Nostalgic.
Somehow, this scene feels rather nostalgic. Although, I don't understand how any of it can be. The smell of coffee, perhaps? No, it must be the sound of the rain, the song it makes with the wind and the trees.
No. That's not it, either.
I turn my head and let my eyes roam over my surroundings. A couple sips their tea at a table in the corner, a group of students hunch over their books near the fireplace, two long lines of people shift impatiently in front of the counter...
Ah, I see it now. Now it makes sense.
Two people are seated at a small round table to my right. A father and his child. The young girl bursts into peels of laughter at something the man says, and I find myself smiling at the scene playing out before me.
Wasn't there a scene similar to this?
No, there couldn't have been. The only place he took me at this hour was the library. Even then, the atmosphere was simply too--
"I'm sorry, Miss, but I'm going to have to ask you to move aside if you're not going to order," says the young worker with an exasperated sigh.
"Hm? Oh, sorry about that. Um, I'll have an Earl Grey Tea Latte, please," I say, dazed.
"Here you go. That'll be three dollars."
I look up at the man's irritated expression. "Thank-you." If anyone has the right to be irritated, it should be me. What was starting off as a good day has now--
Stopping myself, I shake my head.
No, that was wrong. No matter how much I tell myself that it's his fault, the other part of me knows better. There wasn't a point in trying to blame someone for doing nothing but their job. Yes, that's the truth.
I take a sip of my Latte, and sigh. I'd really wanted tea.
No matter. I wasn't picky, never have been.
Never could, is more like it.
I sigh, again. I sigh a lot, more than the average twenty-two year-old should, from my observations. Was he the reason, I wonder? Most likely, yes. Though, it isn't as if I'd hold something so unimportant against him now. I could never blame him for the way I turned out. It wouldn't be fair, even if he was the one who said I should.
Oh, how tired I was at that time. On that day. It was three years ago but I still remember it so clearly. I can still picture the hospital bed he lay on in my head. The nurse was being smooth-talked by him when I had walked in the room. He'd laughed and placed a cumpled bill in the young nurse's hand.
***
"Exactly, my dear. That is why I know you'll choose something good."
I remember counting the seconds until he used that smile.
"Oh, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble..."
Cue the smile.
"No, no. It's fine," the nurse had said. "I have a few minutes to spare, anyway. I'll be right back with something, don't worry."
"Thank-you, very much," he'd replied.
Having grown up hearing the same kind of conversation over and over with different types of people, I easily made out the smug shadow that hid behind his words.
"Oh, you're here, are you?" He beckoned me over to where he lay, and I smiled at the nurse who passed by as I took a seat next to the bed. "I told them not to let you come home for something like this..."
"'Something like this'? You had a stroke. How could I continue my trip knowing that you were here?"
He narrowed his eyes. "It seems as if you haven't learned anything at all after all these years," he said, irritated.
"Why do I feel like you're starting to talk in past tense?" I leaned back in my chair. "You know, you're not dead yet."
"Yet," he repeated, tilting his head back.
There was a moment of silence.
"Pass me a cigarette, will you?"
"You told me you'd stopped smoking over the phone."
More silence.
"Why did you come, Keira?"
I looked at his dark, baggy eyes and said, "Because I'm not as heartless as you wanted me to be."
My father stared at me unblinkingly. "No, you came because it's your obligation as my child." He said with a flat tone.
"If you know the truth, why bother asking?"
He looked away and focused his attention on the nurse who'd walked in. She placed a loaf of bread on the tray. "I couldn't think of anything else to say."
***
I toss the Latte in the bin and slip my hands in the warm pockets of my pea-coat. It was cold out, already. Soon, it'd be snowing, and the next thing you know, it's Christmas. Honestly, where does time go?
"Hey, sorry I'm late."
Smiling at the sound of his voice, I look up from behind my long auburn hair and say, "No problem."
Scott smiles and holds his hand out to me. "Have you been waiting long?"
I take it and stand on my feet, wrapping my arm around his and we begin our walk. "Not at all. I was just remembering some stuff about my dad."
"Oh?" he says, with that deep voice of his. "What kind of stuff?"
Sighing, I look to my right and watch the cars whiz by. "I rremembered the time he was in the hospital. His last days..."
Oh, he would have loved it here. Vancouver was beautiful. The amount of people here was overwhelming at times, for someone so used to barely populated locations. Though, I had a strong feeling he would come to love it as I do. He would understand why it was so different. He would understand why I loved it. Something that few people can do.
"Keira?"
"Sorry, I...got lost in my thoughts."
He chuckles, and opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted when his phone starts to ring. "One minute. I'll be right back." He answers his phone and moves to the side to avoid being dragged forward by the throng of people.
I keep walking, however. I felt the strange desire to be swept up in the crowd of bustling men and women. It was still early morning, so everyone was off to work, school, whatever it may be. The fact was that every one of these people had somewhere to go, somewhere they needed or wanted to be. So why did I feel so left out, when I was just another moving body? I felt as if someone could easily point me out when I was going forward as everyone else was. Why did I feel so aimless amongst them? Should this feeling of loneliness and having no where to go be so strong?
My mind went in circles as I continued to process these thoughts, not paying the slightest attenion to where I was headed. There was something so, once again, nostalgic about this feeling. I had done the very same thing before; thought the very same thing.
The day my father died.
