From the Window Seat
The couple across the street are in love. Or at least I’d like to think they are. She sits back in her chair, relaxed and smiling, her red gingham dress blowing in the wind. He reaches across the table to hold her hand and is so absorbed by her smile that the waiter has to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention. What a beautiful way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
If I widen my focus a bit, I can see that the trash company seems to be a week or so late clearing the sides of the road. The breeze kicks up sheets of discarded paper, acting as a funny sort of picture frame for the couple and their champagne flutes.
Panning back a to the sidewalk in front of me, runners rush by. One by one, they dodge obstacles in the streets with ease and focus. In almost poetic contrast, a gaggle of tourists strolls leisurely behind them. They crane their necks to look up at each building. They pause to point at shops of interest along the way, as cars honk at them for dawdling. They are all wearing matching neon baseball caps.
My attention is jolted back to my coffee as a man orders at the counter with the tone of a practiced businessman. He ends the interaction by saying “Thanks a latte!” to the barista. He laughed to himself, and I tried to stop myself from chuckling out loud.
As the man takes a seat next to his elderly mother they begin to chat, something happens that leaves me in deep thought about people in general: I hear the commentary that had been running through my head while people-watching echoed out loud.
He wonders if his mother noticed the dog across the street, at the same restaurant where the couple I first noticed was finishing their meal. She mentions that her friend Nancy has one just like it. That was the restaurant where his friends first told him they were expecting. His mother wants to know what a sign on the bus stop means, and did he know that she loved turtles and that it was lovely that that happened to be the theme of this café? I had to stop myself several times from chiming in, which isn’t the norm for me. Frankly, I usually try to make it clear that I’m not interested in chatting. But they almost felt familiar. Or perhaps it was just that they were two fellow humans who weren’t in a rush and took the time to look around.
It was a big deal for me to walk to a coffee shop alone in a city I am not familiar with and sit with myself quietly. I am not my favorite person to spend time with. But alone with my book and a notebook, phone pushed to the side, I found myself comforted by the simple goings-on around me, instead of wrapped up in self-consciousness or anxiety. I learned a lot from the window seat this morning, and all I had to do was lift my eyes.