Emma wanted to be a cool breeze on a hot day. She wanted to be happy and free: but she wasn’t.
Life was much heavier than Emma had hoped, much more sticky and spider-webby than she had once thought; life was beginning to wear on her.
Every morning Emma would go to La Petite Café to think. She would order a coffee, and write in her diary. She wrote slowly, occasionally gazing out the window, trying to find the right words to describe her feelings. On this day she wrote, “My heart is not a spring in a box. My heart is like a rower on a midnight lake.”
She closed the little diary and slowly stirred her coffee, looking at the swirling liquid as one might stare into the embers of a dying fire.
She sat this way for some time, then shook her head, and picked up a novel. The book had been loaned to her by a colleague and she felt obliged to finish it, despite it being far from her own taste.
A loud bang broke her reverie; a young man had pushed the café door closed when he was trying to open it. Emma could see a deep redness in the man’s face; he was clearly uncomfortable and nervous; she wanted to jump up, to hold his hand and tell him that everything was okay. As soon as she saw him she wanted to be near him.
The young man ordered coffee and, with shaky hands, carried it to an empty table.
Not wanting to stare, she picked up the book again and tried to immerse herself in the content. “This is ridiculous,” she thought and laughed aloud “who reads this rubbish?”.
Emma closed the book around her thumb, “Number One Best Seller,” the cover proclaimed.
“Will I read this book to please someone I hardly know and yet not make the effort to go and talk to that man, do something to make myself happy?”
She looked at the young man again, he was writing in his diary. He wrote quickly, erratically. She could see the tension in his movements, the sweat on his forehead, and she longed to be his cool breeze.
“Oh, why don’t I just go and talk to him?” she wondered to herself. But even as she thought this, she knew she wouldn’t do it, and her heart was heavy with sadness.
When the man got up to leave, Emma tried desperately to send him a smile, but he marched out of the café and was gone.
PapasGirl
beautiful work..well written
Matthew Dalton replied
Thanks very much Papasgirl. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Jeannette Sheehy
a follow up from “Heart”...how wonderful. Will they ever meet, Matthew? Or is it going to a bittersweet passing by? Thanks for writing from the girl’s point of view..you captured Emma beautifully. I especially loved this line. It said so much “Life was much heavier than Emma had hoped, much more sticky and spider-webby than she had once thought” I’m so glad to see something new from you – it seems like it’s been so long.
Matthew Dalton replied
Hi Jeannette. I have been thinking about taking this story further. I feel like I know these characters, or perhaps, that I would like to write more and find out more abut them. It feels good to be writing again.
Thanks for your comment, it’s worth writing the story for,
Sorry to hear a cold has interrupted your creative flow. I hope you’re back with pen in hand soon.
AndrewLamb
This is very good. Very descriptive of her feelings and visual images. I could see her eyes as she stared at her coffee.
Matthew Dalton replied
Thanks very much Andrew. I spent about five minutes sitting at my desk stirring a pen around an empty cup trying to work out how to write that line.
crowe
Nice slice of the everyday Matthew.
Matthew Dalton replied
Thanks Crowe; I appreciate the comment.
I miss your writing. Perhaps it’s time you dusted off your typewriter (or is that a Dictaphone in your case?)
gretchen .
i really like the way you address unspoken desire here, internal conflict… your mention of reading a ‘number one best seller’ to please someone else paints a brilliant picture. :-)
Matthew Dalton replied
I am fascinated by the idea that there is a common human language: the language of being. You express this in poetry; it’s in the spaces between your words as much as in the words themselves.
This story took a lot of writing; thank-you for reading and your thoughtful comment.
crowe
The pen is mightier than the dictaphone Matthew. Thanks for the bump…I’ll see what I can do.
Matthew Dalton replied
I just thought, well, lawyers seem to love their Dictaphones. But I can tell you give your writing more thought than that.
crowe
Dictaphones give us a misconceived aura of importance Matthew. Watching a lawyer talk into a machine is a weird experience. Sorta like he/she is talking to the void. No wonder most of our clients think we’re wacko.