Feb 2012
"The Cafe' - Life As We Live It"
“Castaway…”
”…Martin!” my voice got louder. “Martin, it ain’t right.” …and louder - just after the ‘angels’ gave their customary pause to all conversations - but mine.
People at the nearby counter took notice and started edging away. The ones at the diner’s tables, a little farther away, gave me that ‘you-aren’t-there-so-I’m-ignoring-the-loud-*******-ruining-my-lunch’ glance and went back to eating.
“It just ain’t right!!!” I slammed the phone flip-face down onto the top of my table. It crunched - felt like it broke my hand too… ****-it - was THEIR cell anyways, not mine anymore… ‘nothing of theirs is mine anymore’ crossed my mind right then and my body - my whole body, sort of just slumped in on itself.
They could have waited until Friday - ****, at least til Friday. Tuesdays and I have a continuing ‘history’ - little of it ‘good’… The waitress took that moment to reappear, a coffee *** in her hand. “At least the refills are free...” she said. I looked up at her face - sad eyes and a small smile; yeah, she knew. I guess everybody there knew… even me, now.
I edged the cup toward her. She leaned a little, refilled it, and her free hand lightly touched my shoulder as she straightened, then turned and walked away.
I straightened up again… found MYSELF again - with that light touch on my shoulder. “Thanks hon, I needed that.” I said toward her back.
She paused in mid step, turned, and looked me straight in the eyes. “I know, and its ok. I’ve been there too,” she said softly. Then she continued on to the other tables. Coffee can be a luxury and serving it - a necessity… yeah, I guess she DID know about being here.
“Castaway…”
For some it’s a moment,
for some it’s a lifetime -
and its what we face
what we risk -
with every reach
every try
every hope and dream.
We want so hard
to control OUR existence,
our ways -
of being
of living
of loving and being loved
of having todays
of having tomorrows.
It hurts…
each slap is felt,
each ‘dig’ bites,
each laugh at our expense -
eyes that don’t see,
heads that turn away.
...and its MEAN!
not fair,
not always justified by what WE did
or do
or know
or say
or anything at all…
its just life
as we live -
as we TRY
to live it.
Its hard being me.
Sometimes I wish so much
for so very little in the grand scheme of things -
and sometimes it’s a touch
just
one
single
touch
that’s needed and isn’t given.
Chris
“Castaway…”
”…Martin!” my voice got louder. “Martin, it ain’t right.” …and louder - just after the ‘angels’ gave their customary pause to all conversations - but mine.
People at the nearby counter took notice and started edging away. The ones at the diner’s tables, a little farther away, gave me that ‘you-aren’t-there-so-I’m-ignoring-the-loud-*******-ruining-my-lunch’ glance and went back to eating.
“It just ain’t right!!!” I slammed the phone flip-face down onto the top of my table. It crunched - felt like it broke my hand too… ****-it - was THEIR cell anyways, not mine anymore… ‘nothing of theirs is mine anymore’ crossed my mind right then and my body - my whole body, sort of just slumped in on itself.
They could have waited until Friday - ****, at least til Friday. Tuesdays and I have a continuing ‘history’ - little of it ‘good’… The waitress took that moment to reappear, a coffee *** in her hand. “At least the refills are free...” she said. I looked up at her face - sad eyes and a small smile; yeah, she knew. I guess everybody there knew… even me, now.
I edged the cup toward her. She leaned a little, refilled it, and her free hand lightly touched my shoulder as she straightened, then turned and walked away.
I straightened up again… found MYSELF again - with that light touch on my shoulder. “Thanks hon, I needed that.” I said toward her back.
She paused in mid step, turned, and looked me straight in the eyes. “I know, and its ok. I’ve been there too,” she said softly. Then she continued on to the other tables. Coffee can be a luxury and serving it - a necessity… yeah, I guess she DID know about being here.
“Castaway…”
For some it’s a moment,
for some it’s a lifetime -
and its what we face
what we risk -
with every reach
every try
every hope and dream.
We want so hard
to control OUR existence,
our ways -
of being
of living
of loving and being loved
of having todays
of having tomorrows.
It hurts…
each slap is felt,
each ‘dig’ bites,
each laugh at our expense -
eyes that don’t see,
heads that turn away.
...and its MEAN!
not fair,
not always justified by what WE did
or do
or know
or say
or anything at all…
its just life
as we live -
as we TRY
to live it.
Its hard being me.
Sometimes I wish so much
for so very little in the grand scheme of things -
and sometimes it’s a touch
just
one
single
touch
that’s needed and isn’t given.
Chris
A piece of an interrupted chapbook. Feel free...
