Looking out from the narrow partition in my office cubical, I watched as a murder of crows sat on a four potted chimney. The attached television aerial bent under the weight of these bread-fattened, lazy excuses for birds. A tall evergreen tree shuddered in the cool easterly wind, its shadow swaying over the chimney. Grey clouds were moving in for the evening.
Something startled the feathered beasts as they took off simultaneously, disappearing from my view. I longed to be outside. Cooped her in the dry air conditioned cell, which held the faint smell of fresh plastic binders and coffee.
An hour passed, and work was over. I managed few polite farewells to my colleagues, but then stood utterly despondent outside the office building. Light was getting dull, as the winter months began to set in. The street was fairly busy, pedestrians hastily making their way home, to beat each other in the rush to get on the subway or get poll position in the growing line of traffic. Then I felt the tapping of something wet hitting my forehead, I gazed up and saw the rain clouds overhead. Just another day.
I would return to my apartment, make myself a sandwich, perch myself in front of the TV to watch the evening news, then get ready for bed. Read a little Ian Fleming, then sleep for the exact same thing tomorrow.
Suddenly I sensed someone standing beside me, an orange covering obscured my view of the sky. Turning to my right, a young women looked at me with a gentle smile holding an umbrella. She wore a red wool hat, with locks of jet black hair poking out, flowing down to her shoulder. Dressed more for this kind of weather than me, she had thick woollen coat, the red matching her hat. A short black shirt with tights and light brown high heeled boots. Her smile was warm and welcoming with rosy cheeks from the cold windblast, and deep auburn eyes.
“Charlotte!”, I stuttered, startled. I knew this women, she worked a few partitions down from me. We’d never really spoken apart from the usual small chat you’d expect at a drinks machine during your lunch break. She was very beautiful but I’d never considered talking to her on a more than platonic level. My success with women was as good as my job prospects. Basically, non-existent.
Her smile opened, revealing pearl white teeth with a gap between the top central incisors, “Hi Greg, what you staring at?” I found myself put on the spot, I couldn’t just say something uninteresting. I searched my mind for some funny remark, an intelligent remark. Anything. I looked about me as if a passer-by might give me a helping hand. After what seemed like a uncomfortable period of time, I managed “Oh, nothing.” Nice one, Greg. Charlotte tilted her head a little, her smile softening. “That’s a shame, you looked rather pensive.”
I looked down at the ground and shook my head. My middle name should have been pensive, as that’s all I ever got called, and it sure didn’t feel like a compliment. If only I did have something worth thinking about.
With her free hand, she touched me on my upper arm to grab my attention, and smiled again, “Come on, it’s raining. Let’s get a drink.” She moved away and started walking up the street, the rain was getting heavier now. I glanced about me in a stupor, had this women just given me the opportunity to redeem my sad pathetic display. Almost at the end of the street, she looked back at me in an impatient way, prompting me to follow as she vanished round the corner. I gave chase - in a form of a prompt walk.
I caught her up at Luke’s Cafe. Stepping out of the rain, I placed my soaked-through jacket on the hanger by the door. My tie appeared more like a soggy sock, and my white shirt clung to me in an unflattering fashion. I was a sorry state. Charlotte was already at the counter, ordering two coffees. She’d removed her coat and hat, and her lovely curls glinted in the dimly-lit cafe. I sat at a table by the window, twiddling my thumbs. She had a her white work shirt on, covered with a grey v-neck sweater but her slim curvy figure was apparent, I had to stop myself staring as she sat down opposite.
The cafe was small, varnished mahogany paneling, green stained glass light shades, a fifties style jukebox currently playing Elvis ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?’ Not including the staff, there were five customers. An elderly chap by the counter, doing a crossword in the newspaper with a glass of red wine. A middle-aged couple dressed in similar suits, smoking, chatting and joking quietly like old friends. Then there was us.
Charlotte twirled her hair with her index finger and gazed out at the rain hammering on the window. I was still very surprised by this chance meeting, although I suspected it was not entirely accidental. How do I begin? Talk about the weather? Compliment her? Ask her how her day was? Perhaps I was over thinking this. My pulse was unusually high. Maybe it was that little run. The waitress brought over our coffees and once more it went to quiet, which for me was very uncomfortable.
“So Greg”, Charlotte finally breaking the silence, "I hear you got praised for the Fenner report, well done.” She brought the coffee to her lips, blowing gently, staring very deeply at me. I swallowed hard. “Err...yeah, thanks.” I floundered again. Why was this so hard? It’s not like I’d never spoken to an attractive women before. I just normally had to build up the courage over several months, of course, with the high changeover of staff, nobody ever hung around long enough. Leaning forward, Charlotte whispered to me, “When someone treats you to a drink , the least you could do is be good company.” This shook me out of my feeble condition.
Straightening up, taking a deep breath, I went for it. “Absolutely, I couldn’t agree more. It’s just very surreal you speaking to me that’s all. Like a dream. I know we’ve said hi on occasion but I’ve never really been much of a talker. You know, I just get on with the work in hand, day in, day out. The job grinds you down, don’t you think. I’ve been there for five years and not moved up but more sideways, and I’m thinking why am I here? I look out my window, and see these fat crows sitting on a chimney and I think get off your lazy arse and spread your wings. Maybe there’s a metaphor or message in there. An omen telling me to get out of here. Gosh, it’s chucking it down outside. Oh, shoot! You’re right, I didn’t thank you for the coffee. Thank you for inviting me. I don’t really hang out with people from work you see, most of them are just gossipy, backstabbers. Don’t you think? Oh, shoot! I’ve rambled on. What were you saying? What’s on your mind? With that, I collapsed in a verbal heap, noticing I was very out of breath. God, I’m such an idiot.
During my rant, Charlotte had been watching my every move. My erratic hand gestures to my sweating brow. Gradually, a ticking sensation seemed to well up inside her. She too, had been shaking but for a different reason. Clutching her sides to stifle the laughter, she finally broke with my last word. So loud, it drew the attention of the other people in the cafe. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Laughter is indeed infectious, because I couldn’t stop myself either. She probably was laughing at me rather than with me, but I didn’t care. She took a chance with me, so I returned the favour.
Afterwards, conversation got much easier, and we agreed to do it again. Guess I'm just not a first date kind of guy.
areudirty
titsay
romaincrisis
dailybridgerton
origamiaround
jacobvanloon
theartofmadeline