The old lady

The old lady in white sitting by the glass wall of a café across the street had finally gotten some attention after her constant 45 minutes of struggle. She finally had someone bring her, her regular dose of caffeine to get through the day. Or was she there after having a crappy day? I couldn’t figure it out. But why would an old lady have a crappy day and be at the café alone? Isn’t she too old for that?  Was she married and wanted to get rid of her husband or was she a widow and being stood up after finally giving someone else a shot? Who could tell? Few sips of coffee surely killed her frown of 45 minutes. She seemed to hit back the reality. All of this time, I was depthlessly engrossed in drawing her misery and there she was staring right back at me or was she staring herself in the glass which perfectly implicated her poor spiteful and lost reflection? Her expressions were throwing glances of mixed unfathomable thoughts. She was sipping her coffee within equal intervals of breaths and she was bumming hard about something. For a moment, she seemed unwavering, ready to beguile the world. She seemed to have it all solved, like a Rubik’s cube. She seemed to have had a clean slate of her mischievous and manipulative actions that she was not proud of. She seemed to have a lived a life which had brought her either the extremities or nothing at all. All of this time, I was competing myself for her to give up and let the tears in her eyes finally roll down the cheeks. Man, she was a tough competitor. Again, she seemed competent enough to have led a successful career and a life she drew for herself. I did not think an old lady would put me in such a misery that I could not draw a conclusion. I was toast. But again, I had been failing to line my own dots let alone try and line up hers too? Yeah, that sounded pointless. I mean I thought of myself as an excellent judge of characters until I had been stabbed in the gut with a person of my own. Of course, no stranger can stab you right? He would be unknown and his actions would be valid and that is not stabbing. That is just a stranger being what he is. So, that really summed up my idea of being able to see people for who they are. Now how can I see that old lady for who she is? I did not know though what was it about her that had caught my eye since the moment she stepped in the café. I could feel the vibe ready to set transverse to hers. Man, this is just gibes I thought. Concurring my midlife drama to an almost 60-70 years old lady! But then are we really that different? What are the chances that I am not gonna be her in the next 50 years and another younger girl would be sitting across me trying to strike me off? I mean even now when I am surrounded by people, do even I have figured out the inner-me? I mean, the core elements that form my mind, soul, and conscious? Jabbering away the consequences of my action, am I taken seriously enough? The drunk-dialling, the slutty sexting, the outraging lashing out, the doleful nights, the suicidal wicked days, the falling in and out of friends and the constantly changing loop of lovers, I mean is it all worth sketching me out? At this point, I thought of snatching the coffee the old lady had been rejoicing over for almost 20 minutes now. All the way along, I was staring at her, watching closely every inch of her facial muscle and the tenacity of her cunning eyes. She got me tangled up in myself that I almost gave up on her. I was just about to head back then suddenly I saw her frown melt into a warm smile. I looked at the door and there he was, my father. I tried to twig her roots relentlessly and every time I was busted in my own. The Alzheimer’s wiped out her only child but let her keep the husband instead. No wonder I felt the uncanny relevance since she decided to forget me for once and all. Is it going to be me too I thought? Am I going to forget? Better make my every day count then. She seemed to be delighted seeing my father and he seemed helplessly pleasant giving me the pity-yet-beloved look.