With wavy brown hair and a cowlick right at the center of her bangs, Susan felt like her forehead looked like an uncurtained empty stage. Since she was a teenager, almost fifty years ago, she had tried to train her bangs to behave, to leave no empty gaps across her forehead.
With lovely brown eyes topped by now fading eyebrows, Susan could be described as pleasant looking; no more, no less. Not that she desired to excel in the physical aspect, but still. She considered corporeal beauty as one of those burdens over which a woman has little control and yet is typically a factor in others’ determination of her place in the world. Tuck in your tummy, stand straight, curl your hair, wear a colorful dress that shows your nice figure, but is modest, her mother used to say.
Something agitated her. Maybe she was restless, or bored. Maybe she drowned her coffee drink with too much cocoa. Or did she feel watched, even spied upon? And that tic his body made; it wasn’t just her imagination.
It felt awkward, in a way, coming into this café and seeing him there, sitting by himself, talking to no one. He often had a book with him, and always a pad of paper. Was he taking notes on what he read? Keeping track of characters in a novel? Studying or researching a scholarly topic? He’s probably studying me, was the thought that came to Susan.
Should I leave? Go to another café? No, she concluded, I have every right to hang out at the café of my choice. I will not be intimidated into finding another place. Besides, he seemed friendly enough. She’d walk in, see him, and with just a tilt of the head they’d acknowledge each other. Sometimes a smile and a “hi.” But never another word. Susan took out her book from her backpack. It was a recently published, very popular novel that had engaged her from page one. She had waited so long for the library copy to arrive and now she wanted to devour it at once. She opened the book to where she had left off. Words bounced around their sentences but, still, she kept her eyes firmly on the page.
