Meeting Strangers in Familiar Places

Meeting Strangers in Familiar Places - 2058 words





Laura first saw him on a dank and miserable Thursday evening in January; he stepped in, shaking the glistening raindrops from his golf umbrella back onto the lamp lit street. He closed the door quietly and paused for a minute, head cocked to the side before turning to face the room. Her first thought was that the whole situation was slightly askew. The crisply tailored charcoal suit he wore seemed out of place surrounded by her homely chairs, chintzy curtains and brightly mis-matched crockery. She suspected, too, from the somewhat puzzled expression as he gazed around that he was also somewhat surprised to find himself there. For several minutes, under the foil of wiping the counter and cleaning down the equipment, she watched as he stared at the large chalkboard. His mossy green eyes seemed blank to her; she felt sure he wasn’t digesting the words carefully chalked that morning. Eventually he stepped to the counter, quietly and directly ordered a large latte and a banana muffin and took a seat at the smallest table, right by the window. Laura knew she should have told him that she was closing for the night but he seemed so lost in thought that she felt sure he wouldn’t have even heard her. She brought him his order, prepared a mug of peppermint tea for herself and eased herself onto the high stool she kept behind the counter, resigned to not going home just yet.

Hands wrapped around her steaming mug, Laura watched the fat raindrops bounce off the window pane of her quiet world; she saw the shrubs outside the door lean and bend with the force of the air. People hurried past the window, coats closed to the full. Some made futile attempts to keep the weather at bay with flimsy umbrellas, the more sensible not even bothering and just racing along to where they would be warm and dry and comforted. Inside the glow from the lamps was tranquil and the sound of the Beatles quietly singing of yellow submarines in the background was a balm to Laura's weariness. She found her eyes kept returning to the man at the window. Only his back faced her but she could see he hadn't even tasted his muffin, his coffee cup sat untouched on the round, iron table. He sat completely still, hands clasped in his lap and the tension so evident in the hunch of his shoulders that Laura concluded he had much more need of the peppermint tea she held than she did. Laura had always liked to people watch, it was partly why she did the work she did. She would listen to conversations and observe people day after day and concoct stories of fantasy and intrigue about the lives of others. This stranger, though, piqued her interest in a way she couldn't quite define. He was clean cut and well dressed, good shoes but the curl of his brown hair under his collar was slightly longer than conventional. She wondered what it was in this stranger’s life that led him to her place on a night like this, at a time when he was so visibly distracted and didn’t even appear to be aware where he was. He left, never once having raised his cup, as quietly as he’d come. Laura watched him close the door and realised she'd never spoken one word to the man. She turned off the lights, locked the door behind her and stepped into the chaotic, stormy night.



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It was coming up on 2 weeks later before Laura saw the man again. She’d been baking since long before dawn and was carefully boxing up the fairy princess cupcakes that were due to be collected when she heard the bell over the door chime, signalling she was needed out front. Hastily she dumped her apron on the counter, eased her copper hair from its ponytail and went to attend to her customer.

“Hi, what can I get you?” Laura watched the petite blonde woman’s eyes roaming over the variety of baked treats displayed brightly behind shiny glass.

“Um, one of those pink cupcakes, please,” she pointed a slim, manicured finger at the rich white chocolate treat topped in glossy fuchsia, “and a green tea, thanks. Oh, and my boyfriend will be here any minute now, I’ll take a skinny latte for him please, large.”

“Sure, no problem, take a seat and I’ll be right over with those.”

Laura was busily transferring cutlery and chunky, lime green and teal mugs from tray to table when he walked in. He looked much the same, similar straight laced business suit and starched, white shirt, but there was much more light than dark in his mood today, to Laura’s eye at least. She noticed his eyes seemed to be a shade brighter than last time, definitely more pale bottle green than moss, and there was a curl to his mouth where there’d been no hint of one the previous week. As he dropped to the inviting couch next to the beaming blonde she thought they looked right; two attractive, obviously successful people together, and happy.

From the corner of her eye Laura watched them, as she restocked pastries and cookies, as she wiped and cleared and cleaned. Her gaze more frequently fell on him; on the slight left hand tilt of his head, on the gentle nods he gave as his companion’s hands flew haphazardly through the air as she enthused energetically on some inaudible topic. She knew the quiet tug she felt was attraction and berated herself for it; it was utterly nonsensical when, for such a long time, she’d felt nothing. Still she kept watching.

When Jack arrived, full of chatter and youthful exuberance, for his lunchtime shift, she found she had to force herself to tie on her apron and retreat to her kitchen. Usually her sanctuary and one of the few places she felt she belonged, today it was nothing more than the force separating her from him. She tied back her curls with a length of frayed yellow ribbon, tucked loose strands behind her freckled ears and lost her thoughts, and her distractions, in measuring, mixing and timing.                                                         

.

