Learning

                                       THINGS HAPPEN

 

I watch the girls in shorts, blue knit shirts coming out of the kitchen, bringing coffee, scrambled eggs. They walk swiftly, smile even though their feet may be aching. It's late for breakfast, a little early for lunch. Near the front register their breather lets them chat, maybe about me, sitting alone, writing, as I await my good friend. When he comes, will anyone wonder if he is my husband, my lover. Well, maybe one person will but only for a split second. Those that thought we might be lovers will change their minds.

 

Even with my writing pad and 'Writing Down the Bones' exposed on my table I am isolated. Then a miracle happens!! Two ladies, having finished breakfast, stop. The blonde comments on my writing book and that she uses it often teaching creative writing classes...close to my home. Classes start soon. We exchanged cards and will be email each other today. If I take the course, what can I learn? Surely I have written far more than the teacher, more than any student. The tricks in the book are old hat to me. None of my unanswerable questions will stop me from taking the course–except the location, the hour. I already feel myself refusing to take a nite course, one with teens, one too short or too long. I revolt myself.

 

In the meantime, my friend has not come. I forgot what time he said, which is my fault, and sit watching out the front window looking for his car with a little green ducky hanging from the windshield. Time, too much time, has elapsed. I order the special raisin bread cooked in a homemade batter, with vanilla, cinnamon, brown sugar, cream, and eggs, then topped with butter and powdered sugar.

 

If he still isn't here, I'll pay my check and head straight for the
pharmacy to refill my cholesterol Rx.