There’s a couple in a café. They’re sitting together at one of the abnormally small round tables. They aren’t young, but not old either. The couple keeps looking at our class, where we sit on the floor under the entrance to the café. The café is in a museum in Fairbanks. There’s a large orange flower on each of the tables. The man is leaning into the table, close to the woman. She leans in so he can put his arm around her. I don’t think he took the hint, because his arms stayed at his sides. She doesn’t look disappointed when she gives up and leans away. The man is holding sunglasses. He keeps fingering them on the table. The lens pops out when he squeezes them too hard. His eye brows shoot up in surprise. The woman laughs and takes the glasses from his hands, and carefully pops them back into place. The big orange flower in the middle of their table blocks his mouth from view for a moment. I don’t know what they’re saying. The smell of a Red Bull drink distracts me from the pair, and I turn to see that a friend in my class had bought one. I wrinkle my nose in distaste. I never did like energy drinks. She’s sharing it with the other girls. She offers some to me. I say no. She’s appalled that I don’t like Red Bull, or Monster, or anything of the sort. I just roll my eyes.
The pair is looking at us again. The woman flips her red hair out of her face. Her hair is about shoulder length, and shines in the light. I wonder if it was her natural color. The man’s hair is so much darker than hers. It’s curly. Maybe dark brunette. It’s a moppy mess on his head. They look away from our group of laughing teenagers. They look at each other, smiling. They’re leaning in close to each other. But not quite close enough to kiss. I think they would if they were close enough. They seem to just be enjoying each other’s company. Talking. Maybe about the group of teenagers they keep looking at. I think I see the man patting the woman’s knee. It’s cute, I guess. I feel somewhat indifferent as I watch.
I finger the carpet underneath me. The carpet has to be more comfortable than the plastic chairs the two are sitting in. But they seem to be having a good time, none the less. Just drinking coffee and talking. Totally unaware that one person in the group they’ve been watching is now watching them. Ironic? Maybe.
The woman mumbled something to the man then stands up and leaves the café, stepping carefully around our group. I watch her go. Since I’m sitting on the ground, I have a good view of her shoes. They’re white and blue, and practical. Her jeans overlap them by about half an inch all around the mouth of the shoe. The man didn’t move from the small table. Her purse is in her seat. She’s probably coming back. I look away from the man to eat my lunch. The sandwich is good if I pit out the tomatoes and throw away the soggy sections of bread. Exactly two Oreos for ‘dessert’. I eat the cream off the cookie. A few minute go by. I forget the couple. My friends and I laugh. We poke fun at each other. We check our email on laptops. We finish our lunches.
I look back to the man. He’s still alone. He looks worried. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s wringing his hands. The sunglasses are abandoned on the other side of the small table. It’s only twenty feet away, but I can’t tell if the lens popped out again. If the woman came back she would have to fix it again. I wonder if he breaks them often.
He looks at the clock on the wall. So do I. It’s probably been a while since the woman left. A long enough time to worry him. This is not my problem, but I’m a little worried, too. I wonder if she had gone to the bathroom. Most likely. Girls always take a long time in the bathroom. Maybe when she comes back she’ll have toilet paper on the bottom of her shoe. That would be cool. I’ve only ever seen that in movies.
Minutes go by. She’s still not back. The man and I worry, though he doesn’t realize that I’m worrying with him.
, but I'll admit I see her point. This could have been far better --- as it is, it's not exactly enthralling, to say the least. Probably much of this has to do with your execution.
However, I think you could expand on this. Where do the man and lady come from, more than that, where are they going to? See, I think in writing destination is mightily overlooked. Everyone comes from somewhere, sure, people write about where their characters come from. But where do they want to go? What are they trying to reach. Maybe they're flying away from something, but what we want to know is where they're going. [/pointlessrant]