A French woman
In her forties or late thirties?
I like the way her hair is done up
Her friend is a boor, a bully, she interrupts
She is quiet
She is polite
She doesn’t know if she’d want a man, at her age
With the life she has built for herself
Maybe she’s older
There must be other things but in this coffee shop she is polite and she has a charming accent
I don’t know if she’s very attractive
She almost moved across the country for a man
An Alberta farmer with two daughters
And two women he considers “friends with benefits”
She says this matter-of-factly
Without blame or accusation
“Can you believe I almost did that?”
“No.”
“I really loved him.”
She mentions her step-mother
Her friend: “I heard she was mean to you, I heard she used to put you down.”
She: “She did. But I’m trying to accept people for who they are.”
As she leaves she says that
*
I’m confused about my own life
Which is why I’m so interested in others
Today
*
I asked for two final letters of recommendation from professors
Writing those emails was hard
But not for any practical reason
*
It sounds like there’s an insincere psychologist at the table next to me
A social worker?
She ignores the person she seems like she’s meant to help
A quiet person
More than ignores—the psychologist or social worker is, frankly, condescending
The quiet woman has all kinds of problems
When the social worker gets up to go to the bathroom the quiet woman turns around and is surprised to see me sitting behind her
“You were so quiet I didn’t know anyone was there”
Maybe she’s embarrassed, but she seems friendly
*
Now a couple in their mid-thirties, early forties, walks in, and sits next to me on the bank of couches
It feels rude to listen to these two
So I’m not really
But they sat next to me
They have an air of intimacy
As if I’m interrupting
Things get quiet and they kiss
It makes me vaguely uncomfortable
Because they seem a little bit embarrassed or aware that I’m right next to them
That I’m a party to whatever it is that’s happening
They turn and look at the paintings
I’m sitting in front of the paintings
They’re looking at me
*
Now they’re having an argument
A little one
“You would tell me if anything were otherwise, right?”
“Yes, of course”
“You would absolutely tell me, right?”
“Yes, of course”
He’s defensive
It’s no longer a little argument
I’m sick listening to this man
I don’t know why
He disgusts me
He’s not saying anything of substance, really
Last summer he spent a lot of time at “The Vibe,” picking up girls
With long hair (he had long hair)
She’s been told
For six weeks, she says, last year
He denies it but she can feel it
“The Vibe” is a gross club that no longer exists
And now she’s crying
Something’s wrong but she doesn’t know what
He says nothing else
And I am a party to this
