Chapter VII

Dear Weaver,

Cheyenne is altering as much as the leaves of the maple tree in front of the Briony Bistro. Admiring the scenery of the coming winter season, I looked through the large, opened glass window. The wind brushed over the wooden table that I am sitting on, as the ashes of my cigarette are flying away. The smoke floated in the air. Time changes so powerfully, I could not help but to compare the ashes which flew away in the wind, the dust that drifted from the wooden table, and the crow that flew over the empty tree branches, to you. I know you have finally soared free, but when I look to the sky and remember the senses that used to grovel all over my body, it feels nostalgic.

It has been one week since you left, and days since you left me the letter. What do you expect me do to, Weaver? I feel like a lump of coal has been hauled inside of my chest and through my throat. My eyes are burning and I want to scream. I want to scream so loud until I could release this clot inside of me. I came to the Bistro alone today. I could not stand anyone's presence, simply I wanted to be alone.

I had not ordered my usual coffee, instead I decided to order an Apple Cinnamon tea, it would mix well with my sedatives. The question of the tea mixed with sedation is quite a non-trivial fact to most users. I heard the bell ring and my tea was set. I thanked the kind new coffee brewer for the tea and sat down on the single couch in the left corner.

“Having a rough day?” The voice sounded familiar but I could not recall ever speaking to it.

I turned my head around and my hair remained over my face. I could not cooperate and carry a conversation with any body lately, especially strangers. I always had been a well-mannered woman, so I decided to answer the voice.

“Well it's one of those days you know, when I would like it would be nice if you would mind your own damn business.” Well. I tried.

The voice who was speaking to me stood up and I saw him clearly now. I do know him, I just never got to know him well. Smiling, he walked towards me. I did not bother and remind him that I wanted to be alone. I was only stricken, heart broken, devastated, tired and I needed coffee. Is that too much to be enough? I set my tea down in front of me and gazed at the bag sinking in my mug.

“My name's Jesse. You can just call me Jess.” He reached out his hand.

I shook his hand and looked down to his shoes. They were black Chuck Taylor’s with white shoelaces. I have the same pair, I thought to myself. However, he looked quite confused, I figured that if I had not spoken he would be gone by now.

“And I thought my manners sucked.” I was ill-mannered at the time.

“Excuse me?” He laughed kindly and I had no other choice but to let him invade my privacy.

Jess pulled up a chair and sat in front of me. “You seem like you want to either destroy this place or get out of here. How about we leave this place and get some drinks?”

“No thanks.” I replied, uninterested, turning down in his kind offer.

Jess was tall, tan and his hair was black like mine. His eyes were also as dark as mine. I had to double-take, so I glanced. Something made me consider getting to know him more. I am not quite sure what it was but I sensed some kind of agony inside him. The same kind of agony which I was feeling. The kind of agony that would leave you pondering deep into the chasm of your mind for days.

I offered him the wooden chair beside me. He pulled it away and smiled at me. “Okay. Let's start over. Hi, I'm Jesse, you can call me Jess. And your name is?”

Now I felt a little embarrassed. My face flushed from his reaction to my gesture. How can I fault anyone right now with the thoughts cluttered inside my head. I looked past his left ear, avoiding eye contact. I did not smile.

“My name is Augustine.” I spoke. As I was lighting up a cigarette, I saw him take out his pack of Marlboro Special Blends.

Ashes began to fall again, but on my lap. I had chosen to wear black that day. But it is not unusual for me to dress in dark colors, I wear black every day. I did not know what to talk about, especially because my mind was too absorbed at the moment.

“So.. what do you do? I see you come around here a lot.” I asked him in a monotone voice.

“Well I usually work from the internet. My friend and I sell things online. Mostly useless things that nobody really utilizes anymore. I sort of need my own environment to work in sometimes that is not too quiet. The quietness at home just drives me mad.” He joked and was still smiling.

Doesn't his cheeks hurt? If I smiled for that long I would need more sedation to numb my face, I kept thinking to myself.

“Oh. That's interesting.” I replied coldly this time, really wishing not to be bothered.

“Well. I take it you don't want that drink? And I am sorry, it looks like you do not want to be interrupted now. You seem like a deep thinker,” he turned around to his table, grabbed a pen and ripped off a piece of notebook paper, “Just don't get too caught up into it, you could get lost in those voids. It's dangerous down there.” He winked at me and wrote down his phone number.

I looked at him apathetically and replied with a sarcastic smile, “How thoughtful of you to share this piece of advice.”

Jesse left his phone number on the table beside my tea. 

"Well. If you ever changed your mind." His eyes sparkled and his teeth were perfect. 

My stomach curled as he stood up and walked away. I glanced back and he inserted his headphones in and went on about his work. I turned around and went on about my brain.

It has been months since you left, Weaver, but the question is, why does it still hurt? Why do I seem to cross a path of barbed wires that routed me all the way into our laughs, your smiles and your tender, ebony eyes? Must it be so common of a love story that one must be ripped away? My sedatives were reaching into the core of my brain now and I was relaxed.

The Crown painting in front of me seemed so powerful and enticing it could mark golden for another eternity. I glanced beside the painting and there was the mirror that reflected to the counter. I dropped my eyes as fast as light and gazed into the darkness of my tea. It is where I am supposed to be, or is it not?

Sitting in the corner alone at the Bistro, I was in the shadows. As I was sitting back in the dark, all alone, I could see a lighter shade in the entire place. Everyone was smiling, happy and laughing. The light shone on everyone. Jesse was still smiling. Yet, here I am just pondering in the darkness by myself. I cannot dare to touch that light, and I was not going to communicate with any of these beings. The light scares me so much, and this one seemed to light up like a solar flare. I could not handle the strength of the light, it felt like I was being burned, again. I decided to open my phone and add a few notes for my second book I am working on, Anthemis. It is about a flightless cormorant, adjourned to fly. Things change causing this cormorant to keep crashing down, but whatever change it is, it is not worth fixing. Nothing should be fixed if it has already been altered for a reason- just like the wooden chair before me which you used to sit on. Now empty, the chair is beside me.

Augustine