Dangling Conversations

I watched them as they walked in.

Everything seemed to be crumbling! Was it really dissipating? All these feelings of love and devotion, were they really temporary? These were the questions that hammered in both of their minds. Both their hearts were weary…both were weak. As they walked into the nearby Starbucks, both were hungry for sanity and needed their doses of caffeine. They did not talk much….they were tired of talking. As he stood wondering what to get her, she wandered off to see the new coffee presses on the display shelves, lost in her own thoughts. He came looking for her….

Do you want regular coffee or a latte?
Regular! Strong! The usual!
Do you want to mix in some milk?
No. Just regular and black! Strong!
Are you sure??
Yes!!
But I was hoping…
….yes?
Never mind!!

He goes back to the counter and starts ordering. He then spots the lemon pound cake…and orders a piece. He turns around to see if she is around. She lifts her head when she hears him order for the cake. Their eyes meet and they smile slightly. She walks toward the counter as the coffee gets ready.

“Could you please warm up the cake a bit?” She asks the check-out girl.
“No! It tastes better when it is cold. Please don’t warm it up.” He tells the check-out girl.

The Check-out girl looks confused.

But I don’t like pound cake cold.
Are you sure?
Yes!
Ok! Whatever you want!

Back at their table, she stirs in raw sugar into their cups of coffee and she opens her bag of cake. He stares out of the window and she offers him his coffee. He refuses, and she asks why he changed his mind…He does not answer. She offers the cake. “I hate warm cake”, he says…..
She puts the bag on the table and stares out of the window as well, stirring her coffee.

Is it really so easy to loose the love over a piece of lemon pound cake? They both wonder. They both tell themselves that it’s not about the cake, really. They both stare at the raindrops on the window pane. They both sigh….and they both remain silent. They are yet on the same page. They just don’t know it.

And as I watch them through the steam and aroma rising from my own cup of strong black coffee. In the background Paul Simon strums his guitar and sings softly of the pain in the stifling air above.

….And we sit and drink our coffee, couched in our indifference……..
In the dangling conversations…and the superficial sighs…are the borders of our lives…
And you read your Emily Dickenson…and I my Robert Frost.
And we note our place with bookmarkers…that measure what we’ve lost.
Like a poem poorly written…we are verses out of rhythm, couplets out of rhyme…
….in syncopated time.
Lost in the dangling conversations…and the superficial sighs…are the borders of our lives…

The minutes tick by slowly, the coffee is drained quickly.
His jaw flexes involuntarily and he tightens his grip on the table’s edge for a long moment and then it slackens.
Suddenly, he gets up, picks up his files & papers and coffee, turns around and leaves.
And she looks at his receding back for a bit.
Then she picks up her papers and goes after him.
And I wonder…did they go in the same direction? Or did they get into separate cars and drive in opposite directions?
I scramble outside to find out…..but they are gone.

The only relic of their lasting togetherness is a used paper cup with lipstick marks and an uneaten piece of lemon pound cake.

A homeless man walks into the store bringing with him the stench of poverty and cold. He looks around fidgeting in his pockets. Silently, he swipes the cake when no one’s watching. The bus-boy walks to the table, clears it and wipes it clean.

And they cease to exist.

All that’s left is a dangling conversation, in the mind of some stranger.