emmamakepeace

Sunday morning breakfast was always busy.  The crowd of diners chatting loudly over there soy chai lattes and cappuccinos.  Knives scraped china plates as they sliced through thick pieces of sourdough toast and poached eggs.  Tables spilled out of the cafe onto the sidewalk, tempting passers by with the smell of freshly cooked bacon.

They sat opposite each other, food untouched on their plates.  Over the top of my newspaper I watched her looking past him, towards the door.  Her fingers twisted the napkin in her lap.

“You haven’t touched your food.  Aren’t you hungry?  ”  He said.

“Not really.”  She said.

“I ordered your favourite, I thought you would be hungry.”

“I ate before I came.”

“Oh.”  He said, his face turning to the full plate of food in front of him.

I turned the page of the newspaper.  A waitress placed my plate of eggs benedict on the table, along with a fresh coffee.  The waitress smiled, then hurried off.  I followed her, until she stopped at the couples table to ask them how the meal was.  He nodded, while she continued to stare past him.  The waitress walked off, leaving them alone again.

“I really wanted to see you, to talk to you.”  He said.

“We’ve already talked.”

“But, I wanted to…” He began.

“No.  I shouldn’t have come.  We’ve talked and we’ve gone over everything.  There is nothing else to talk about.”

“I suppose that’s it then?” He said, his face flushing red.

“Yes.”  She said.

They continued staring at each other for a moment.  Oblivious to the bustle of the cafe.

“I’m going.  Please don’t…”  She looked at the doorway, then back at him.  ”This is it.”  She said, reaching for his hand to squeeze it.

She put her napkin on the table and pushed her chair back.  I watched her, staring past him as he watched her too, walk out the doorway.

I watched him a moment longer, staring at the empty doorway.  Before turning back to read the paper, taking a long sip of my coffee.

Cold rivers of water ran down his neck, wetting his shirt.  He didn’t have an umbrella.  Just a rain coat, over the top of a Superman t-shirt she’d given him and a pair of dark denim jeans.  The wet grass reached up and licked the hem of his jeans, soaking them through to his knee, his legs goose-pimpling with every touch of fabric.  He walked the last few steps and saw her.  Waiting beneath the fig tree. He was glad she’d picked this spot.  The mass of leaves and thick knotted branches up above blocked out most of the rain that had poured down the past few days.

“Hi,” he said as he reached out, wiping drops of water from her, ”I’ve missed you.”

A crow cawed from somewhere in the shelter of the fig tree.  The sound echoed amongst the other gnarled trees, that stood protectively around the edges.  Just inside the border of the moss covered rock wall.  The cracked, green and brown wall was what had first attracted her to this spot.  They had driven past one day, on their way home, and she’d made him pull in to the little driveway.  The sun had sparkled on the tops of the leaves and glowed on the well manicured lawn.  She led him down the winding path, stopping to read plaques on the chipped stone and tracing her fingers over the lettering carved into the marble nestled neatly into the earth.  She’d loved the trees the most though.

“They’ll keep me dry, when it rains.” She’d said.

A knot formed in his throat, as he stared silently at her.  He struggled to get the feeling down, his head nodding as he swallowed it away.

She’d smiled, mistaking the nod for agreement.

“If you come to visit me, it will be shady for you too.”

“I’m not going to have to visit you here.  You heard what the doctor said.”

She’d come closer, reaching her fingertips out to his hand then.  Lacing them through his and squeezing softly.

He held the hand up now.  Tiny shivers racing through his fingers.  He brushed his fingertips across the letters carved into the cold, damp stone.

“I love you.”  He said.

He looked out through the thick heavy rain drops, then lowered his head and stepped out from under the protection of the tree.  Rain soaked his hair, racing down his face and neck as he trudged back to the car.

Cigarette smoke curled around her fingertips.  The breeze sending tendrils of smoke along the back of her hand, creeping up her arm and wrapping themselves around her neck, hair, face.  Shaky hands lifted the cigarette to violet cracked lips.  She inhaled, sucking deeply, until her lungs felt ready to explode.

One mississippi …  two mississippi… three mississippi… four mississippi… five mississippi… six…

Smoke rushed through the cracks, bursting her lips open, tearing a part the raw skin.  She blew the smoke out the window.  It blew back in, fluttering the curtains as it wrapped it’s way around her skin again.  Clinging.

Somewhere down below a siren rang out.  Echoing from one building to the next.  The sound raced ahead too far.  It stopped, momentarily, before changing course.  Bouncing it’s way through the tight knit brick buildings lining the streets below the window.

Before the cigarette she had finished painting the bowl.  White was too bright.  Now it shone red.  Fresh, gleaming in the fluorescent light.  She started on the bench.  She made long, curly letters, looping them together.  Shining as each letter joined into the next, like little smiles hidden amongst the words.

Happiness depends upon ourselves…

The cigarette appeared on the bench beside the words.  The filter smouldered, ash smudged the small patch of white still visible.  Her grasp on the burnt out cigarette stumbled.  Her hand slid across the bench, spreading letters into the wall, squashed by her palm.  She reached for the wall with her other hand.  Clinging, scratching the surface with shaky fingertips.  The wall slipped.  And the light went out around her.

"Happiness depends upon ourselves" ~ Aristotle

The bitter sweet scent of freshly brewed coffee floated by.   That smell, distracting me from the five hundred plus word report I had to finish reading before the meeting in conference room three at ten am.  I was up to page three hundred and fifty seven and the smell of coffee meant it was now eight o’clock.  She was like an alarm every morning, monday through friday.  The office PA would walk through the front door two drink carry trays in her hands, twelve cups of coffee in total.  She had memorised everyone’s individual orders by the end of her third day in the office, I guess that why she was a PA, she was way to efficient.

“Good morning Tash.  Gosh you’re good, having a final flick through of the Hilton report.  I only just finished reading it last night.” Amy said, placing my skinny chino, three sugars on the desk next to the report.

“You know me, can never be to prepared.” I said, choking out a laugh.  ”Thanks for the coffee, Amy.”

She smiled and walked on to the next desk.  That smile said it all.  She knew I hadn’t read the report.  Shit.

I dug around in my bag, through spare pairs of stockings, jewellery and an empty box of breakfast bars, for my phone.  Note to self, clean out your bag when you get home tonight.  Pass code in, scroll across to facebook.  Notifications.  Claire Hunter has tagged you in a photo.  4 hours ago.  Shit.  Shit.  She must of seen the photo.  Amy knew.  I was screwed.  I pressed on the notification and it flicked over to the photo.  I felt the blood drain out of my head.  It felt like a waterfall the force of it was so fast and intense, making my head ache even more.  I didn’t even remember Claire taking the photo.  But there it was, the cold hard evidence of my drunken night out, including the location, date and time all tagged automatically.

I dropped my phone in the direction of my bag and stared at the report in front of me.  The words blurred together.

“Tash, can I see you in my office.”

Who had said that?  I looked around, slowly regaining focus.  I stopped when I saw Daniel standing at his doorway.  The boss.  He didn’t have a desk out here with the rest of us.  He had his own office.  And now he stood looking straight at me.  A scowl on his face.

“Tash, a word, now.” He said.

I pushed back my chair, standing shakily on my pencil thin heels.  Smoothing out my skirt, I walked over to his office, closing the door behind me.