I have been off for quite a while. I’m not really busy. In fact, I’m procrastinating. I hate work. Anyway, I’m gonna go try and write a script/summary/whatever it is about the comic I’m gonna try to create. Here goes nothing…
It has been months since I started coming to this cafe. I go here every weekday without fail. I had almost bought this table for myself. It’s already like an unwritten rule that I must sit here from 5:30-7:00 pm. I had already established my niche in this small community. I work at that tall building across from this place. There’s a cafe at the ground floor of that building but I go here. The beverages in this place is quite ordinary and a bit on the pricey side. Their pastries are a bit too sweet for my taste. But I go here.
It’s because she goes here.
She too has established her place here. But she did that way before I did. She always sit there, on the table nearest the door, opposite the bar. She sits with her back to the door. And she always read. I have never seen her without a book in her hand, from thick old leather-bound books to cheap paperbacks. I could sometimes guess what the books are about from the titles. Some are brain-squeezing journals. Some are creative nonfiction. And some are teen fiction novels. You can never guess what she’ll bring next.
But you can guess what mood she is in based on how she looks. It’s almost tangible. She wears colorful clothes when she’s feeling light and happy. You can actually see her radiant smile every now and then while reading. She sheds a tear or two in her dark shirts and dresses. She would always look messy when she’s pissed off or bored. Every day is different but she’s always beautiful.
The only constant things about her is her book, her tea (hot when raining, iced when sunny) and her slice of chocolate cake, half-forgotten while she’s bent over her book. She would read on for hours maybe but every now and then, she would look up from her book, put a bookmark between pages and gently put it in her table. She would pan her view across the cafe in one sweep then stare outside for several minutes. I don’t know what time she comes here or what time she goes home. She would arrive before me and leave after me. But I know she’s only here on weekdays.
The first time I saw her was the first time I entered this place. It was quite unforgettable. Partly because I had to go home with squeaky wet socks. But it was mainly because of her.
That morning, I had to park my car a block away from this cafe. The parking lot was so full you won’t be able to fully open the car’s side door (unless it’s one of those expensive sports car with upward latch). That afternoon, after work, while on my way to my car, it suddenly rained. It’s not one of those drizzles that would hardly get your hair wet. It’s one of those freaks of nature when one second, you feel hot and sweaty, and the next second, you’re wet to your underwear. I had no choice but to take shelter in this cafe. I can’t go back to my workplace since I need to cross the street again. Running to my car means a few minutes under this crazy rain. And let’s be honest, I don’t want to wet my newly upholstered car seat. I’m not planning to cultivate mildew in there. So I took the smart choice.
I entered the cafe feeling a bit miserable. I probably look very pathetic. I made a silent promise to stash a small umbrella in my bag. I was just looking for a vacant table when I heard it. A very sweet voice laughing. It’s almost angelic. I looked for the source and found her slim back. Her delicate neck, slightly exposed while she’s bending over a book. Her head, slightly sideways, was supported by her arm. I think I stood transfixed to that spot, looking foolish, staring at her. I think the waiter took a pity on me and ushered me to an empty table. I chose the one at the far end of the room, the one diagonally opposite her table. I sat where I could see her.
She’s really beautiful. I ordered a cup of coffee and waited for the rain to let up. Technically, I waited for the rain. More than half of the time, I was staring at her while the rest of the time, I was trying my best not to look like a pervert. After one and a half hours, my 3rd cup was drained and the rain had fully stopped. I can’t find any more reason to stay so I went to my car.
The next day, i went back. She’s there, poring over the same thick book. I took the same seat and ordered the same coffee. After one and a half hours, I left. The day after that was the same, so were the days after.
One weekend, after a few weeks of going there, I came back under a premise of forgotten documents at the office. I was disappointed to see she wasn’t in her seat.
I’ll continue this later. I had to meet Noh in an hour. We’re going to Manila International Book Fair at SMX today. Maybe I could add an entry about it too.
Edit
I’ll try to continue where I left off.
The waiter told me she doesn’t go here on weekend and winked. I blushed. Was I that obvious? Yeah, probably. Oh well, I really do want to know her and I am determined to do so.
And here I am, a few months after that promise, still at the far end table, mumbling “I’m not a stalker. I’m not a stalker.” over and over. I think the waiter and the owner, my faithful observers, were already seriously pitying me over my lack of guts. Pitying or feeling frustrated, whatever. Ugh, 7 o’clock. Time’s up. Maybe tomorrow? Or the day after that?
The next Friday, I took my usual seat. The waiter gave my usual coffee. I have not even placed an order yet so I looked at him. He set my cup on the table. “She hasn’t ordered her chocolate cake yet” , he whispered and winked. I blinked. “What?” I asked stupidly. “Would you like to treat her for a cake?”, he patiently replied. I nodded, too confused to think. I grabbed his arm and hushly added “Don’t tell her it’s from me.” He smiled. “Sure.”
A few moments later, the waiter delivered the cake to her. She was out of my view for a few seconds, hidden behind the waiter. I didn’t hear them. She then looked over the waiter and straight at me. Then she smiled. She put her four fingers over her lips and cast them towards me.
Flying kiss? I turned red. That was a flying kiss, right? She smiled again and went back to her book, nibbling a piece of cake every now and then.
Around an hour later, to my surprise, she rose from her seat, looked straight to me and smiled. Damn, she really has a very beautiful smile. Then she went out of the door. The waiter cleared her table.
I went back to my coffee and the bunch of documents I’m pretending to read. The waiter approached me, so I looked at him again. “She left this on her table. It’s for you.” he said and winked. Seriously, doesn’t he get tired from winking? Ugh, it’s probably amusing for him. I looked down at the item.
It’s a book. I’m pretty sure it’s different from what she was reading today. There’s a sticky note at the cover. It said” To the man who loves to stare sitting at the far end table”. Ah. It really was for me. At least she didn’t write ‘To my creepy stalker, Stop or I’ll call the police.” That’s a good start. So what is this book? “Communicate Through Signs: Simplified Guide to Sign Language”. I was thoroughly confused. Why would I want to have that book?
Then I noticed a bookmark. I opened the marked page. It was on how to sign “Thank You”. On the bookmark was her mobile number and two-word message, “Don’t call.”
“Don’t call”? She gave me her number and told me not to call? What’s the point? Was she making fun of me?
And then it hit me. “Ah”. So that’s why…
Maybe on Monday, I would no longer be “the man who loves to stare sitting at the far end table.” But for now, I need to study this book. Maybe youtube can also help.
Fin.
Ugh, it probably doesn’t make much sense… I don’t know. Sorry, it’s my first time trying to write. Grammatical errors…. I really suck at titles. I mean, wtf is wrong with that book’s title? It wasn’t even specific which SL she’s using.
http://www.signingsavvy.com/sign/THANK%20YOU/426/1
Anyway, help. And I still can’t think of a title.
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