Friday, June 14, 2013

coffee shop




november, 2012.


my fingers freeze around a folded paper plate. my dinner, a pathetic sandwich in a to-go fashion, exposes my hands to temperatures I'm not used to. this is the dead of winter, the north. the earth holds no mercy for those who seek heat. only it isn't the dead of winter, it's barely the middle of november. this is what happens when you grow up in florida.

I'm on my way to a coffee shop, alone, listening to a self-help audio book my father forced me to download. he has probably never called me as many times as he did to remind me to listen to said self-help audio book. today wasn't very satisfying to say the least: I woke up late, got to class late, met a friend for lunch late, started a paper late. a paper I can't even finish.
in the coffee shop, I find an isolated table near a lamp jutting out of the wall. in solitude, I eat my sandwich and open my laptop. sometimes I wonder if people could look you in the eyes, or even just glance at your face, and know how miserable you feel at the moment. 

I make eye contact with random strangers as I awkwardly weave through the dark, crowded area to grab a cup of water. I wish I could read their expressions. some of them look away immediately, some let their eyes linger on mine, some look smug. for just a moment, we're exchanging a very human reaction, a raw emotion that has not had time to ripen into a socially-constructed reaction that defines the situation as positive or negative. 

was that flinch a flinch of discomfort? are you looking away because eye contact intimidates you too? do you understand what its like to be so far away from the familiar? were you thinking of getting water as well? what if my thoughts are plastered on my face, like an obnoxious graphic tee that everyone stares at and judges. what if they're not. I'd like to hope that they aren't, or that if they are, people recognize them.

I return to my seat. here, I can withdraw for a while and reevaluate my circumstances. a self-help audio book, a sandwich, a paper. if that's not obvious then I don't know what is.   



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