The Tea Party

It’s late in the afternoon. As I walk finding my through the deconstructed fog that surrounds the usually busy streets. It’s a bit cold, I told myself; could there be something out there for me to find? Strangely though, the air smells of newly trimmed grass as if the gray sky is not threatening to pour rain. My hair, harassed by the wind, is trying to shroud my face, as if it was trying to hide something for me to see.

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I took a few carefully measured steps before finally stopping about two feet from where he was seated. I stood there motionless for a couple of seconds as I felt my brain staging another battle for the opposing factions inside my mind. The tension had been slowly but steadily rising, and since I knew very well how those inner conflicts could render me dysfunctional, I quickly tried to snap myself out of it and leave indecision behind for awhile.

I ran my finger along my lower lip, somehow absent-mindedly, and felt for the lip-balm inside my coat pocket, noticing how badly chapped my lips had been from the cold weather. In a sudden change of mind, I decided to simply wet them with my tongue---probably afraid that too much unnecessary movement would spoil my concentration. I rubbed the palms of my hands briskly against each other, as if to liquidate the nervousness that was starting to get the best of me. After what seemed like a hundred years, I managed to gather all my courage and sat beside him. My feet shuffled underneath- so frantic that I could hear his every breath. Somehow, I contrived a way on how to get his attention.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know what time is it?” He looked at me and responded. “No, I don’t have the time.” He stared back at the glass. I do not know what that look meant, but perhaps, upon realizing that I wasn’t the person whom he hoped to be sitting there right at that moment, the expression on his face and the tone of his voice was like that ones of disappointment. He was probably waiting for someone.

There was silence for awhile. I decided to chat him up for a bit but all I got was a blank stare and some sort of a forced smile. I tried to catch a glimpse of his eyes cunningly. I was like a thief, trying not to get caught. I wonder what he was thinking that day.

I noticed he was tapping his feet repeatedly on the pools of water that have gathered around his shoes, causing ripples to traverse their surfaces and disappear within seconds as they reach the circumference ---only to be replaced by new ones that were helplessly chasing, but never catching, those that precede them.

“The weather’s not so good to be outside isn’t it? Aren’t you cold?” I asked him. He didn’t even bother to look at me or answer.

“Have you been sitting here all this time? What are you doing on such a cold, rainy day?” I asked as I watched him decorate the puddles with concentric semicircles.

“Are you waiting for the bus?” He looked at me and I tried to avoid his eyes by looking at my shoes, desperately fighting back the blossoming red of a blush around my cheeks.

“Yes.” He responded.

There was silence again. The wind blew a cold harsh breeze; I felt it burnt my lips. I reached for my pocket and pull out my lip-balm when I heard something fell. I tried to check what it was. It was 50 pence. I pulled my sleeves up to pick it up.

Alas, to my surprise, I was wearing a watch after all.