When They Turn Away
     There is nothing quite as amusing as observing a person's expression once the subject of their attention has turned away. A dedicated look of “genuine” interest suddenly morphing into a look of apathy. A look of “joy” to one of complete melancholy. A look of “wonder” switching into one of boredom. Sometimes the looks don’t change even when I expect them to; that is also interesting. You see, I have a sort of knack for this; to look at a person and perceive what they really feel like. No matter how they exhibit themselves to the surrounding world. Of course, this is not very common; rarely do people bare such...hypocrisy...no, two-facedness...no, more like self-control as their presentation to everyone else; it truly is fascinating. It is because of this genuine interest that I walked into a coffee shop one Sunday morning in search of wonder, only to later find profound bewildering joy.
    You see, Sundays are usually dull days, especially the mornings, they are characterized by slowness and the hindering stench of laziness Walking into the coffee shop that Sunday morning, this stench overtook me to the point that I was barely able to say hello, buy my drink, and reach my favored chair. I was profoundly shaken when I found my chair occupied by a figure. Insulted by this blasphemy, I went elsewhere. Settling for my second favorite spot, I began my excursion. You see, finding these expressions is as easy as finding an orange leaf in a forest burning with autumn, a good show on public domain cable, or better yet a dirty tooth on a car salesman's gleaming smile. In other words, it was and remains sometimes easy and rewarding, and other times a tedious and a fruitless labor. However, on this particular expedition, I found multiple specimens of this phenomenon. Moments after placing the appropriate amount of honey in my drink, I spotted a man and woman walk into the shop. The man asked, ever so courteously, if she wanted anything to drink or eat; with a similar level of courteousness, the latter said she would rather not. Looking at each other anyone would say that whatever these two had was characterized by pleasantries and content. Then, they turned away.
   He went to the counter, and she went to the restroom. He bore a gaze of clear irksomeness, as did she. After a few seconds both their expressions eased into what seemed like relief as if they both had just reached the snowy summit of a steep mountain, and now found their muscles confused and relieved at the sudden lack of exertion. She didn't even enter the lavatory; she set herself against the wall, breathed and closed her eyes. He bought a drink; I could not hear the specifics, but I swear I heard him ask for three shots of caffeine. He then fumbled around until he found an empty seat; sinking into the chair he let out a long prolonged sigh. A few minutes later the drink came he smiled at it and drank for many seconds. A few minutes later she came back. He smiled as well.
    Later after more than a “few” refills, I was distraught with the unending feeling of total anxiety. The clock having passed 12 seemed to slow down. I squirmed like a worm in the sun; I pulled at the seams of the chair; I would snicker at the most foolish thought. I’m sure that whoever had the unlucky chance to lay his or her gaze on my unstable self-was left utterly confused. I imagine them pondering questions such as: What is wrong with him?, I wonder if he is heartbroken? or better yet I can almost hear them saying: “O, how dreadful mental disorders are.” I would suppose that the black-haired barista would’ve politely asked me to leave in an attempt to keep the “serenity” of the coffee shop. Maybe the manager would have even called the police imploring them to remove this delirious man. A great court case that would be, misdemeanor class B of trespassing I would suppose. I would not plead, my, how I would love to see the completely dumbfounded faces of the jurors while my state-appointed lawyer would hold his sides as the prosecuting attorney would regale them as to the insane man in the coffee shop that Sunday morning. The employees would do that; who could blame them; however, they know me and are well informed of my quirks and lunacies. The baristas at the forefront of the battle that particular day actually knows when to stop giving me honey. However, this particular day it seems that the “Sunday” had gotten to both, her as well as him; they both had long since lost track of the amount of honey I should be given. If I am honest with myself, I knew what I was doing with the tear of each packet. With the meticulous screening of each little plastic container. With the discarding of each