Mockingbird

So here I am, stopped at the red light. The one down on Main Street there. The one that takes longer than the rest. Yeah, that one. The one with the cafe right there. Where the people in their cars at the light stare at the people drinking their coffee in the window booths and the people in the booths stare back.

So there I am, stopped at that red light, staring at the people in the booths, and who stares back at me but her. She was there. Right there in the window. I didn’t recognize her at first and moved on to the next booth down the row. Then it hit me. I looked back, and there she was.

I felt myself start to sweat. It hit me that the car was a bit hot. Then it got cold. I stopped sweating and started shaking from the new cold. I didn’t know what to do. It was one of those moments where your brain completely stops and something else takes over. Maybe its the heart that takes over, the organ that holds all human passions. Maybe its the spirit or soul. Maybe its something else entirely. I think its the memories. Memories of the past, memories of the future, the ones that shape us, that make us who we are. The deep ones. Not the old ones, but the real ones. The ones that stick in you, that don’t end up deemed useless and thrown away like a fork missing a couple of prongs.

I can’t stop myself. I lose all control of my body. My foot presses the accelerator a little bit. My arms turn the wheel, and suddenly my car is veering across a stopped lane of traffic and into the parking lot. At this point, now that it’s too late to go back, too late to stop, I regain control. But, as I said, it’s too late. She saw me. She knows why I’m here. I park as far from the door as possible. There are closer spots, but I need time to pull myself back together. I haven’t seen her in years. What is there to say? Whatever it was, it’s over now.

I say to myself, “I’ll walk in, go straight to the counter without looking around, order a coffee, and leave. Pretend I don’t recognize her at all.” The elderly couple stares at me on their way by. I can’t blame them. I’m standing in the parking lot, still haven’t shut the car door, leaning on the frame, talking to myself. Maybe they think I’m on the phone. Probably not. I shut the door and walk across the parking lot with this plan in mind. It works great, until I’m in the cafe. The door shuts behind me. I realize that the entire time I was in the parking lot, I could have just left. Spared us both. Right up until I came through the door, I could have got back in my car and left. The light’s green now. I could have left without having to sit at the light, where I still would have been able to see her through the window.

As I was saying, the plan to get coffee at the counter and leave worked right up until I got through the door. She’s looking at me when I come through the door. She’s smiling. She knows exactly what I’m going through right now. First mistake. I looked at her. First mistake is also the last apparently. She’s waving me over. The smile is bittersweet now, like she sees the mental hell that I’m in. Maybe she’s in her own hell. We both deserve it, in our own different ways. Different hells for different people. But its all the same, in the end. Anyway, the game is up. She already waved. I go sit down across from her, and attempt to look her in the eye. I can’t do it. Neither can she, apparently.

We both realize that we have nothing to lose anymore, that this an awkward moment in the extreme for both of us, and that we both might as well make the best of it, navigating the perilous waters that have wrecked countless ships before us. We look into each others eyes. No smile now. I can see my reflection in those eyes, almost like in a mirror placed across the room. Maybe she can see hers in my eyes.

The waitress interrupts that little moment quite nicely. Good thing too. She asks whether or not we want coffee. We both say yes, and she wanders away, presumably to get the pot and cups. Two sugars and a bit of milk. That’s what she put in her coffee. Christ, I can still remember that? We talk for a while, interrupted by the waitress momentarily. I’m not hungry. Neither is she, apparently, as we both decline food. We don’t talk about old time, as you might expect. Too much for both of us.

We talk about now. Not here and now. That’s too strange for both of us. Not the past, not the future. Just now. She asks about work. I say that its fine, the word ‘good’ is too much to handle at the moment, not realizing that I’m going to be late. I notice that the light turned red again. It suddenly strikes me as a beautiful color, the color of the red light. The red of the brake lights. The red pickup truck in the left hand lane. The red of the leather seat she’s sitting on. During this realization, I ask her about her own work. It’s going well. Is ‘good’ too much for her too?

We can’t keep eye contact for more than a few seconds. I’m terrified. My heart races like a hotrod, then slows down like a glacier. I feel like I’m going to throw up. Maybe the coffee. Maybe just the situation in general. Probably both. I just hope I don’t lose my breakfast right here on the table. I drink small sips of water to keep things down where they belong. It helps. It helps get my heart under control too. Slightly elevated, but really not too bad. If only I could control my eyes to. They keep moving. They won’t stop moving. I can’t focus on anything for more than a few seconds.

I look at the clock, not realizing that I have to be at my desk in eight minutes. The drive will take at least twenty, probably thirty. I look at the wall that the clock hangs on. a few posters here and there to keep people busy while they wait. I keep turning my head farther and farther to the left, to the windows. The light is green now. It isn’t beautiful like the red was. It’s beautiful on its own. The red is beautiful because it adapts. It fits into you. It becomes a part of you. The green is beautiful because it just is. It’s a peaceful color, a natural color. A relaxed color. A color that tells us to just let go and be. Not to be something, or to be anything. Just to be.