The Other Side

My piece for the latest 500-word story

                I tapped my fingers on the cafe table.  There was a newspaper in front of me, but leafing through it had failed to catch my interest.  I sat, chin propped on my hand, elbow on the table, gazing out the window at the city street, slowly stirring my coffee with a spoon.  On the horizon were clouds, but over here the sky was blue.  Sipping, I let my eyes wander the street until I saw her, standing on the corner on the far side.

                She was wearing a white sundress, with thin straps resting on her shoulders.  She had sunglasses dangling on a necklace, resting just between her cleavage.  Her form was so thin, so exquisite, yet so authentic.  The dress flared out at the hips, making her look curvier.  It billowed in the breeze around her bare legs.

                She didn’t cross when the walk signal changed, she stood and looked around attentively, waiting for somebody.  Her long dark hair fluttered against the wind, obscuring her face for just an instant until, with a flick of her hand she swept it away.  It rested behind her ears, framing her cheekbones, her deep brown eyes I could barely make out from the distance.  When she turned her head, I saw an earring glisten in each ear.

                A fire truck passed between us without its siren on.  I wondered if it would rain and soak her dress through.  From this distance she appeared to be wearing no bra.

                She shifted impatiently in place.  I now watched intently, not glancing at my mug as I sipped the last drops.  Her eyes grew sullen with disappointment.  Her knees twitched.  She tapped her foot �" if I’d been close enough I would have heard the click-click sound of it.  The longer I watched the more I worried she’d see me, but safely across the street, behind a window with the sun glaring off it, I was invisible.  I felt my heart flutter at that thought.  The walk signal changed again, this time to her left.  She turned her body away from me and her posture straightened up.  A man walked over to greet her and they embraced, kissing deeply.  The last I saw of her face was that it was glowing with delight.

                They crossed to this side of the street and I looked away, back to my empty coffee cup.  I waved down a waitress.  The bell on the door jingled as someone entered.  I looked to see whether it was them, but in this moment I watched the woman and her man pass, arm in arm, by the window, not even glancing my way.  I sighed.

                The waitress arrived at my table.  “Another cup, Miss?”

                “Yes,” I said, and then apologized for the lipstick marks on the rim.         

Author's Note

The story is in the telling.

Reviews

[Craig Bates]

I like the hesitant voyeur we have here and the way she looks to the door, hoping. A subtle detail but it adds so much.

You toy with us beautifully here my friend. Of course, you never say the narrator is a man and we have no real reason to believe so. We make assumptions and that's why it is so effective. The revelation that it is a female voyeur poses so many more questions. Is her sense of longing, looking at this waiting woman, for the woman herself? Or is she wishing to have someone to wait for? Hope disappears with the contents of the cup, only for it to be refilled (we think) at the end.

A very good write that I really enjoyed reading, so thanks =)

[Bette]

i could feel her longing. great write! wonderful detail! well done!