Cafe du

A Story by Ganglion-Pro

fiction writing hope you enjoy please be honest.

I look out the window; the morning sunlight coming through the window had woken me up. You see I did not want to get out of bed that feeling of knowing you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life had become of me but alas I find the strength to drag my lazy a*s out bed Putting on my trousers, grabbing my shoes and snatching my shirt on my way out.

Still trying to fit my fat foot in my shoe outside of my apartment. I’m now on my way to my favourite café in Paris. Walking alone on the streets of Paris really puts perspective on the natural beauty in this city the architecture, the streets and people they all have a story to tell it’s just a matter of finding out. As a writer your mind is always looking for new plots and characters. I find myself imagining a life for each stranger that passes me by. Take for instance this man in a navy blue suit talking on the phone, I can tell he’s totally oblivious of me, most people will only scratch the surface but not me. He could probably be on his way to a very important meeting or he could be an American on his way to meet with his mistress because his wife will not make love to him any more due to the fact that he’s never home thus finding solace and acceptance with his mistress. I guess that’s the thing about being a writer the control; you get to choose your own ending.

I had arrived at café du unexpectedly meeting Francis at the entrance.

“Bonsoir monsieur” slightly tipping his head. I return with a friendly

“Hi, how do you do?” mimicking his head nod as I advance to my table. Francis grabs hold of my arm immediately topping me and says to.

“Monsieur, we say Bonsoir after all we are in the most beautiful city in the world “letting go of my arm. I didn’t say anything mostly because I didn’t understand his thick French accent. I place my hand on my chest and simply add.

“Mes Excuses”

He gives me a cheeky smirk and goes about his day. I let my feet purposely shuffle as I go to my usual table facing the window. I parch my bum on the stiff wooden chair and retrieve my lighter and cigarettes from my jacket pocket and place them on the table. I was supposed to quit but that’s what every smoker would say. By this time marcel the waiter had brought my usual order of one coffee and croissant, I wouldn’t never had told them but I like to think I have developed an acquaintanceship will all the staff and usual’s.

Marcel places the coffee and croissant in front of me. He bends down to ask me something.

“Monsieur, why do you keep coming here, the coffee is merde and the pastries are stale”

I signal him to come in closer, completely invested in my answer.

“None of your damn business, Mon freur “he smiles and wonders away. I take a sip of my coffee and taking a cigarette holding it between my teeth and light it. My view of the window was not accidental my mother would always tell me I was the paranoid type, she was begrudging right, most of the time.

It’s very easy to lose yourself while staring out the window; it had started to rain which I found slightly weird because since my arrival it’s been nothing but humidity and sun. I was ready to leave until at the corner of my eye I spot someone with a white umbrella not being able to tell if it was lady or gentlemen. I signalled marcel and pointed to the window, he shrugged his shoulders. That brought a matter of concern but whomever it was they were smoking a cigarette, I had gathered that much from my observation. This person whoever it was had finished their cigarette and had turned to enter café du.

It was a woman and she, she was a vision. I had never believed in god but if for happenstance I did she could only be described as an angel. My eyes followed her to the café counter. All of a sudden I can feel my heart racing; it felt like a gorilla had been pounding on my chest, giving no quarter. I had managed to slow down my heartbeat and reached for my coffee attempting to act causal.

My finger was numb with a tingling sensation. What can I say she was beautiful, no stunning, no ravenous. Was it possible to just look at a person and know you want to spend every waking minute with her. Being so nervous I dropped the cup; smashing it to pieces. I certainly had the attention of everyone in the entire café including her. I reach down to pick up the broken pieces of glass as well as cutting my self-doing so could hear her heels walking towards me. My head tilts up and there she is standing over me the piece of table cloth.

For I quick second my body was paralysed, consumed by embarrassment. I did not yet take the table cloth from her as to neither acknowledging her presence. I continued picking up the broken glass from the tiled floor. Leaning her umbrella against a coffee table she falls to her knees beside me, picking up the shredded glass from the floor. Still neither one of us looked at each other not saying so much as a word. Our hands accidently wondered to each other, faintly touching her soft delicate skin as we both decided to pick up the same piece of glass. Immediately our heads turn; looking deeply but hastily in each other eyes as if we both knew something the other didn’t quickly loosing focus and cutting my hand.

Marcel rapidly rushes to aid with a bandage to address the cut. He stands there analysing the absolute perfection of this woman assisting me. He doesn’t know that I caught him catching a mere glimpse at her cleavage but I have also had a slight feeling that she already knew. She stands up snapping her fingers breaking marcel out of his trance snatching the bandage from his grasp “Parmets-Moi, Connard”.I think she just called him an a*****e. Marcel shuffles away as she pulls me up from the floor. She moves closer to me gently slipping her hand over mine, firmly mummifying my hand.

” Merci mademoiselle”.

“That’s the first thing you have said to me Mr…” she said whilst still wrapping my injured hand.

“Matt, my name is Matt Collins “she releases her clasp as she finishes wrapping my hand.

“Enchante Matt, my name is Anna “she shakes hand and we both pull up a chair across from one another.

She smiles “your American? Oui” skilfully putting her cigarette between her a teeth before she lights it.

“Yes I mean, oui oui and I suggest your French “seeing her light her cigarette I suddenly had an urge to light one of my own.

“What gave me away? “She replies in a smooth French accent. I focused on how she sat in her chair; I knew it was a tad weird to think about when you have a petite French woman sitting across from you. Her legs were crossed as her right arms fell behind the chair; distant as well inviting, whoever she was she was good.

A minute of silent awkwardness hovered over the table, she had finished her cigarette and marcel had brought her order neatly setting it down in front of her. At the same time I get up to leave the café exiting threw the door searching my pockets relentlessly for my American cigarettes which they did not sell here; turning each pocket inside out.

Looking back through the window inside of the café. I see Anna getting ready to leave obliviously forgetting her plain umbrella. I causally look away; hearing the door open and close behind me. I feel a light hand on my shoulder pulling me to turn around. It Anna with two cigarettes between her red lips lighting them both and handing one over to me. They were French.

“you’re not a people person are you “she mutters while nudging my arm. I let out a soft breath and explain.

“No it’s not that, you just reminded me of my wife” softly rubbing his hand were his wedding ring used to be.

“You’re married “she exclaims in a higher voice while callously toying with her cigarette passing it from finger to finger.

“She passed two years ago” he breaks not allowing his emotions to become of him. Anna stands there completely frozen until she firmly swings her arms around me as if being smouldered by a large woodland bear. He catches marcel staring through the window giving him an enthusiastic double thumb up. And I thought the French was supposed to be subtle.

For the first time in years I actually felt safe in her arms, grounded some might say, completely free from the world and everything living off it. I had lost my train of thought leaving my mind completely blank. She slowly releases me, still remaining less than a foot apart looking deep into her eyes; she had blue eyes something I had just noticed.

“Why did you hug me?”

She shifts her body closer to mine to. Feeling her warm breath tickling my ear as she whispers. “Because, you looked like you needed it and hiding who you really are”

“I’m sorry but you barely know me “falling back to my defensive well-being.

“I know enough, you are a sad man who thinks no, knows that he doesn’t deserve to love “looking straight into to my eyes not altering from them for a second.

His entire body falls paralysed. He blinks and walks away not because of what she said but for the truth she unleashed on him. He crosses the street and knows that he would never see her again, if that was a good thing or bad he wouldn’t know. for he does not look back.