A Million Lives

‘You must really like the coffee here.’

            She was startled by the voice that came from behind her. Was it directed at her? It seemed so. Still, she thought it best to check that it was, in fact, herself who was being spoken to. And besides, her serene stare at the world outside the window had been broken now anyway. She turned her gaze slowly, looking through her curtain of wavy dirty-blonde hair, to identify the owner of the booming voice. As she did, he moved around the table into her line of sight and continued.

            ‘Either that, or you just love this particular view,’ he said as he sat down in the seat opposite her, ‘so which is it? The coffee? The window? The coffee and the window?’ His interrogation almost sounded rehearsed and boosted with over-enthusiasm. She noticed his voice shook slightly.

            She remained silent, looking into the tall flax-brown mug, containing the lukewarm leftovers of a latté �" her hands clasped around it. Quick glances in all directions could not save her from looking the coffee shop employee in the eyes, and when she did, she smirked quickly and gave out exhalation bursts, that sounded like the first nanosecond of laughter. His face was fairly ordinary; his only defining feature being his hair �" that kind of helmet that sweeps to the left, like all the kids in indie-rock bands have. It was black, and just about covering his eyebrows.

            ‘So,’ he tried to coerce her into having an actual conversation, looking around awkwardly, ‘you’re in here often enough and yet I still don’t know your name.’

            Her facial expression went back to a serene blankness. She did not return her gaze to the window; she surveyed his face and torso quickly, before blinking back to stare at the busy street, as she answered the question he did not actually ask.

            ‘Veronica. My name’s Veronica, Michael.’

            He clapped his hand to the nametag on his left side, covering it, and spoke with shame, like a naughty schoolchild trying to justify a wrongdoing.

            ‘No. Just... just no, ignore that. It’s just Mike.’

            Veronica’s gaze at the cobbles and the hundreds of people who walked among them stayed uninterrupted, but more exhales of laughter managed to break a small smile across her face.

            ‘The window... mostly.’

            ‘What?’

            ‘The window,’ she turned her focus onto Mike now and seemed to engage in a regular conversation, ‘you asked me why I come here. I don’t really like coffee. Love the smell, but the taste is a bit much for me. I only get one because it might seem a bit weird if I just sat staring out the window of a coffee shop without a coffee.’ Veronica spoke at an unusually quick pace now.

            Mike dared not comment on how “weird” she might seem without coffee, after her unorthodox conversational style, alongside the fact that she spent most of her days inside this coffee shop. Always in the same seat, staring out of the same window for hours on end. Even the other staff had begun to call her ‘a bit odd.’

            ‘You could always have hot chocolate instead.’

            ‘Nah, reminds me of him too much,’ her eyes returned to watching the street dwellers.

            ‘Who?’

            ‘My husband.’

            Mike was taken aback, but he was not sure whether it was because the customer he had noticed for a while was married, or that she was so blasé about it.

            ‘We used to share hot chocolates in a little place just like this, back when we were students. Oh, it’s not what you’re thinking, we haven’t drifted apart or anything,’ she added, when she noticed the bemused look on Mike’s face, ‘he’s actually dead.’

            Mike’s bemusement did not disappear at this revelation, yet his brow furrowed and his face contorted into one Veronica remembered seeing a lot of at the funeral several months back.

            ‘I’m... I’m sorry, I...’ he swallowed, ‘I didn’t realise.’

            A moment of profound silence between the two seemed rudely punctuated by the rest of the world �" people chatting, the noise of the cappuccino maker behind the counter, KT Tunstall’s soft acoustics playing quietly over the sound system �" carrying on.

            ‘You know, I...’ Mike joined the silence embargo, ‘actually no, it’s... it’s too stupid, I’m sorry.’

            ‘What is?’ She didn’t seem vaguely troubled by the situation, or even interested in her current conversation, yet something in her voice wished him to go on.

            ‘Well... I,’ Mike’s nervous hesitation continued, ‘it’s just that, you’ve come in here quite often and... I just thought it would be nice to come over here and... you know... chat.’

            Silence, or at least near-silence.

            ‘You know, I sit at this window as often as I can, because...’ for once her voice began to break, and her eyes no longer seemed glazed over like the glass she was staring through. For once, she seemed human.

            ‘Because...?’

            ‘Because... I’m waiting.’

            Mike contemplated these words for a moment, before realising the enigmatic nature of the woman who spoke them.

            ‘Waiting for what?’

            ‘For it all to stop. Do you know how many hundreds, thousands, maybe even a million lives travel past this window every day? It’s like, life goes on. We’ve lost somebody and... go on.
            ‘The only time people stop is to tie shoelaces, or chat to someone they’ve bumped into, and even then, that’s not stopping. It’s still doing something. It just doesn’t seem to stop. Imagine, a million lives crossing each other’s paths in this one single spot and one day, one of these people, somewhere, just... stops. And this still goes on.’

            Mike was less than prepared for a philosophical lecture originating from the view of a coffee shop window, but suddenly felt a huge wave of guilt. He finally realised the thoughts that had plagued Veronica for over four months. At least, that’s how long she’d been a regular customer. He placed one hand on hers �" still cupped around her mug �" and spoke softly.

            ‘I can wait with you, if you want?’

Author's Note

(sorry for any spelling or grammar errors... I normally do my best! Let me know if anything sticks out!)

Reviews

[Danny K]

Interesting to say the very least. Could use a little bit more work, but other than that. Spot on.