbrella again. Close together. Too intimate altogether! The word COURAGE thunders around my head, despite being soundless to anyone else, as I remind myself how quickly I'll be able to
lose myself in my favourite bookshop over there. The very minute I've passed them, the doorbell will tinkle its especially inviting welcome, and once more as it closes behind me, shut out the pain, leaving it to slither along the gutter and down the drain along with the raindrops. It's worked its magic and provided the desired degree of distraction many, many times before.
DEEP breaths now... close the mag firmly, and GO!!
Christine Larsen is a writer, farmer, wife, mother, grandmother and rescuer extraordinaire of children (human and the knitted toy variety), plus countless animals, for more than seven decades. Always a creator, her passion for some years has been copious amounts of writing of genres including memoir, flash fiction/non-fiction and short-shorts, children's stories—and now her butterfly brain flutters around poetic fields, affording much pleasure as well as the regular blood, sweat and tears the hard taskmaster (the writing muse) demands of her chosen.
Christine’s website is: ceedee moodling at http://www.cdcraftee.com/