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Laura’s days passed as they always did, quietly and with the comfort of routine. Each morning she walked the cold and empty streets from her apartment to her kitchen, and had her first coffee of the day while the warm ovens scented her orderly world. Every time the tinkle of the bell interrupted her thoughts, she hoped for him; waited to see his generous smile with the slightly crooked teeth that she thought suited his face so well. He came most days now, always at different times, sometimes alone and sometimes with the effervescent blonde, and always ordered the same thing. She’d gotten used to him in her place; suited and bespectacled sitting in a floral armchair, with an open book, or at the small table watching the world outside. It didn’t matter who else was sitting in her haven, or what else was going on, she always watched him.

It was Tuesday afternoon when the blonde came in, talking quietly into her phone, with what, Laura knew, was the voice most women reserved for whispered intimacies. She recognised the slight pang of stomach ache for jealousy but quickly forced it down; she had no right to be feeling anything at all. Still, she listened to the grains of conversation that reached her ears as she drowned the bag of green tea in the pot, heard the arrangements to meet and the suggestive throaty giggled promise of pleasures to come. When the door opened Laura didn’t even glance in its direction; she didn’t raise her head until the musky smell, now so familiar to her, was right in front of her, and then it was with confusion clouding her pale eyes.

“Oh, hi.” At the very edge of her vision she noticed the phone being shoved into the tiny clutch. “Hi,” he smiled, his face asking the question that his voice didn’t, “can I have a large latte please?”

Laura nodded briefly and with heat staining her freckled face, she turned her back to him. Her thoughts scrambled over themselves and she couldn’t stop the race long enough to pull any single one free. She stared unseeingly through the misty window for a long time that day, continuously reminding herself that it was none of her business, they were none of her business and, certainly, he was none of her business. But the mantra sounded meaningless even to her own mind. 



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Laura had never had any particular fondness for Valentine’s Day with its forced romance and heart shaped balloons. She’d been alone, out of choice, for a long while, and she largely preferred it; she saw enough drama in other people’s lives to reassure her that life was simply less complicated if you only had to yourself to consider. However, on Valentine’s Day, Laura found herself doing what every other business owner was doing, pandering to the masses who wanted romance, love, devotion and lots of it. It was the only day of the year that her heart shaped cookie cutter saw any use but, on that one day, she pushed it into the stringy, yielding dough more times than she could count. She blew up fat balloons and secured them to the backs of chairs, and to the polished counter, with lengths of baby pink and stark red ribbons, she frosted the cupcakes in shades of magenta and crimson and adorned the walls with heart shaped paper cut-outs. To her, it was foolishness on an already foolish day.

She saw him step in just before noon, unwinding the                                                            soft grey scarf from his neck. It was the first time he’d been in at the weekend and she, inexplicably, felt a sense of relief to see him released from the confines of a shirt and tie. Under the collar-line of his hooded top she could see, for the first time, the full curve of his neck, and couldn’t stop the sudden image of her tongue gliding over that usually hidden spot where neck runs into shoulder. A slight shudder ran through her as she raised her eyes to his furrowed brow,

“Hi, happy Valentine’s Day.” As usual his head tilted slightly as he spoke.

“Yeah, same to you. What can I get you?” she forced herself to speak, screaming at herself in her head that she had no justification in wanting to lick this stranger.

“Just a latte, thanks, and can I have one of those red cakes please?” He took a seat at the window and, having brought his order, Laura retreated behind the barrier of the counter and allowed herself to watch as he read. She noticed today it was Cujo, a favourite of hers, and wondered if it was new to him or, if like her, he returned repeatedly to the comfort of old, familiar friends. She watched as his delicate, slim fingers turned the pages and felt a quick pang each time his tongue licked the froth from the corners of his mouth. She saw the blonde push open the door, saw her eyes rest on him for a brief moment before she quietly turned and stepped back onto the street. Laura knew the relief she felt in that instant was ridiculous and unjustified but allowed herself to feel it nonetheless.

Laura was busy restocking heart-shaped cookies when she saw him approach the counter. “Everything ok? Can I get you anything else?” she smiled at him, “No, nothing else thanks.” She noticed a slight pinkness in his usually pale features as he spoke and his eyes weren’t quite able to make a direct connection with hers. She waited through the silence, uncertain. “I was wondering if you’d meet me for a drink when you close this evening. If you want.” He studied his hands and his voice sounded different to her ears. She didn’t lift her eyes, but kept them trained on that spot under his collar, as she told him what time she’d be finished. Only after he’d left did she realise she didn’t even know the strangers name but, she reassured herself at least there was now the possibility she could find out.