Seeing Is Believing | George & Mitchell
A rush of thick humid air bellowed in from the front door when George exited the small, empty apartment. An irrationally long sigh puffed from his lungs out of irritation while he jammed the key into the deadbolt. He really shouldn't complain, he shouldn't. He shouldn't even be here. That reminder had little meaning every single time he opened the front door to New Orleans and took in the weather.
George wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with his palm and ventured to the edge of the sidewalk. Before he could reach the street, his keys fell from his pocket at onto the pavement. George groaned loudly but retrieved the keys without saying a word until he bumped into a stranger on the way up. "Sorry - excuse me." His arms flapped at his sides. His keys jingled noisily against his fingers. "This really isn't my day, is it?" His voice cracked mid-sentence.
After looking both ways, George crossed the road and traveled briskly to the coffee shop down the street. It surprised him that he still hadn't purchased a kettle of any kind. He couldn't remember the last time he made tea, even before the events. Before he had a chance to finish the thought, the bustling shop came into view. George sighed out of relief. His fingers had begun to ache from the clenched fists he held tight in his pockets.
George went to grab the door to hold it open for a young women. He offered a tight lip smile when she thanked him. His head nodded gently at the second, and third woman that skittered past him into the shop. George's expression turned sour as people continued to push past him, without so much as a thank you for the door. He quickly squeezed between the strangers and into the shop. He looked to the door to see a woman glaring at him on the other side of the glass. He held his hands up with a sheepish expression before mouthing 'Sorry'.
After waiting in line for nearly twenty minutes, George made it to the very unfriendly barista behind the counter. 'How are you today, sir?" The man asked in the most monotone voice George had ever heard. "Thank you for asking. It has been one of those days. First my keys and..." He paused. His shoulders slumped. "Oh, but - but you don't really care, do you? Right. Okay. Tea. Black tea, please." His lips pressed into a line and his eyebrows bounced up his forehead. "Thank you." He plucked the change out of the man's hand and turned to find a seat.
George found a table near the window. Most of the customers that entered the shop stayed long enough to grab their caffeine fix and returned to their day. A few sat at the tables surrounding him, chatting among one another. George stared at the empty chair on the opposite end of the small table. His eyelids fluttered softly as a lump grew in his throat. He hardly registered the cup of tea placed in front of him.
