Stories

I'm sitting at the Teahouse with my laptop open, looking for the familiar guitar twang and beats of Sufjan's "Casimir Pulaski Day". I'm getting ready to start working for the evening, but before I do, I have to settle down at my table and people-watch for a few minutes.

I watch subtly, with one eye on my screen and the other eye scanning the crowd. Tonight I see an Asian boy and girl, who get in line just as I grab my drink. I peek out at a couple to my right, in smart business wear and glasses.

So many stories revolve in this small place. I focus first on the Asian couple, who are engrossed in each other after they take their order. The girl stands at an angle to the guy, leaning into him but not quite touching him. They seem to be interested in the glass window that showcases the dainty pastries. The pastries are an odd pairing with the tea, but the girl and boy are not. Without warning, the boy swoops in for a swift, silent kiss on the lips.

Slightly shocked and ashamed that I am watching something so private, I dart my eyes back to my computer screen, not breathing. I come back for air again in a few seconds. The girl and boy are now at the counter with the lighted menu. They are happy as they look into each other's eyes, not speaking a single word. I wonder what their story is-- how did they meet? Is this a romantic date, or a stop along the way to studying for the evening?

I assume a different story for the business-y couple. With their crisp shirts and hip, square-rimmed glasses, they don't quite catch my interest initially. Perhaps they are just there for a networking meeting after work. Certainly I can't make up any stories about them.

Then...from the corner of my eye I see a shimmer on the lady's cheek. Surely she isn't crying! I watch her more intently for a few more seconds. Finally, she takes a swipe at her cheek and nose. She is! Curiosity piqued, I lean in a little bit more. The man takes his Blackberry and shows her something-- a picture, an email-- and continues talking. The woman smiles through her tears and grabs the Blackberry for a closer look. Is she upset about her job? Is the man across the table her boyfriend? Did he just propose to her? (Okay, the last question is a long shot.)

Finally, I tear myself away and buckle down with my watermelon juice. But I can't help looking up each time the door opens and another person walks in.