An Unfathomable Life

dos

Here are 6 facts about me:

1. If anyone's going to save the world from poverty, it's going to be me.

2. I like words. I like words a lot. Words consume me. This book is a collection of words about me.

3. My lucky number is six.

4. My birthday is on the twenty fourth of december.

5. Unless I'm using them for lists, I only write numbers with letters.

6. I like grey eyes.

I closed my book and pushed it away from me aggressively so that it slid on the small round diner table. I regretted it immediately when I realised the table was slightly sticky from God knows what.

"Was it mean to you?" A voice calls out. I look around the diner and realise that I'm the only one in here.

Apart from the owner of the voice, who's face just turned away from me while he carried on cleaning the table.

"What?"

"Your book, was it mean to you? Because you seem to be quite angry with it."

His face had still failed to turn and look at me which I thought was really rather rude.

I thought about what he had said quite thoroughly for a minute or so but I didn't understand. In what way could I be angry at an inanimate object.

I felt embarrassed as I sat there, blonde hair perfectly separated over my shoulders, the front clipped back like always.

I felt uncomfortable as I watched him, waited for him to turn around but he just kept scrubbing.

I felt overwhelmed as new music filled my ears from the speakers in the diner.

It was a music I had not come across before because I had never been here before. It was a small place, dirtier and cheaper than anything I had ever gone to before.

This was my way of trying to understand what it was like for people who didn't have enough. Didn't have what they needed.

And I felt wrong, out of place, out of depth here.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand?" And then I realised, because it was obvious but I just overthought it, "oh, it was a joke - wasn't it?"

"Yeah." The boy sounded as awkward as me. He finally turned, putting the rag he used to clean in the back pocket of his jeans.

His eyes.

His eyes were a swirling mass of grey and white, clouds taking over the storm, smoke rising over the waves, thunder. He was thunder.

These were the kind of eyes people wrote songs about.

The kind that could make people go crazy just by trying to unveil all the mystery and secrets hidden behind them.

It was him.

"Oh my god, you're him!" I jumped out of my seat and picked up my book, stuffing it in my bag - not taking my eyes off of his.

"I'm who?"

"You're him!"

"I'm him? Who's him?" He didn't recognise me.

"The boy!"

"The boy!? What boy?"

"The one with the guitar!"

"How would you know that?" He stared at me, really looked at me.

"Because I saw you play."

"You did?"

"I did, and you were really good too. I finally saw you after a whole day of searching for someone to give my money too." I sat back down.

It had been over a month ago, and it made sense that he wouldn't remember me because how would he? But his eyes were the kind of eyes that people remembered.

"What? Your money?" I wanted to hide under the table because I must have sounded delirious. Truly crazy. But he didn't look at me as if he regretted talking to me. He looked at me like he wanted to know more; that mixed with confusion.

"It's not important, it doesn't matter." I didn't want to tell him that I gave him £20 because I had no clue as to how he would react. Some people can be weird about those sort of things.
"I'm sorry, you must think I'm crazy."

He laughed. His laugh was exactly like I would imagine it to be. Warm and loud, instantly bouncing around the walls of any room and making it brighter. Infectious.

He sat opposite me in the booth. "I don't think you're crazy. You seem slightly weird, I'll admit, but who isn't a little bit weird?"

"That's true," I laughed. "But if everyone is weird then doesn't that mean they aren't weird?"

"How weird is that?" He replied.

"I'm Mandy Robinson, by the way."

"Mandy? Short for Amanda?"

"No."

"Miranda?" I shake my head. "Madeline?" He says the end of my name like 'linn' instead of 'wine' with an 'l' and I like his version more.

"No." Yes. "Just Mandy." Madeline.

He was giving me a weird look and I realised how crazy I must've sounded to him before. My cheeks were heating up and the whole situation felt awkward.

"I'm so sorry but I have to go," I said hurriedly and picked my stuff up again and got up for the second time while looking at my wrist as if I was wearing a watch.

I don't know how to read people because I'm not used to that but it looks like he's slightly disappointed. I even let myself think that he's going to protest but I don't find out because I never give him the chance.

"B...bye." I ran out quickly and tried to not let myself think about what I had just done.