Eye Contact *ON HOLD*

The Dramatist

Maggie stepped out of the tube station and travelled along the London street, looking down at her feet so she wouldn’t have the worry of making eye contact with anyone. She was uncomfortable with eye contact. She trudged along, her hands shoved into her hand-me-down jacket, with patches on the shoulders and elbows. She twisted her fingers inside the pockets, shoving one through the hole in the left one before pulling it out again. She knew she shouldn’t do it, but she couldn’t help it.

She dodged person after person as she walked, being careful to avoid bumping or touching anyone. She shrunk further into her coat with each swerve of her movement. The coat was one of her last possessions, and she swore never to get rid of it. It wasn’t only that she knew she would need it, but also, in a way, sentiment. She had a connection to the object, and was reluctant to give it up.

She moved through a small crowd of teenagers before spying out of the corner of her eye a small coffee shop. She turned and entered through the doorway as another person exited, sliding by without touching the tall man. He turned and looked at her as she passed, but she paid him no mind. She slowly went to the counter and pulled a few quid.

“What can I do for you, dearie?” the small girl behind the counter asked, looking at her.

Maggie didn’t look up at her, just stared down at the glass panel before her.

“A small hot chocolate and a muffin please,” she said quietly, setting down the money and pushing it forward. The girl nodded, writing down the order on a small notepad and taking the money.

“No problem,” she said cheerily. “Oh, and your name?”

“Maggie,” she answered.

“Alright, well it’ll be just a moment.”

Maggie nodded, still not looking up. “Thank you.”

She moved away from the counter solemnly and sat in a lone booth in the corner of the small shop. She had just spent the last bit of money she had, and this was the first she’d eaten since breakfast the day before. After the fire last month, she had lost everything. The flat underneath her’s in Winchester had caught flame, and she had barely escaped in time to see the building collapse. Everything she had was in the home except the few things she had in her car. She wasn’t doing so well on money before the tragedy, and after selling her car and trying to find a new place to stay for two weeks, she was fired from her desk job. What little money she had soon ran out. She used the last that she had on a train ticket to London and the cocoa that arrived at her table.

As she sipped the beverage, she began to contemplate her next move. She knew she couldn’t pay for a place to stay, so her only option was to find work and stay on the streets until she had saved up enough to pay the first few months in a flat. She expected better options here than her old town, but she wasn’t completely sure where to go.

She was still thinking when she picked up her muffin to take a bite. A man entered the shop and spoke to the barista, and she nodded silently before going back to make his order. Maggie watched. The man had his back turned, so eye contact wasn’t possible. He didn’t move to go to another table, just stood there waiting. Which meant he wasn’t staying to enjoy his coffee, because he had somewhere to be. His long black coat, much longer than was needed, suggested that he was a bit of a dramatist, as did the way he swept it up as he entered the shop. He stood very straight, his hands shoved in his pockets and looking about the different pastries in the counter. As she watched, he called on the barista and asked for one of the baked goods, slipping a hand out of his pocket and pointing at it as he did. She noticed his long fingers and wondered if he played any instruments. Most likely something like piano or violin. He tapped his fingers on the top of the counter as he waited. Anxiety? No, more likely impatience. He had somewhere to be, and he wanted to get there.