Tweet
Outside, a thunderstorm is raging. The mid-summer heat and humidity have combined to make it a tropical special. Sheets of rain beat on the window in heavy waves. For the twentieth time, Caitlin leans forward in her chair, and presses her face against the cold surface of the glass.
<span style="font-style: italic">Where is he?</span>
The icy contact does little to cool the young woman’s tumultuous emotions. Within seconds, her hot breath clings to the glass and clouds her vision. Shifting in her chair, Caitlin lifts her arm and wipes the window with the sleeve of her jacket. Peering through the cascading waterfall, the anxious woman looks out onto the sidewalk in front of the shop.
Two dark shapes, huddled under hooded-sweatshirts, hurry past the window and enter the market next door. Across the street, a well-dressed man, armed with a small red compact umbrella, is in a losing battle with the elements. His forward progress is slow; and, he is quickly overtaken by a group of soggy teens gleefully surrendering to nature’s wrath. A delivery truck ambles down the street, momentarily obscuring Caitlin’s view. By the time it rambles past, the teens and the business man have disappeared around the corner. The street is now empty. Caitlin closes her eyes, leans back in her chair, and utters a resigned sigh.
<span style="font-style: italic">He’s not coming.</span>
“You want a refill, honey?”
Only after the waitress asks a second time, does Caitlin open her eyes and slide her empty cup to the edge of the table. The older woman pours a steady stream of steaming brew to the rim, before adding in a cheery voice, “One of my regulars just told me that traffic is backed up a few blocks from here. Road washed out. I’m sure he’ll be along soon.”
The young woman automatically reaches for the cup. Carefully balancing its contents, she lifts the rim to her lips. A sharp aroma fills her nostrils. Blowing on the surface, she takes first one; and then, another small sip. The bitter taste of the dark roast mingles with the bitter emotions caught in her throat.
“He doesn’t drive.” Caitlin quietly replies, continuing to sip her black coffee; but, by then, the waitress has already moved on to the next table.
A moment later, Caitlin sets her cup on the table, and leans forward in her chair. For the twenty-first time, she presses her face against the cold surface of the glass. The storm has eased. The beating waves are subsiding, now replaced by a steady stream of rain streaking down the window pane. Across the street, a rapid flow of water races against the curb; and then, churns out of sight. Steam rises from the small puddles that have formed in random depressions on the road. The street is still empty.
<span style="font-style: italic">What am I doing?</span>
<span style="font-style: italic">Where is he?</span>
The icy contact does little to cool the young woman’s tumultuous emotions. Within seconds, her hot breath clings to the glass and clouds her vision. Shifting in her chair, Caitlin lifts her arm and wipes the window with the sleeve of her jacket. Peering through the cascading waterfall, the anxious woman looks out onto the sidewalk in front of the shop.
Two dark shapes, huddled under hooded-sweatshirts, hurry past the window and enter the market next door. Across the street, a well-dressed man, armed with a small red compact umbrella, is in a losing battle with the elements. His forward progress is slow; and, he is quickly overtaken by a group of soggy teens gleefully surrendering to nature’s wrath. A delivery truck ambles down the street, momentarily obscuring Caitlin’s view. By the time it rambles past, the teens and the business man have disappeared around the corner. The street is now empty. Caitlin closes her eyes, leans back in her chair, and utters a resigned sigh.
<span style="font-style: italic">He’s not coming.</span>
“You want a refill, honey?”
Only after the waitress asks a second time, does Caitlin open her eyes and slide her empty cup to the edge of the table. The older woman pours a steady stream of steaming brew to the rim, before adding in a cheery voice, “One of my regulars just told me that traffic is backed up a few blocks from here. Road washed out. I’m sure he’ll be along soon.”
The young woman automatically reaches for the cup. Carefully balancing its contents, she lifts the rim to her lips. A sharp aroma fills her nostrils. Blowing on the surface, she takes first one; and then, another small sip. The bitter taste of the dark roast mingles with the bitter emotions caught in her throat.
“He doesn’t drive.” Caitlin quietly replies, continuing to sip her black coffee; but, by then, the waitress has already moved on to the next table.
A moment later, Caitlin sets her cup on the table, and leans forward in her chair. For the twenty-first time, she presses her face against the cold surface of the glass. The storm has eased. The beating waves are subsiding, now replaced by a steady stream of rain streaking down the window pane. Across the street, a rapid flow of water races against the curb; and then, churns out of sight. Steam rises from the small puddles that have formed in random depressions on the road. The street is still empty.
<span style="font-style: italic">What am I doing?</span>
.....Lacy, type likkle faster nuh man!!.... 
Comment