The Diary of Stella Peters

The Café

                                                                                                                                                Monday, October 5th, 1931

I sat at the café today, watching the world unravel through the smudged glass window. The place was crowded, as usual-too many desperate souls crammed into one tiny space, clutching their coffee like it was the last thing tethering them to reality. The desperation in their faces is palpable. They don't know what to do anymore, don't know how to keep going when there's so little to hold on to. Women beg for scraps at the butcher's shop, children's hands outstretched for food they'll never taste. It's almost pitiful. I've almost found it amusing, the way people act when they think they're losing everything. They become so predictable. Their fear smells like sour milk, hanging in the air around them. There was a woman at the counter, thin as a rail, her coat too big for her frail frame. She was pleading with the owner-something about needing bread on credit. He just shook his head, didn't even look her in the eye. The poor thing was nearly in tears, but no one around her cared. Why would they? They're all drowning in their own misery, too consumed by their own hunger to notice anyone else. The woman left empty-handed, and the moment the door closed behind her, it was like she never existed. The rest of the patrons went right back to their conversations, their hollow laughter and empty promises of things getting better "soon." How delusional. There's no "better" coming. Not for them. Not for Henry. And other people's issues and misery are not my problem. I never let it be. Henry, on the other hand, can't stop talking about it-how he want's to help, how he feels bad for them. He thinks that if we just hold out a little longer, things will get better. How sweet. He is just as delusional as everyone else. He also came home late again tonight. I could hear his footsteps dragging through the front door, the way he sighed when he thought I wasn't listening. He's always careful not to let me hear too much of his despair, but I don't need to hear it. I can see it. I can tell he's trying to hold everything together for my sake, pretending to be happy in this hellish reality they we're both stuck in. He acts as if I'm some fragile little thing that can't handle the truth. How ridiculous. If only he knew. When he goes into one of his ramblings about the "better" world that is coming or his desires to help people, I usually just let him talk, nod along, but my mind is always elsewhere. I see things differently than he does. I see opportunities. Where everyone else sees ruin, I see how I can benefit. This Depression is separating the weak from the strong, and I know exactly which side I'm on. Henry, of course, is on the other side. He's too good for his own sake. But I'll use that as I always do. I told him I went to the flower shop today, and of course, he believed me. I could've told him I went to the café  instead but it amuses me sometimes at the thought of how gullible he really is. Why not have fun with it? I even made up a story about Mrs. Carson, how she's having trouble with her rent again and how I felt so sorry for her. Henry's face fell when I mentioned it. He always tries to offer sympathy, but what good is his sympathy when he can barely keep a roof over our heads? I can see the worry in his eyes, how it gnaws at him that he can't do more. It makes me sick. He's weak, and I can barely stand it. But I'm patient. I've been patient for a long time. After I left the cafe, I walked through the market for once in a while. It wasn't because I needed anything, but because I wanted to see how desperate things had really gotten. The vendors are quieter now, no longer shouting about their goods because there are fewer goods to shout about now. The stalls are half-empty, the produce wilted and bruised. People crows around, hoping for something-anything-at what little price they can afford. It's almost laughable, the way they barter with whatever little they have, clinging to the idea that they can still control their fate. I watched a man with a long, dark coat. He stood near the butcher, not buying anything, just observing. He was too well-dressed for the crowd, his shoes polished and his hair slicked back like someone who still had some semblance of wealth. But there was something else about him, something sharper, more dangerous. He wasn't even there for food. He was watching. Calculating. I could see it in his eyes, the way he scanned the crowd like he was searching for something- or someone. I didn't approach him. Not yet. But I followed him for a while, just to see where he went. He turned down an alley near the docks, disappearing into the shadows like he belonged there. It's been a long time since I've seen someone who intrigued me like that. The men in this town are all the same- broken, defeated, desperate to stay afloat. But this man, he's different. I could sense it. Henry wouldn't understand though. He still thinks life is simple, that good people win in the end. He doesn't realize that men like the one I saw today are the ones who thrive in times like these. They know how to adapt, how to survive, how to manipulate the chaos to their advantage, sort of like me. I'll be seeing more of him, I'm sure of it. Henry, in the tidbit of his rambling I heard in our conversation, started talking about the factory again. He talked about how they're cutting more shifts, and how he's worried he might lose his job if things get worse. He tried to put on a brave face, telling me we'll figure it out, that we'll be okay no matter what. I just nodded as I usually do and let him ramble on while my thoughts went back to the man at the market. Henry doesn't see the writing on the wall, but I do. Things are going to get worse, and when they do, only the strongest will survive. I'm not going to let Henry drag me down with him. I've already started planning. I won't need much- just a few small steps to set things in motion. Henry thinks he's the one keeping this house together, but in truth, I'm the one who holds all the cards. And when the time is right, I'll be playing them.