Embodiment of Sorrow

           “Hello, little miss.”

            The man had an Irish accent, one that would have otherwise started to seduce Inna under different circumstances. She only looked at the Irish man with her sad eyes while she sat at her table. It was an early morning in her town and the café had just opened up. From her experience during the earlier morning hours, she thought she deserved to eat a few delectable pastries and drink a few good cups of coffee. She turned away from the Irish man to continue to look at the twilight of the day, before the sun began to peek over the horizon. Coastal cities like the one she lived in gave the greatest sunrises.

            The man sat down at her table, pulling out the wooden chair, letting it scrape softly against the concrete upon which it stood. The sound of the scraping alerted Inna, but she didn’t care. She wanted to enjoy her sunrise and she knew that nothing else would interrupt her. But the Irish man persisted in looking at her; he started to smile at her for no reason. She saw this out of her periphery, so she turned to him to say,

            “What do you want?”

            “Well, I saw that you were lonely, and I thought that you might want to have some company.” He replied, his red-orange beard moving with his jaw.

            Inna studied this man for a period of time, staring deep into his eyes. It was a skill that she’d learned in her younger years as a teenager. Now that she was in her late twenties, her ability to read a person’s eyes and determine if she was going to be able to carry on a conversation with them was excellent. In at least twenty seconds or less of looking into someone’s character, she would know whether to leave them or stay and chat. Unfortunately, she thought at first, this Irish man was a perfect candidate for conversation. She couldn’t avoid a person like this. She could see that his intellect glimmered in his eyes as would the reflected light of a candle. She could see that he had brilliance tucked away behind his bright, blue eyes�"eyes just like that of her lover, Katya. His beard of soft red reminded Inna of Katya’s flowing locks of red hair. She would say the color of her hair was natural and that she never dyed it to make it look more vibrant, but Inna would jokingly and childishly say to her, “You’re lying.” Then, they would laugh.

            “It’s not every day that someone sits in a café at four o’clock in the morning.” He said. “Most places aren’t even open at a time like this. Do you know that manager?”

            “Yeah…” She replied, nearly choking out the words.

            “The reason I came over here,” His tone of voice changed from jovial to serious. “is because I saw that you looked sad, and I just can’t help but try to help someone in a situation like yours. It’s the nature of my mind, I guess.”

            “I’m glad that you excel in having empathy, but I’m really just fine.” She knew she was lying to herself by saying that.

            “We both know that’s a lie.” He said coldly. Her reaction stated her answer: an uncomfortable shift in sitting, a short twiddling of the thumbs, and not being able to look the man sitting across from her in the eye.

            “Should I give you the entire story?” She said as she returned her gaze to him.

            “We’ve got quite a bit of time. It’s a Sunday anyway…how many people are going to be at a café this early?”

            “I’ll take that as a yes…”

            “Go on.”

            “Okay…” She drew in a long breath and let it out before continuing talking. “My lover of two years, Katya, left me last night.”

            “Oh…I’m so sorry to hear that.” He said with as much sympathy as possible.

            “Bullshit you’re sorry…” She barked.

            “Hey, I’m trying to listen and help.”

            “You’re just trying to listen because you’ve got nothing else to do.”

            “Do you really not want any help? You’re still young.”

            She drew herself in again. “That’s something Katya would’ve said in a situation like this…”

            “You really loved her, didn’t you?” He asked. She nodded in reply, tears starting to form in the pits of her eyes.

            “I’ve had to deal with that same sort of thing…” He said. “It wasn’t she that left me…I left her. Oh, she was beautiful…like a goddess fallen from a heaven. Beautiful, lush, brown hair…I swear, it was so voluminous you could fit an entire platoon of paratroopers in her hair and still have room for a couple of tanks.” She chuckled. “Of course, I know it’s funny.” He smiled and continued. “Her skin was so soft, just like the softness of a rose petal. Well…when she took a bath, which was often, she would put rose petals in the bath water along with bubble soap. She said it was an old technique to keep skin velvet soft.”

            “I do that exact same thing.” She said.

            “The rose petal thing?”

            “Yeah…well, a lot of women do that, though. So it really isn’t anything special…”

            “It’s ordinary, in a way.”

