CAFÉ TABLE Comments

She was sitting in the middle of the café, with full tables
all around her. She was alone, and her gaze was lost
between the air and the counter, pretending to be attentive
to what was going on, as though something actually
was going on. She'd finished her espresso; and the glass
of water was still full, next to an ashtray,
which wasn't serving any purpose since she didn't smoke.

I followed the direction of her eyes, looking into the emptiness
that gathered in the place where mine and hers
crossed, in that white zone where
the cigarette smoke absorbed the conversations and
the clatter of cups. Then I forgot about her for a
little bit, in the illusion that she was alone,
until I noticed that someone was coming in through a door.

I didn't stay long enough to learn if whoever had arrived was
the one she was waiting for, or if she would continue to stare at
the blankness of the wall where a clock insisted on
telling the time. And I continue to see her,
brushing her hair from her face, with that gesture of one
who imagines that someone is about to arrive, without knowing
that the one she was waiting for had left her all alone, with me.
...
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