Scribbler's Cafe

Haunted

I dreamed last night that I took you to my café. Everything disappointed you - from the décor, to the patrons to the depth of your drink. The bartender pursued me mercilessly, earnest and sweet. His gentleness repulsed you and you took me away from there.

You meant to take me to your restaurant – leading me through winding streets. I tried to tell you that those roads led nowhere, but you ignored me and kept walking at a fast clip. I had to hustle to keep up with you.

When we finally reached the place, it looked deserted. The wooden tables were covered with dust and the windows were coated with grime. The room was bathed in grey. I tried to protest, to describe what was before your very eyes, but you shot me a look of utter contempt. You were chastising me for not believing in you. You picked up a dry glass from one of the tables. As soon as the rim touched your lips, the glass became full of sparkling water and I heard the chink of ice. You set the glass down on the table and color and cleanliness spread out like a puddle around you.

In a flash, the restaurant was full of life and light. Every other table was taken – by families or couples. Waitress in folded white aprons slid around the room in a frenzied rush. What I was incapable of seeing before had now become fully visible.

I feel like a child playing at being a woman.

posted by Scribbler @ Friday, October 07, 2005