William is only in his mid-thirties but already has a receding hairline and a thin spot on the back of his head that shines in the sunlight. He’s more than a few pounds overweight and can barely walk down the block without stopping to catch his breath.
Every workday at noon, for the past month, William has eaten at the Main Street Cafe. He always sits at the table in front of the window and reads another book by Ivan Doig, James Joyce, or E. E. Cummings. Or perhaps he’ll just sip his cinnamon latte and slowly eat his tuna salad or chicken salad on rye and watch the crowd stroll up and down Main Street.
Now the cafe itself isn’t anything special. It’s the same one as in every other small town spread across America. Just another rundown café in another rundown town. You know the one with the cute little hand painted special written in neon colors on a whiteboard displayed on an iron tripod just outside the front door.
Inside the shop, the walls are covered with license plates from all over America and even a few from Canada and Mexico. Old photos of all the Little League ball teams they’d sponsored over the years hanging behind the counter along with amateur photos of people holding up huge catfish or posing with an eight pointer.
For William, the coffee is always a little weak and definitely overpriced. So most people wouldn’t even go there if it wasn’t the only café on the square.
But coffee isn’t what brings William here every day anyway. He’s here because he’s in love with Martha. Because he sees the real Martha, the way her curves bulge against the seams of her uniform. Her fish hook smile that can catch his heart and reel him in every time she flashes it at him. He’s here because of the warmth he feels in his cheeks every time she looks at him with those brilliant blue eyes.
He’s here because of the way he feels his heart pound against his rib cage when she walks close. Or the way the lump gets caught in his throat whenever she greets him each morning. The way his hands shake like an inmate on death row if she accidently brushes against him while clearing the table.
William has tried a hundred times to make the words come out but they just won’t dislodge from his throat. So he always lays a $10 bill on the table for a $5.99 tab and smiles at Martha before he heads out the door.
“What’s the deal with that William?” Charlotte asks.
“I don’t know, but I wish the hell I had the nerve to ask him out.” Mary whispers.
A great twist in the tale. I’m sure this happens every day, up and wown every land. Best wishes – Kevin
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sorry I meant, down!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Kevin for dropping by and for the follow. It is greatly appreciated.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are welcome, Jerry
LikeLiked by 1 person
Excellent. You get your endings just right, Jerry.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you my friend
LikeLike
I loved your story! In addition to the ending, the descriptive details were vivid and so spot-on. We’ve all spent time in those little cafes.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you. I am glad you enjoyed it. I was told by an “expert” once that I am breaking all the rules of short story writing by being too descriptive. He called me a ‘journalistic poet’. I thanked him for the compliment.
LikeLiked by 1 person
What?!?! Who would have told you such a thing?! Well, that’s why all writing advice should be taken with a pillar of salt.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Darn…I hate it when that happens! Good story.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are welcome!
LikeLike
That was amazing. Poetry and prose mixed well.
Based on reality or fiction?
If it were me I never would have talked to her. Just dreamed about her 😂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Strictly fiction. In reality, I talked to her when I was only 15 and we have been together since.
LikeLiked by 2 people
That’s an even better twist! That’s rare these days.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It runs in my family. My mother and father were the same way. At least my wife and I did not have 15 kids like they did.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Where’s my laugh emoji when I need it? :p hahah. Very old fashioned.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Married 44 years in September for me and my parents over 70 when my mom passed away. Man do we have some doozy family reunions.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow 😂 I believe it. Where from?
LikeLike
I was born and raised in a little place called Wakenda, Missouri. Population 150. It no longer exists, it was completely destroyed in the flood of 1993. I now live in Helena, MT.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Did you ever write about it? The flood.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Not the flood itself but I did write a few stories about the town. You can find one here. https://thebackyardpoet.com/2017/07/27/my-valley/ and here. https://thebackyardpoet.com/2017/08/26/the-town-of-my-youth/
LikeLike