The big window of light allows me to think as I write. Plenty of distractions to occupy my eyes, but not distract my train of thought. I hear and see fragments of people coming and going from this little coffee shop, their feet stepping just over the rim of my laptop.
I and three empty chairs stare out at the St. Clair River and trees rock in the wind as gloom hovers in the clouds and cold. Cars swiftly pass each other, driving north and southbound, a small blur to my vision. The door chimes, strangers come to eat, linger, talk, yet I feel alone up here near the front window; my own little utopia. Until, he sits down in the empty chair nearest the door. Dark and handsome looks over at me, I see his movement, but don’t look up. I am scared by this interaction and how it makes me feel, nervous. I’m not very good at interacting with attractive men, even if it’s a simple glance or hello. I have to work at it. My peripheral catches him again turning in my direction. I try to prepare myself to reply should he say hello. He redirects to the window again, before rising to order his food at the counter. The shy woman in me waits for him to stand before looking at him. I have seen him here before, alone. It was good to see he brought friends this time.
I look at the river again as though my thoughts live there, while my fingers dance over the keys.
Keystroke Stories 