FIRST DRAFT

The lonely man
He sits by the window staring at the crowd, the passerbys. Takes a sip of coffee, returns his gaze to his lap top - a bit old, a bit slow, and the CD drive won’t open properly. He pulls the knitted hat down over his eyes, more coffee flows from the cup to his mouth.
His lips are cold.
His hands are shaky, the assorted beads he wears around his wrists clamber loudly, calling for some of the nearby customers to cast thoughtless glances in his direction. He slowly lowers his trembling hands to the keyboard, hardly able to concentrate on the task at hand.
How do you say this?
Around him, people talked about things people talk about. Waitresses waited on people, cooks cooked, drunks drank. And out side the window, passerbys.
Lesmizz09@hotmail.com, he typed it in slowly, now for the subject line.
What subject? How does one summarize a thing so simply? A subject, a subject. He could say ‘Hi! It’s me, Flynn’ or ‘Heya’ but this does not convey the seriousness of what he wants to say. Nor could he say simply ‘I love you’ for this would likely frighten away the other part, this Les Mis. How does one simply summarize a thing? To place so boldly a subject, a name, a purpose, when one scarcely knows the thing itself.
It is a fools game, no?
He presses tab.
“More coffee hun?”
The man nods. “Thank you.” He says politely with a smile. It’s easy, to smile with your face. To bring your voice to a pitch in which people find a note of joy or happiness. She pours the coffee with the professionalism of a woman who has been pouring far too much coffee for far too long a time. She speaks a word as if to reassure him that this is a pleasure, and walks briskly off to an old man in the corner.
The lonely man allowed his eyes to linger on the old man, his face is saggy, his beard is finely trimmed and his hair cut short, white bushes of hair hiding his eyes almost completely. He thanks her without a smile, barely a word.
The lonely man contemplates for a moment the similarities between him and this old stranger, who sits alone in a corner far from the window and most other customers. He wears a black button shirt and dress pants. Around his neck something glistens silver, the lonely man cannot see what it is. And as the old man raises the coffee to his lips, his eyes meet with the lonely mans eyes. Placing the coffee on the table, he raises a shaky hand, beckoning.
The lonely man allows a shadow of confusion to cross his face, and inexplicably, he found himself closing the laptop and putting to away. He takes his bag and coffee, wading through dining folk to reach this old man. He motions the lonely man to sit, and he does so.
“I’m William.” His voice soft and sweet, with gravel and depth. A sing-song tone that comes only with age and wisdom and torment. “I prefer Bill, young stranger.”
The lonely man shifted his eyes. “Flynn. I am, I mean.” His own voice deeper than most, but carried a lack of confidence, a sort of fear putting an inflection of incompetence in an otherwise authoritative voice.
“Hello Flynn.” He took a drink. “Why does a young man such as yourself sit alone, when there is so much world to see and so many women to love? Do you not have a brother who will sit beside you in your time?”
“I have friends, sir.” Flynn said, almost as a retort “I prefer to spend my time alone.”
“Plenty enough time for that in the future.”
“Pardon sir?”
“Plenty enough time for that when you are grey. You, young man, are much too young to be sitting alone in a corner, sipping coffee and thinking regretful things. You are in regret, aren’t you?”
“I am, sir.” He did not know why he spoke so openly with this elderly stranger.
“We all are, young man. Best to get and do something about it, boy.”
“Sir?”
“Regret is a thing that teaches us what to do, not what not to do.”
“I don’t follow.”
“What is it you regret.”
Flynn paused a moment, taking a sip of coffee to buy time.
“A great many things.”
“I know you don’t want to talk about it, young man.”
“But I do.” He said almost immediately, not quite knowing why himself.
“Then pray, tell.”

* * *