The Red Table Relationships

I walked by the coffee shop alongside the series of vertical windows and looking in to see if there were spots available — limited prime real estate. The room isn’t filled, and finding a seat at one of the tables can be secured easily. Normally on sunny days like this Sunday, the outdoor seating options are occupied quickly, but the persistent and cool breezes were reliable deterrents.

Upon the middle of three tables stood a lonely iced latte.

“Trouble Brewing”

Before walking into the quaint shop, one of the couples in the cafe are noticed. They’re sitting around at the table closest to the threshold leading to the counter. On the bench she’s sitting erect and slightly leaning forward. He’s slouching down in the metal chair, and his feet are outstretched. Both are on their cellphones.

As I order, while squeezing the lid on tight and after sitting down — they continue to intently stare at their electronic devices. It’s as if they’re determined to be the first to figure out the question to some answer, but they’re both losing.

The intermittent conversation bursts are very brief. They exchange a few statements each before furiously tapping their fingers on their respective screens. During some verbal exchanges, their gazes remained at the downward angle.

I step away from my table and return after a couple minutes to see the two still looking at each other out of their peripheral visions. This goes on for another 15 to 20 minutes, and she breaks the bubble surrounding them for a short trip to the garbage can.

The few steps she took connected with the floor with Hulk-like force. The material on the soles of her grey cowgirl boots with an ascending line of frills sounded as if they could shatter cinderblocks with a swift kick.

She grabbed her bag and clopped over to the door, opening it slightly. He didn’t look up.

She opened the door. He doesn’t look up.

She said something about running errands: I’m going… He feebly replies, but he finally looks up and stares blankly and in almost disbelief.

See ya, babe, he said.

Are you going to come?

He stood after hesitating to follow her as a stubborn child would his mother.


A the red table, the couple sat. At first, whether it was a date or not between the two glasses wearers had yet to be determined. The assumption — a first date. His right leg shook nervously, but his forearm stayed at rest upon it.

“An Inseparable Occasion”

She slightly leant forward in her seat, which was situated an the opposite side of the table. Her elbows rested upon the table, and her hands cradled each other to form a ball.

The separation of the wall made it difficult to determine the engaging conversation they were both clearly interested in. Instead of putting words in their mouth, the conversation, obviously, was secondary.

Throughout several occasions, he removed his glasses. The gesture didn’t last long, as he fixed them on his face a minute after. The habit replaced the nervous leg syndrome, which eventually eased to almost a smooth rocking.

He smiled. She smiled.

He lifted his right arm and his fingers fixed in almost a scissors position as he talked. The hand moved  forward and its forefinger caressed her knuckles. The appendage retreated to his leg again, before her hand could reciprocate.

He removed his glasses. He laughed.

She stood up and took two steps to his side of the table, where he braced himself. He sat up slightly more to safely and softly welcome her hug. The hug lasted at least a minute, which is surprising when considering their standing and sitting positions.

She then gave him a peck on his left cheek — and then a second momentarily after– before returning to her seat.

During the rest of the conversation, he removed his glasses for a storybook third time and replaced them.

She stood up first and he followed. They paused awkwardly, standing next to each other and facing the same direction for a minute. He took her hand. They walked.

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