            “What do you mean by in a way?”

            “I haven’t the faintest clue.” She chuckled again. “I speak in gibberish quite often.” He said. “I would probably qualify as fluent. But anyway…she loved to be creative. She wrote a lot of poetry and painted quite a bit…those were the two things that she loved the most, besides me, of course. She had one room in our house set aside for her creativity…she picked it when we bought the house. She marked the room with a pair of gloves that she owned. For some reason, she was accustomed to marking rooms in a house that she liked with articles of clothing�"it was strange. Well, funny rather than strange. But she would paint portraits of people�"it was something she loved to do. People and landscapes were her favorites. But she could never get impressionism quite right, which was something that enraged her, since her favorite artists was Vincent Van Gogh. I can’t tell you how many times she tried to recreate the painting, ‘Starry Night’…there were endless amount of screams of frustration that came from her room. But, I always loved whatever she made, not only because she made it and I loved her, but because her works were beautifully wonderful. And I just now realized this�"I never really told her that…”

            His eyes started to drift off towards the twilight, as if it would hold some answers as to what he could say next. But those answers never came no matter how deeply he lost himself in that purple-like haze that was the early morning sky. And she just continued to look at him; he was almost an enigma to her. Why had he come here so early? She’d been in this café this early before, and she’d never seen him here. Why would some stranger just start coming to a small café in a fairly deserted strip of the town? His presence here made no sense. Did he even make any sense? What could she even be sure of at this point? Since when do strangers come up to her in this manner? And since when are any of the strangers that come up to her capable of decent conversation? The longer that she pondered the situation, the less and less sense that it made.

            “Don’t, worry…I know that this is an awkward situation.” He said at last, drawing his attention away from the sky. “I don’t normally talk to strangers, nor would I normally come here this early, nor do I know why I’m awake this early to begin with, but I’m here for something. Whatever that reason is or was, I’m not sure�"but I think you’ll be sure.”

            “Why would I be sure?” Her voice shaking. He just smiled at her and said,

            “You’ll see.” He then took a napkin and a pen and wrote a few words before he stood up, turned the napkin over so that the words couldn’t be seen, mouthed the words, No peeking, and turned to walk away. But he stopped before he left her sight and turned to face her. She was still staring at him. Then she got the idea to look at what was written on the napkin. It read:

            Use your mirror to reveal the embodiment of sorrow.

            She pulled her pocket mirror out of her purse and looked at him. In the reflection stood Katya�"the man was her lover. Before Inna could turn to run to her lover with open arms, the man was gone. He hadn’t even run out of the door, he was just gone. He disappeared. He may’ve been imaginary, for all that she knew. But she returned to her table with tears running down her face, singing a song softly to herself. Her voice sounding the words,

           

            We live on front porches and swing life away.

            We get by just fine here on minimum wage.

            If love is a labor, I’ll slave ‘til the end.

            I won’t cross these streets until you hold my hand…

 

Then she smiled.

Reviews

[Faulkner]

A most intriguing write, vividly written. I absolutely adored the beginning, especially the line, "Coastal cities like the one she lived in gave the greatest sunrises.", what a way to set the tone! Reminded me immediately of a little café I frequent now and then, where, as you sit outside with a wee coffee in purple pre-dawn, the sunrise over the ocean is astounding. Living in a coastal town, this story instantly dove into my heart. I just love the doleful, yet hopeful tone of this piece. It is quite poetic, and those last lines are gorgeous. And the vividness of the characters in this is just too wonderful. Lovely write!

[Jibin]

Beautiful write, you're going on a different manner to describe things and all in all.
A good story, enjoyed the reading.
:)

[Lily Mae]

This is an excellent write. I really enjoyed the story.. I love the last line.. perfect..xx

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you for the amazing story. You can find a lot of mystery and odd friends at 4 am in the morning sitting in a coffee shop. I like the tale. The ending made this story a complete story. Last lines were amazing.
"We live on front porches and swing life away.
We get by just fine here on minimum wage.
If love is a labor, I’ll slave ‘til the end.
I won’t cross these streets until you hold my hand…"
Thank you for a entertaining tale.
Coyote

[misha]

Wow, great job. I love the idea you used!