After many weeks of sitting by myself, writing quietly in a quiet house, thirsty for some newness, I made my way to a local café by the sea. I found a nice sofa with no one around and opened my note book to a blank page. Took the cap off my pen and leant back into the softness of the cushion on my seat, appreciating the salt in the breeze and the gentle lapping of the sea. Just then a trendy young couple sauntered in and settled on the lounge chairs in front of me, exactly between the sea and me.  Frilly bikini top and fake eye-lashes, beach bod and all. Tall hunk of a guy next to her, who seemingly spoke only in murmurs. They ordered their brunch and as soon as the waiter left, a sharp feminine ‘you can be so rude. Sha’aap’ erupted out of a largely hush-hush conversation.

The air in my corner of the café tightened as multiple furrows appeared on her lovely forehead. Just as I was about to cover my ears with head-phones, she stood up and stomped out.

That was my first laugh of the day.

It was loud enough that other guests might have heard it but it happened without a notice or warning. I was simply the observer. Not judging. Not making snide remarks. Being present. Documenting.  Smiling.

Five minutes later she returned with a big plastic bottle of water, hiding her red eyes behind her Victoria Beckham’esque sun-glasses. The red tip of her nose and deep pink peaks of her cheeks gave her story away. Her pumped up lips had lost every curve and had become a pale pink ‘equal to’ sign. She sat down and pulled her knees up into her chest, her feet resting on the edge of the seat. Her head buried deep inside the latest slab of I-phone held in her right hand, a tender-leafy-twig-tattoo snaking across the back of it. 

Her pancakes arrived. She angrily poured all the maple syrup on them and started shoving bits stuck on the end of a fork into her mouth. The plate was cleaned out in one minute.

Her chilled bottle of water was forming a little pool at its base. The green smoothie was executed next. The silence around that table was stunning. Not the type I had hoped for but definitely good for writing.

He stared straight at the sea between mouthfuls of his three-egg-omelette and orange juice. When he finished, out came his slab and his head turned down by ninety degrees. She rolled tobacco in a white skin with a white filter as her fingers negotiated the movement of the sea-breeze. Her nail-beds were tiny, as if bitten off by shiny young teeth before they had a chance to grow. Her lighter struggled to light the cigarette. She smoked as she studied the sea. Her right hand still holding the moving images on her slab. For the next half an hour, they both were engrossed in their own respective distant worlds with no need for any exchange of any kind. The silence around them relaxed over that time. They paid the bill and walked out hand in hand, everything alright with the world again.

That was my second laugh of the day.