bag. I was well aware of what my actions would bring me to sooner than later. The situation would have escalated to a misdemeanor class A of physical assault if not for the timely arrival of a group of people who all radiated “self-control”. I would love to see the faces of the bench as I would claim, with an immensely wide smile on my face, that I did not mean anything when I hit a man attempting to head to his dead-end job. I would say it was an accident; they would look incredulously at me in disbelief and ask: “You broke his tooth by accident?” I would respond with a claim of insanity. I pity the fool who would be assigned to my case, both prosecutor and defense. This is more than possible I would call it plausible. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, I was spared this fate as the group walked in. What a ruscuss they made. I was nearly enraged to a point I might have precipitated my visit to court until I saw gazes. Their gazes all mirrored each other. Did they agree to all smile like that? I wondered as they all attacked the bar. The baristas were overthrown in seconds, and in seconds they were losing ground in meters! They were soon pushed to the very edge of defeat. The sudden surprise had shaken them and brought them to the edge of rallying to defeat. My, my, I thought I was a nuisance, but in comparison to this troop of homegrown actors, I was a fils de Dieu. They’re gazes all identical, gleaming with happiness facing each other and playfully taping one another; the group seemed to be also in sink with a shared tiredness. They would stretch and straighten their helmets as they stood one behind another as if waiting their turn to harass the brave shop’s defenders. Never ceasing to smile of course. Then, they would turn away.
    Looking down, their gazes would flatten to a tasteless monotone gaze. Others would look at the menu for far too long and in that time they would frown or simply roll their eyes. A certain man, his clothing far too tight for him, stretched and consequentially placed his head in a direction away from his subject of attention. His gaze was one in between a sour lemon, a meeting with your dreadful aunt who obsesses over what is couture, and the stench of spilled milk that has been left to cheese on a forlorn countertop.  After some time each one would look back and in an instant be “interested” be “immersed” or better yet “amused” by the subject of their attention.
    The clock whispered that it was time to head home. Actually, in my opinion, the clock would get much louder in the afternoon; maybe it's due to everyone being gone. Yea, that makes sense, with the passing of the sun into the horizon the shop was shrouded in an orange light. The shadows seemed to dance on the walls over the faces of the smiling people enjoying a warm cup of coffee. How I despise coffee.
    “Have a good one” I said as I lifted my coat color over my neck. I mumbled a tone as skipped home. “torrent affair...right there….” I sang. I stopped as I heard the door of the shop open and close behind me. Overcome with a desire to look behind I fiddled in my pocket for anything to help me. Feeling the hilt I chuckled at even considering it as an option basically in front of the coffee shop.  Flicking a packet of honey to the ground I kneeled down for it and managed to sneak a look behind me. I chuckled. It was the figure that was sitting in my favorite seat. The fiend approaches, I thought. Analyzing the floor I looked at the cuts in the cement for what seemed like ages. As I saw her foot appear at the edge of my vision I knew it was time.
I'm so sorry ma’am
O don't worry about it
I'm such a klutz
O aren't we all
O my, did I cause that?
O this? No, I spilled coffee on myself earlier
My, well in return for me so rudely bumping into you, you should let me pay for that
The coffee?
The dry cleaning
O no
Please I insist; it’ll help me feel better about running into you
Don't worry about it, please
The conversation went on for quite a while. With the sun long gone we both walked in relative darkness. The moonlight cutting through the thin layers of clouds plastered the sidewalk with our shadows. She told me about how she was left “on the dancefloor” as she called it. Her date had left her in expectation. I told her all men are fools. She responded with a playful tap on my back and while looking away into the horizon responded to the earlier insult to my sex with: “You don't seem too bad”.
I prefer my coffee with honey actually, I know. It's odd. Leave me alone!
It's not weird!
Then why are you looking at me like that!
Like what!?
Like that!
No, no, no. Look!
Is that a honey packet!?
Yes!
You take your coffee with honey!?
Yes!
