Through The Lens | ✓

13

^ Camilla's Papa ^

Confusion. Bewilderment. Turmoil. What ever you want to call it. That's what I felt on Saturday.

It was at the small cafe on 31st Street. I was sitting at my normal table with my coffee in hand. No sugar, no creamer. Plain, black coffee, to go with my plain black outfit, because I was feeling dark that day. 

I took a sip from my bitter coffee, and burnt my tongue, the heat scaling my tongue.

Great start to the day, Camilla. Really great start. Next time, remember to blow.

I frowned at the coffee as I rubbed my tongue on the roof of my mouth, which seemed to help slightly.

I took the cap off my camera and snapped a picture of Finlay taking a bite of his poppyseed muffin. It was a perfect picture, and just yet another picture to add to my album. I put the lens cap back on and just stared at Finlay.

He took a drink of his drink, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he gulped the liquid. I watched as he put the mug back down and flipped his page.

But my body froze as someone shook Finlay's shoulder with forceful jerks, and my eyes traveled down to the hand. It looked oddly familiar.

Then I knew.

Pulling the covers up to my chin on the chilly winter nights, handing me my cereal in the morning, stroking my cheek as he watched me drift off to sleep, high-fiving me when we won a round of Wii Sports, holding my hand as he walked me to school, and holding the drinks that wasted his life away.

My papa.

Papa sat down across from Finlay, sitting a black bag beside his legs. A cigarette was balanced between his lips. He ripped it out of his mouth and threw it on the floor, crushing it with his big foot. I crinkled my nose in disgust, and anger towards his actions.

Who the hell does that on a cafe floor?

Finlay cleared his throat and started talking to Papa about something I couldn't make out. I watched them as they talked. My papa made big hand motions as he talked, like he always had. He pulled a big bunch of papers out of his bag and handed it to Finlay.

Finlay looked over the page, then gave him a firm nod. They shook hands, exchanging a few quick words. 

There was one thing, I realized, that Finlay and my papa had in common. They both were wearing suits that day. 

My papa was actually a successful business man before he decided to start drinking, and I figured he was just trying to get his business back together.

My papa looked around the cafe after saying goodbye to Finlay. Then he left the cafe, taking his icky presence with him.

Never even noticing his one daughter who sat straight across from him.