Strangers

            I sat in the tacky cafe¾more like a cheap imitation of an American diner. Dim lights, checkered floor, and of course, vinyl seats. I half expected a waitress on rollerskates towhiz by, carrying a plate of burgers. I twirled my drink restlessly¾a milkshake of some sort, though it didn’t matter, not really. You know, I can’t really understand why people bother so much about small things, I mean, does it really matter what color your earrings are? Or whether, God forbid, one day you notice that you’re not color cordinated? People like that bore me. You know, kind of like those cooking shows. Who cares what you eat, as long as you get fed, right? And what about those „homey” shows, the ones where they give you great tips on how to make curtains out of old shoe strings; oh please. I mean, how can those curtains look cozy?

            I never understood family nights either. You know, the kind from the fifties. The cheerful Mommy, Daddy, and the two siblings who constantly fight (but love each other deep down inside) get together for a fun, cozy family night, full of games. Please, I can hardly contain my excitement. I really do hate that word, cozy. The way it rolls off your tongue, so short, and sweet. That’s another of my despised words. I’ve even made a list, though I lost it a while ago, it doesn’t matter, it’s not like I’ll forget. Now that’s a nice word you know, it always makes me think of a peaceful garden of some sort. I have no idea why, it must have been in a book I read.

            I glanced outside, at the pouring rain. I never understood why people hated it. They call it bleak and depressing. But I disagree, it’s my favorite weather. A bonus if there’s fog. A lot of it. Now sunny days, those unnerve me; so bright.

            I saw a couple hurrying through the rain, their umbrella helping in no way whatsoever in keeping them dry. They were carrying a wreath, and a bouquet of flowers, drooping under the weight of the rain. It was obvious that they were going to the cemetery next door. It seemed strange to say that. I mean, I’ve never been to a cafe (impersonating a diner) that’s located next to a cemetery. But why, why do peope bring flowers and wreaths to put on graves? It’s like kicking the dead people in the face; you’re saying that you can smell the wonderful flowers, and they, well, they can’t. You might as well laugh and throw a party while you’re at it. And what’s with all the fuss? „No, his favorite was the red carnation.” „Are you quite sure, dear? I always thought he was rather fond of yellow roses.” The person’s dead. They don’t care. They really wouldn’t care less if you put weeds on their grave. It’s one thing that I desperately believe in. You know, when you die, you die. And that’s it. No more. None of that flowery stuff. To be scientifically correct, you decompose and your body is used to feed plants with nutrients.

            The cheerful twinkling of bells alerted me that another person had entered the cafe. I cringed, and wished that I could rip those damn things off. They were like one of those really hyperactive people who just bounce around all day, being disgustingly happy. Those people are really phonies, whether purposely or unpurposely. Either they pretend so that they’re liked, or they’re truly disillusioned, and in that case I pity those poor souls.

            My reverie was disturbed as a guy about my age slid into the seat across from me, shaking the rain from his black hair. I stared at him, confidant that sooner or later my annoyance would be conveyed to him.

            I sighed five mintues later, pointedly making it loud so he’d get the hint and leave. I was tired of playing the staring game. Obviously he was no good at hints, so I broke the silence.

            „Can I help you?” Quite uninterestedly, hoping that he’d get the hint finally, and I wouldn’t have to make conversation.

            „No, you can’t. The question is, how can I help you? His reply baffled me, but I quickly composed my face.

            „What are you, some kind of salesman? Sales so low that instead of door to door you’ve changed your tactics to cafe to cafe?” I sneered.

            „No, I’m just someone who wants to help you.” He smiled, and it seemed as if his blue eyes laughed.

            „Well I’m sorry, my mommy taught me not talk to strangers, and you’re certainly strange.” I replied sarcastically. Sarcasm is my favorite way of expressing myself, along with sneering.

            „Yes, but did your `mommy´ teach you to be kind to fellow human beings and to try to aid them in any way you can?” I winced, and for a second an unknown sadness seemed to overwhelm me, and I felt as if I was drowning. But the moment passed, and my annoyance was replaced with anger.

            „No. Everyone can take care of themselves. Including me. In conclusion, leave me alone. Please.”

            „Why are you so cold?” He questioned, completely unaffected.

            „Why are you so annoying?” I replied, mimicking him.

            „You just run away from everything!”

            „No I don’t, I’m not, sadly, running away from you.”

            „You know what I mean!” He hissed, for once losing his cheerful exterior. See what I mean? Those happy people are nothing but a bunch of phonies.

