Yesterday I was at my local cafe, sipping lemonade, reading a book and twirling the daisy I’d placed behind my ear.
A man with a great haircut and wearing a good linen shirt sat nearby. He had a book too.
He kept looking my way, clearly keen to strike up a conversation.
Picking a flower from the vase on his table he walked over and handed it to me.
‘For the other ear,’ he said.
Why thank you.
I indicated for him to sit down. I liked his looks. I liked that he was a reader.
‘You’re alone,’ he asked. ‘Why?’
Hey, why not. It’s a beautiful evening and it’s just too hot to be inside. Besides, I like it here.
He was okay with that. He was on his own too.
‘Divorced?’ he asked.
Yip. For a few years now.
He shook his head.
‘How could a man, any man walk out on you?’
A bit presumptuous, I thought.
‘Oh. I’m so sorry. What happened. Did he die?’
No. No. Not that.
I left him.
Dead, deathly silence. And then:-
He took back his flower. Downed his drink. Downed mine too. Started sweating.
‘Oh okay, right, get back to your book, sorry I disturbed you, there’s my friend, I gotta go.’
He tripped over the chair in his haste to get out.
It’s okay for them to leave us. It’s never okay the other way round.