I sit at the bar of the coffee shop, looking at
traffic on Main. Across the street, headless
mannequins model matching bra and panty sets.
A woman in a thick red scarf and purple hat waits to cross the
street.
A man sits at the far end of the bar and takes out
his iPad. Two others claim a table
strewn with newspapers. They talk of markets
and clients, writing furiously on white tablets.
A car parallel parks. A woman emerges, wearing furry boots and a
peek-a-boo shirt and crisscrossed chopsticks stabbed into her bun.
A delivery man carries a vase of flowers.
Outside, two yellow balloons are snagged in a sweet
gum tree still strung with Christmas lights.
The door opens.
Kathy walks in. She wears a
purple coat and red pants and white New Balance tennis shoes.
She makes the rounds, greeting people she knows. She finds a seat and watches. She speaks to herself. “No one is listening to me. Why is everyone ignoring me?”
A man passes.
She asks, “What did you do to my head?”
He pivots. “I’m
sorry?”
“What did you do to my head?”
“I don’t think I did anything to your head.”
“You’re right.
You didn’t do anything to my head.”
Kathy leaves.
Outside, she sits on a bench and ties a brown scarf around her
head. Moments later, she rises and walks
away.
Within ten minutes, she’s back, clutching a bag of
Doritos in her hand. She sits, eating
and watching. She makes her rounds. She leaves and sits on the bench.
Another fifteen minutes pass. Kathy returns. I listen to the reactions of the people. Mostly, they are kind.
I don’t wonder why Kathy returns so many times
during the day to the coffee shop on Main.
I can tell: The coffee shop is Kathy’s safe place.
I gather my things and head outside. I meet Kathy at the corner. “Good morning,” I say.
“Good morning.”
She enters the coffee shop.
This prompt was written in response to this week's Trifecta's Writing Challenge. The word was safe.