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<Café De Marquis PART 5>
The words spring to the forefront of my mind, in the bum’s voice but nothing else. Why am I thinking about that creepy bum right now? Heather’s walking away. She’s leaving me and the café. She’s finishing her clean break. I threw it away. I dropped the ball.
‘Don’t let her go’
The line echoes again in my mind. I realize that it can’t end like this. I realize that I’ll go nuts if I don’t do something. Before I know it I’m out of my chair and following her, my steps are little and cautious. I’m scared. For the first time in a while I am just scared without trying to hide it. The tingling feeling starts to fan out again. I’m sure I look disturbed.
I follow he rout. I amble out into the street like a cautious deer approaching the highway; my head darting around for the dangers of reality. The street isn’t crowded but I can’t find her. I must have waited too long to follow her out. I wasn’t fast enough; on the score and on my feet. She’s been gone.
The weather is hopeful and eager, light blue skies with many thin trails of perfect white. She couldn’t have gone far. I just want to tell her I’m sorry.
My eye catches a flash of black and white polka dots that is quickly swallowed up by the strolling, shuffling, trotting crowd. A second later I see her legs in black stockings. I am no longer a cautious deer. I will be the recent past you run into on your day off. My pace quickens as I zip up my jacket. Once I’ve crossed the street I still don’t put my hands in my pockets.
She has not looked behind her once. Such a progressive lady. One foot in front of the other I get closer to her. A majority of people walking the street have such annoyed expressions. So many look distantly irked and so many seem hidden inside themselves with a default face of slight discomfort. The ones laughing and smiling, while walking hand in hand or punching each other on the arm suggest to me that I’m missing something.
My fists are clenched as the thought of calling out to her breezes past. No it would be obnoxious. If I just get in close enough I can deliver a polite tap on the shoulder. She stops and throws her arms up, her smile bright. We’re still a distance away as a tall man in a grey suit embraces her. I see at least 4 rings total on both hands. He looks Italian or something with his dark hair and olive skin like slow baked cream. The guy looks not poor due to the jewelry, buffed hair and clothes that fit like they were new and in line with his exact measurements. He looks strong and secure. They stay held in each other longer than friends do. After they hug they are still holding hands. The two of them facing each other, paused on the sidewalk to ask about one another. People glide past them as if it is no big deal. I make a sharp left, repeatedly painted brick walls of a dry cleaner assisting a successful retreat. The rock in my stomach is back. The sinking feeling has returned.
Before I know it my hands are fumbling with loose change and gum wrappers in my pockets as I progressively jog to my parked car. The sky is still optimistic.
Once inside my seasoned sedan I’m oddly still, inhaling a quick breath of air and holding it. I want to hold it until my chest goes into a controlled burn. I needed to see that. I have to reach out but only grasp empty air. It is the only way I’ll learn sometimes. I don’t think I’ll visit the café for a while. I need to train myself to go to the supermarket more anyway.
=====END-_-
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