She’s in my spot when I step into the room, the corner table with a view of the whole place. She’s busy behind her computer screen and doesn’t look up. I sit at the next table, also facing the room, thinking it would be weird to sit facing her. I pull out my chair with the grace of a first time parallel parker. I open my study book with a jerk, conscious of who is behind me. My hand quivers as I plug in my headphones and get to work.
An hour or so later I hear a chair being pushed out and then she’s passed me into the hallway, presumably to the bathroom since she doesn’t take her things. I’m careful to pay attention as she walks back in. She is tall, slim but not thin, late 30’s, with full curly hair somewhere between auburn and chestnut, and a bright, lightly freckled face. She’s a woman and she has a woman’s beauty.
She notices me and I smile shyly in return. Then my head’s back in my book as her chair slides back in.
A little while later I get up and as I push in my chair, I turn saying, “hi... uh, I’m going across the street to grab a coffee, do you mind watching my stuff.” She has headphones in too, and may not hear me well but smiles and nods to say she will. I say, “Thanks” as I begin to go, but turn again to ask, “Would you... uh, like a coffee or anything while I’m over there?” Her smile warms and she takes her headphones out to reply “Um... no I’m okay, it was nice of you to ask though.” She cocked her head and said the last part in the way your aunt might say how darling you are for offering to wash the dishes after Christmas dinner. I think I almost tripped over my feet walking out of the room.
A little while after I’d returned and nearly spit out the first sip of my boiling coffee, I hear her chair behind me again and the snap of her laptop closing, then the buckle on her bag. As she passes my table she turns and says, “Bye.” Not very loudly, but definitely, as if she knows I’m waiting for her but doesn’t want to disturb my studying.
Days later my parents and I finish dinner at the pub downtown and they want ice cream. I tell them, “I’ll grab a table outside, I don’t want anything.” They know I’m not big on sweets so they head inside without protest as I pull out a chair at an open table in the middle of the sidewalk. I sit facing the rest of town to watch the sun set over the church but a kid darts out of the corner diner followed swiftly by a “Slow down!” Then two more kids come out pulling the woman from the library. They each have a hold on her arm or pants and are pulling her towards the ice cream shop as a man, presumably her husband, walks out behind them talking on the phone. She looks up from her kids just long enough to catch me staring at her, and her face betrays nothing but the natural beauty I noticed the other day. After a long moment her lips turn quickly into a soft but sure smile and she allows herself to be dragged into the shop.
I remember it was a Thursday morning when I saw her at the library for the first time. The following Thursday I took up my usual post, earlier than usual. I like my seat, a creature of habit, and I won’t miss her from here. The only wrench in the plan is 4 hour parking. What if noon comes and she doesn’t? Well... noon does come and without her. My mornings at the library are never the same, I never see her again but always look.
An hour or so later I hear a chair being pushed out and then she’s passed me into the hallway, presumably to the bathroom since she doesn’t take her things. I’m careful to pay attention as she walks back in. She is tall, slim but not thin, late 30’s, with full curly hair somewhere between auburn and chestnut, and a bright, lightly freckled face. She’s a woman and she has a woman’s beauty.
She notices me and I smile shyly in return. Then my head’s back in my book as her chair slides back in.
A little while later I get up and as I push in my chair, I turn saying, “hi... uh, I’m going across the street to grab a coffee, do you mind watching my stuff.” She has headphones in too, and may not hear me well but smiles and nods to say she will. I say, “Thanks” as I begin to go, but turn again to ask, “Would you... uh, like a coffee or anything while I’m over there?” Her smile warms and she takes her headphones out to reply “Um... no I’m okay, it was nice of you to ask though.” She cocked her head and said the last part in the way your aunt might say how darling you are for offering to wash the dishes after Christmas dinner. I think I almost tripped over my feet walking out of the room.
A little while after I’d returned and nearly spit out the first sip of my boiling coffee, I hear her chair behind me again and the snap of her laptop closing, then the buckle on her bag. As she passes my table she turns and says, “Bye.” Not very loudly, but definitely, as if she knows I’m waiting for her but doesn’t want to disturb my studying.
Days later my parents and I finish dinner at the pub downtown and they want ice cream. I tell them, “I’ll grab a table outside, I don’t want anything.” They know I’m not big on sweets so they head inside without protest as I pull out a chair at an open table in the middle of the sidewalk. I sit facing the rest of town to watch the sun set over the church but a kid darts out of the corner diner followed swiftly by a “Slow down!” Then two more kids come out pulling the woman from the library. They each have a hold on her arm or pants and are pulling her towards the ice cream shop as a man, presumably her husband, walks out behind them talking on the phone. She looks up from her kids just long enough to catch me staring at her, and her face betrays nothing but the natural beauty I noticed the other day. After a long moment her lips turn quickly into a soft but sure smile and she allows herself to be dragged into the shop.
I remember it was a Thursday morning when I saw her at the library for the first time. The following Thursday I took up my usual post, earlier than usual. I like my seat, a creature of habit, and I won’t miss her from here. The only wrench in the plan is 4 hour parking. What if noon comes and she doesn’t? Well... noon does come and without her. My mornings at the library are never the same, I never see her again but always look.
