Twisted

He twirls the black ring around his index finger, unaware of how it sounds against his rough skin. His small brown eyes dart here and there eventually landed on my right shoulder.

Nervous laughter exudes from his lips which he keeps licking. He exams the white coffee mug, taking small sips, smiling at me now and then. A small succession of coughs escapes his throat.

Through the cafe window I can see the morning sunlight fading away as clouds cover the sky, darkling the cafe. I felt like I was nowhere, having all this empty space and all those empty chairs around us.

The sudden clanking sound of dishes falling onto the wooden floor awaken me from my sudden thoughts causing my body to jump. I turn my head in that direction and back to his tan face which was calm as a an unread book. I started to tell him I wanted to break up but then he interrupted me with the clearing of his throat.

He took a sip of his coffee. Then said he always admired my beauty and my brain but that I didn't arouse his interest enough. He had been in other relationships where the woman used to make his nerves jump but not me. I barely keep him interested. He wanted someone who he isn't so comfortable with. Someone who doesn't seem like a sister to him.

He slip his words out like musical notes, lowering his head to face me. In his thick southern accent, he tells me he had found someone else. Someone who fits more of his needs. Someone old-fashion, someone unlike me. He always wanted to marry a woman who would let him be the man, the bread maker. A woman's woman, he said. I wanted to correct him but decided against it.

Instead I said I didn't get what he means. He shakes his head as if he pity my confusion. I sipped my ice cold coffee through a very big red straw, twirling the straw against the melting ice. I try not to smile, holding my laughter in.

He turns around then and tapped the only other customer's shoulder. "I like you to meet my fiancée," he said with a shy smile, holding onto the woman's hand as she walks around to him. "Her name's Hilda." I smiled, pretending I was hurt but at the same time that I was okay with it all.

As she sits down next to him, a sudden thought came to me. Is she really a woman? Her face was creamy with too much powder and her eyes were covered in black mascara and fake eyelashes. As she said hello and shake my small hand with her large one, my suspicion rises. He, on the other hand, seem quite content holding Hilda's hand with a huge smile on his face.

I stood up, congratulated them and walk out to the rain. It was simpler than I thought.


Cafe Writing: Option Two