SupaStudy
08-30-2009, 05:46 AM
“If coffee be the drink of life, drink on.”
The airs of pomposity and forced resignation flooded the café in a near-impenetrable haze. Left of the counter, a wall housed a mosaic of past beatniks who’d made history through ventures of no particular importance. It seemed that in an act of defiance, the room’s lights were absurdly bright, though only barely fracturing the stereotype of yet another coffee shop, and the image of children like myself who would flood to it for refuge. It was too early for a crowd, but late enough where the few occupied seats were adorned by would-be professors typing furiously on laptops. With equal fervor, I drank heavily from a large no-named coffee mug. Every few moments the stool I sat upon tipped uneasily at notice of its one leg whose length had come up comparatively short; the thumps of its inevitable fall and rise stuttered awkwardly as a languid and aged woman placed herself atop an adjacent bar seat.
Leaning stoically against the auburn table top, the woman’s face sagged across the traces and routes time had long since drawn. Her body was skeletal, skin flaccid; several hoop bracelets balanced loosely on her wrists, clanking with each movement. Her mid-length grayed hair pulled up in a ponytail, held by a gold clawed clip; her clothing a casual dress, black and tightly fitted. Despite such a palette, her image was not morbid, nor frightful, instead, irreverent. Tapping her fingernails across the rim of the table, she idly stirred her coffee, her moot expression unchanging.
It was then I noticed the troubling placidity of the café. She had sat so close to me, yet we had not formally acknowledged each other’s existence, and now a veil of silence hung around us both. It was maddening, of course she had some purpose in coming so near, and her demeanor was inexplicably unaware. For my sake at the least, I had to speak.
“Hel-“
The first syllable had only just graced my lips as she took her first gulp of the coffee. Her eyes widened and she turned to me with a pursed grimace. Erupting into a fit of coughing, the recently consumed coffee poured from her mouth onto the table’s wooden finish. She struggled to regain both breathe and composure whilst the tell-tale signs of age revealed themselves. Her face did not show embarrassment, but instead only mild defeat. A torrent of nausea took control, my new found need to be away from this woman mounted.
I’d thought it better to leave immediately, and I only partly regret the decision. A sour taste had permeated my mouth as I’d risen from my broken throne. Stepping towards the exit I’d made certain not to look back. Maybe, coffee just wasn’t my kind of thing.
The airs of pomposity and forced resignation flooded the café in a near-impenetrable haze. Left of the counter, a wall housed a mosaic of past beatniks who’d made history through ventures of no particular importance. It seemed that in an act of defiance, the room’s lights were absurdly bright, though only barely fracturing the stereotype of yet another coffee shop, and the image of children like myself who would flood to it for refuge. It was too early for a crowd, but late enough where the few occupied seats were adorned by would-be professors typing furiously on laptops. With equal fervor, I drank heavily from a large no-named coffee mug. Every few moments the stool I sat upon tipped uneasily at notice of its one leg whose length had come up comparatively short; the thumps of its inevitable fall and rise stuttered awkwardly as a languid and aged woman placed herself atop an adjacent bar seat.
Leaning stoically against the auburn table top, the woman’s face sagged across the traces and routes time had long since drawn. Her body was skeletal, skin flaccid; several hoop bracelets balanced loosely on her wrists, clanking with each movement. Her mid-length grayed hair pulled up in a ponytail, held by a gold clawed clip; her clothing a casual dress, black and tightly fitted. Despite such a palette, her image was not morbid, nor frightful, instead, irreverent. Tapping her fingernails across the rim of the table, she idly stirred her coffee, her moot expression unchanging.
It was then I noticed the troubling placidity of the café. She had sat so close to me, yet we had not formally acknowledged each other’s existence, and now a veil of silence hung around us both. It was maddening, of course she had some purpose in coming so near, and her demeanor was inexplicably unaware. For my sake at the least, I had to speak.
“Hel-“
The first syllable had only just graced my lips as she took her first gulp of the coffee. Her eyes widened and she turned to me with a pursed grimace. Erupting into a fit of coughing, the recently consumed coffee poured from her mouth onto the table’s wooden finish. She struggled to regain both breathe and composure whilst the tell-tale signs of age revealed themselves. Her face did not show embarrassment, but instead only mild defeat. A torrent of nausea took control, my new found need to be away from this woman mounted.
I’d thought it better to leave immediately, and I only partly regret the decision. A sour taste had permeated my mouth as I’d risen from my broken throne. Stepping towards the exit I’d made certain not to look back. Maybe, coffee just wasn’t my kind of thing.