            „I don’t.” I replied honestly. He was starting to creep me out. Maybe he was one of those soul preachers, who came  to try to reform me from my evil ways. I snickered at the thought and he eyed me strangely. Not that I care, of course. I hate it when people judge you, by the way you dress, the way you act, you know, it’s like, who died and made them king?

            I remember my grandmother used to give me those looks. The ones where you can clearly see that the person disaproves of you, but they’re not supposed to. Why can’t they just come out and say it? Much easier for both of us, if you know what I mean.

            I remember a classmate of mine, I despised him deeply. He would make fun of me all day. I don’t really remember what he called me; but I do remember that one day I got so sick of him and his whiny voice that I socked him. And I socked him good.

            Instinctively, my hands clenched. What can I say? I’m a born fighter. I’ve loved to fight ever since I can remember. Sure I take classes, but that’s not my favorite fighting, you know? My favorite’s the real kind of fighting, no rules, only pure action. All power and no formal stuff like bowing. I mean, why would you bow to your enemy? I’d much rather just sock ’em in the face and get it over with.

            With a sigh of regret, he stood up and left. Though I should have been happy, for some reason, I felt a pang of regret, and this felt so familiar. As if it was a photo, blurred and frayed at the edges, but still there.

            I resumed staring at the window, and at the multitude of raindrops, making their way down the glass, recording their last words. In the corner of my table, unnoticed before, I glimpsed a candle. The reason that it caught my attention was because I could see that it was wavering; the elongated flame almost invisible. I brought it closer to the shelter of my arms. I don’t really know why, but I’ve always been keen on not blowing out candles. Like on birthdays. I hate it when people blow out candles, which is why I don’t celebrate my birthday. I feel so sorry for those birthday candles. I mean, there is no point in their existence really, except to be blown out.

            I looked out once again, and I saw a couple running in the rain, holding hands. I could tell that they were laughing, and the sight just made me want to vomit. I mean really, can’t people find something better to do than run in the rain giggling? My attention was suddenly diverted to a figure moving quickly through the rain. I knew it was him. I could tell it was him by the long black cloak and black hair. I wondered where the annoying „salesman” was in such a rush to get to.

            I got up and exited the cafe, remembering to throw what change I had on the table. I ran down the street, following him. I always wanted an adventure. He seemed to sense that I was following him, because he sped up just a little, though he was still running in the middle of the sidewalk. Strange that he didn’t duck into alleys and such to escape me, but I didn’t linger long over this thought. I never lose, and I wasn’t going to let him get away anyway.

            The chase went on, and soon I realized that I didn’t know where I was; yet I couldn’t stop, I had gone too far. Besides, if I stopped I’d be completely lost; and atleast the stranger knew where he was going. We entered a park of some sort, and soon we were speeding past trees, tall majestic oaks mostly. I skidded to a stop in a clearing, and he turned around. I swear, not even to this day do I know if it was just a trick of light, or if he really did dissolve into the shadows of the trees. But I can swear that I heard him whisper right before he did that dissolving trick, and what he said, it was just one of the freakiest things in my life. He said, „This is what you always wanted, isn’t it?” 

            I kneeled on the grass, trying to catch my breath. I was dead tired. Might as well stay here, until I’ve rested enough to try to find my way out, I thought. I listened to the forest, but instead I found that I could hear nothing, nothing at all. It was starting to creep me out. It seemed as if the whole world was dead, and all that had survived was the trees and me.

            It seemed as if all my senses had been heightened to a supernatural level, and I could perceive everything. I saw the tiny cluster of dead leaves to the very right of the clearing, and the small mouse burrow at the edge, where the dead grass met the dark trees. I even saw every detail of the solitary tree stump in the middle. I saw the way it had been cruelly hacked away at a crazy angle; as if the person had suddenly decided in a fit of anger or despair to saw down a tree. And suddenly I was running, running from the darkness within and without.

            You might be interested what happened after that, how I tripped and awoke a few hours later, with a concussion. Surprisingly, I found that I had fallen right at the edge of the forest, and when I stumbled out on to a park bench I was even more shocked to find my best friend. You know, that’s another strange thing. I never understood why she was my best friend, and why she called herself that. I mean, I didn’t act like I was one to her, I always pulled away; but I think I understand now. After she found me, for the first time since I can remember, I cried. And for the first time I felt comforted. I’ll never know if he existed or not, but I know that if I find him I’ll thank him, and maybe apologize, though I still don’t regret those sarcastic comments, I still love sarcasm.

            I suppose this is where you’d expect me to say „And they all lived happily ever after. The end.”. But I remember something that my friend said on that park bench: An end is always another beginning.