09 août 2007

At the Café

(I'm working on a couple different poetry pieces right now, but they're not really anything I'd post, they need a bit more work. So I wrote a prose thingy. I gave myself guidelines, just like a writing exercise. Since I made them up, they may not seem as important but they included: use present tense, use "I" and "you" as the main characters, include the line "I wonder if it really matters", reference a song. Anyway, it's okay, I guess, not my best...)

I agree to meet you at that little café on the corner by the bookstore. I wear pants because I know you like it when I wear dresses. I am early, unusual, so I get a table and drum my fingers on my water glass while I wait. You enter, smiling, and I smile back, wondering if you can see the strain. I do not rise to hug you, but wait for you to sit down. The waitress brings our menus. You talk while you read and I stare at the menu, not paying attention to the words – written or spoken. Finally the waitress returns; you get an elaborate salad and I order a side of vegetables. How healthy we are. You continue talking and I try to nod at the right places. I’m listening, of course, but am thinking of other things. Deep Blue Something plays in the background and for a moment I fantasise that I am Audrey Hepburn and you will kiss me in the rain and we will save a cat. Our food arrives and you busy yourself with your salad. I chew thoughtfully on a piece of broccoli and then comment on what you had been saying. You look at me, with that intensity you always have, and then begin talking again. I start in on a baby carrot. It seems that my chewing is fruitless; I give up and swallow the remnants with a gulp of water. You are still talking when I am halfway through my vegetables and I ask for the check. I am not certain how you finished your salad between words, sentences, paragraphs. We part ways and as I walk to the car, I wonder if I’ll see you again. I wonder if it really matters.

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