My newest adventure is underway. It has lead me to take up residency in a new blog,
Like the Feathers of an Arrow (affectionately known as LFA).

...don't open...don't throw away... is not disappearing completely (not yet),
but postings here will be limited.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

0 drawings

She spread the crumpled coffee stained paper out on the table in front of her.  Tears began to swim in her eyes.  Everyday for the past six weeks she had sat here and barely noticed him.  She was too absorbed in her work to even look up from the papers that were always scattered about the table.  When he first approached her to ask to borrow her sugar, she had mindlessly grabbed the container off the table and handed it to him without once looking up.  That had been the first week she had missed him.  The following week he had come over and picked up a piece of paper that she hadn't even realized she had dropped.  She barely took her eyes off her work, her gaze only reaching high enough to see his outstretched hand.  It wasn't until the third week that she had actually looked at him.  He had bumped into her on her way in.  She had barely been able to keep her grasp of the papers and binders she carried.  His voice caught her as he apologized.  She stood puzzled staring at his profile and then retreating form as he made his way out of the door.  The whole walk to the table she racked her mind trying to figure out why his voice had sounded so familiar.  It wasn't until the next week that she found out.  He came over to her table and asked to borrow the empty chair.  The voice registered once again and her brain finally kicked into gear.  For the first time she looked up and saw him, truly saw him.  Her voice caught in her throat, her heart fluttered in her chest, and her mind for the first time in months went completely blank forgetting the work that lay constantly spread in front of her.  She had smiled and nodded, unable to find her voice.  For the next two weeks she found herself unable to do work.  Everyday she did her best to come in, spread out her papers and notes, and pretend like she was engrossed in her work.  He plagued her mind.  She casually watched him out of the corner of her eye and became a perpetual klutz in the hopes that he might once again pick up something she dropped.  Nothing seemed to work.  He simply sat there scribbling or doodling or drawing or something on the paper in front of him.  As inconspicuously as possible she watched him.  Everyday his hand would fly across the paper, he'd drink his coffee, and then crumple the paper up, throw it away and leave.  After two weeks of watching, curiosity finally got the best of her.  She waited a good ten minutes before she got up to throw something away and casually took out his crumpled piece of paper.  She walked back to the table with the paper tucked in the palm of her hand resting against her leg so no one might notice.  Then she pretended to work again for a couple of minutes, her irrational thinking that she shouldn't open it up right away in case anyone noticed and was watching her.  She stared at the drawing.  Her hand reached out gingerly to trace the lines of the face that stared back at her.  She bit her bottom lip to keep the tears and the emotions that were suddenly bombarding her at bay.  So engrossed was she, she didn't notice the cafe employee standing next her.  "I think this one is his best by far."  She looked up at the employee.  "He draws everyday he's here.  The rest of the staff and I have been collecting them.  We have them hanging in the break room if you want to see."  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  She nodded and stood.  He led her back behind the counter through the kitchen into a small room.  There covering the surface of the walls were dozens of drawings.  She gazed from one to the next.  It didn't take long for her to realize they were in chronological order.  Holding the drawing she had skimmed from the trash next to the first, she marveled at how much the face had changed.  The emotions depicted in the first verses the last were so spot on and complete polar opposites.  With the crumpled drawing in hand, she went around the room holding it next to each image.  It didn't take long to spot the change.  She knew exactly what day that picture had been drawn and was entranced by how well the emotions were captured.  She stepped back from the walls and moved toward the door where she could take it all in as a whole.  The employee, gathering that she was done, spoke, "I admit I always thought it a shame that you never noticed."  She just shook her head as almost four dozen pairs of her own eyes stared back at her.