Today's writing

I sat in the café and watched. Watched, watched. The old woman staring into space, ignoring her steaming drink. The guy on the cell phone, dialed into the screen rather than the daughter sitting next to him. The laptop warriors leaning into their LCDs. Did anyone pay attention anymore? Was anyone connected to what was around them rather than what things could be? Then again, was I any different?

 

“Hey,” Danny says now, “Kelly.”

 

I startle into awareness.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“First off, we have the fact that you invited a stranger into our cabin without even asking me. I mean, what the hell is that all about, Kel? Second, you’re staring into space and not even answering when I call your name like 20 times. Third, you’re not usually spacey and you hate strangers, so what’s going on here?”

 

“It’s just – I mean –”

 

What is going on with me?

 

“You know what? I miss your mom.”

 

There is truth there. Enough to where I’m not guilty saying it. Truth there, but not total truth. Does any of us actually tell that? The truth is hard to buy. It’s even harder to sell. You can take it in trade, but even then there is something lacking.