Her laugh resonated through the empty street, pure and sweet it ran up the walls of the apartment complexes and bounced off the flickering highway lights. 52 street lights. We had passed under 52 street lights. I was slightly chilly and took every chance to slow down and stand under them. Consequentially, I had begun to count them. You see, the night was chilly and I had given her my coat.
This is my place actually
Really?
Yea
O well.
I'm sorry you were left “on the dancefloor”
Leave me alone I said it once!
It was funny!
Your only messing with me
I promise I would never
Never?
Never
    We talked outside my apartment complex for what seemed like an eternity. She would laugh every now and then. I couldn’t help but smile. It began to rain. A slight drizzle, it should have been enough to make us uncomfortable. We would’ve parted ways to or gone inside if not for the fun we were having. The conversation in front of my grey colored old apartment complex on the edge of town with a “locked” bottom level was truly endearing.  Maybe someone would’ve questioned themselves as to what were these two love birds doing outside rather than inside at this ungodly hour. They would whisper and murmur if there was anyone to whisper and murmur. The whole apartment was vacant. I owned it.
Are you tired?
No
You yawned
I did…. Can I go inside?
What?
Inside
No
Ummmmm...why?
Because
“Because” what?
Because I don't like you
…
…
Your messing with me
I'm not
Yes you are
I promised
    The conversation had reached its conclusion. Her smile and laugh where as well. Then she turned away. She kept smiling and laughing. She said “Sorry” that she had “misunderstood” me and she should be on her way. I was dumbfounded. I was sure. Reaching out to her I grabbed her shoulder and applied too much pressure. She turned abruptly but kept smiling.  She insisted she was ok and she would like to go home. She never once changed her expression. I knew she was lying. I let go. She started to walk and I stood there. I shouted some nonsense about her number and quickly ran up to her. By now the rain was pouring and the street lights had been put to rest for the night. All but one. It shone on her as if she was an actor of some great opera or play now about to deliver a soliloquy or some sort of magnificent song. I strode up to her and she kept smiling. The rain hindered my vision that I nearly ran into her again. She caught me and pretended to be glad to reach into her pocket for her phone. Thunder had begun to rumble in the distance. I reached into my pocket and felt my phone. No not that. I looked up, smiled at her, and in a swift singular motion cut her neck. A lightning bolt landed close enough that for a few seconds as she feel the night had become day. Hey eyes dilating in an instance, her tarnished neck, and her unwavering smile. She feel over nearly without a sound.  The rain swiftly cleaned the blade. I was pleased at this. You see, a well cleaned and well maintained switch-blade will cut through skin like a hot knife through butter. I knelt down and studied her for a bit. The rain began to take her blood down the street. A singular red streak seemed to be emanate from her throat. She’s a body I thought Or is she a corpse? I can never get it right. Aren’t they both the same thing? I pondered as I looked at her blank eyes.
         Slamming the door of the underground level in the apartment complex I whipped my hands clean. I sat down in a chair and placed the contents of my right pocket on the small coffee table. A handful of honey packets all creasing at the edges; the switchblade, which was still somewhat dirty; my phone still moist and covered in drops of cold rain; my right pocket also had a few odds and ends: cents from the day, lint, and a toothpick. Placing my pocket inside out I shook out the dust. Satisfied, I moved on. Her phone was all that I had in my left pocket. I looked at it for a long time as I held it. I only stopped after jumping out of my chair due to the crack of thunder. It felt close, really close. My hairs standing on edge remained up as if they had been called to attention by some microscopic drill sergeant. I attempted to sit back down but found that I once again found myself feeling the same unending feeling of total anxiety I had felt earlier in the day. Then I was hit by an unforeseen revelation. The world is stern. The world is true. The world is not one for “self-control”. Imagine the life of this poor person. Probably characterized by them being trampled and stomped on by any number of persons.
You didn't feel like that…..no…..
The rain silently hit the window. A shame really, however, I mean at least she doesn't need to “self-control” anymore I thought as I placed her phone atop a stack of other phones.