The permeating smell of yesterday's rainfall exudes certain confidence as I make my way downtown. The roads are still wet and slippery, the clouds still unsure as to what they'll do with their lives; whether they'll rain—again— snow, or let the sun have its way with us. But in the end, the sun wins, just as it always does.
It's what makes the residual snow beneath my boots a mere plush pile of slush, and it's what allows for the soft crunch to sound with each step that I take. It has a way of transforming the untamable—the sun—and its influences extend as far as the people that walk past me without so much as a second glance. They dodge and swivel through their man-made crowd so easily, unintentionally fall into step with one another, and are each easily distracted by the problems in which they'd have to dismantle, procreate, and eventually battle once more.
More than anything, they all chase what the sun appears to give away so freely: Warmth, control, acceptance, sanity.... yet neither of us is damn near close to attaining such things.
"Sweetheart," a man grabs his daughter the moment her little boot-clad feet steps foot out of the cafe, her wild, blonde, curly hair covering one sparkling blue eye. "You can't go running around like that in public, do you hear me? You can hurt yourself." He looks up at me, his stare just as oceanic as hers, and his pale cheeks tinted red. "Sorry about that," he says. "Terrible twos." He shrugs. "She's all over the place."
"It's ok," I say, humor in my voice as my eyes settle upon the little one. "She's adorable."
"Daddy," she whispers moving to hide behind his leg. "Daddy...mm-my hair." She points one short index finger up at me.
"Yeah," he stares back at me. "She has your hair sweetie...Maybe I should let her give me a lesson or two on how to properly handle yours. Hm?" His mouth twists to the side, and his hand brushes against the top of her head admiringly. "What do you think?"
I laugh nervously, suddenly conscious of the wildly intrusive strands that shape my face; my fingers pushing and tugging at them with much familiarity. I've learned the hard way that the only way to tame my fro is to leave it be, and hopefully, the little one will learn to love hers in its natural state as well. Though blonde, her hair is frizzy and curly, and darn right unrelenting--just like my own. But it's what makes her stand out.
Another person exits the cafe, bursting the bubble we've confined ourselves in; the glass doors swinging back and forth, beckoning me on. And it's then, we all give each other the look: The moment in passing look, the we won't meet again but it was nice to have a normal encounter look. We all know it well. And so as strangers with now recognizable faces, we reluctantly part ways.
"Well...you have a good day now miss," he starts, his eyes flickering between me and the feeble hands on his legs. "Come on kiddo."
"Yeah, you uh ...you do the same," I say, stuffing my hands in my jacket pockets. "And good luck!" I shout, just as he swings her up into his arms.
Her knitted hat slides down onto her forehead just as he glances back at me--a toothy grin on his face--and says, "I'll be needing lots of it!"
*****
The bell hung high above the café door jingles upon my entrance, the sweet aroma of freshly baked pastries, chocolate, and coffee swarming me in the sultriest of ways; the dim lighting, calming me, and the soft murmur of synchronized private conversations giving the air a lively buzz.
It's packed today—Jim's. I mean, it's always packed on a Saturday, but it only makes it harder for me to find my right-hand man. Peering over a few heads, I rub my hands together and puff air into them before spotting him a few tables away, towards the back of the cafe, near the empty stage.
YOU ARE READING
Benevolence
Romance"A part of me has always wanted to be punished, to experience pain at its highest degree, and to be ripped apart in every way possible for surviving the crash. But I was stupid for not knowing the extent of that wish; for not knowing that pain isn't...
