I took myself to brunch at what has become my new favorite spot. They have the most incredible lemon ricotta pancake with blueberry compote for only $2.50 that basically makes you feel like you've died and gone to breakfast heaven. Not to mention the delicious bottomless coffee that you can even help yourself to while you wait outside because everyone in southeast knows this cafe is worth the wait.
Doing things solo gives you a keen ear to discern things you'd otherwise be too distracted to pick up on. When you're engaged in your own conversation, for instance, it is highly unlikely you will hear the remarks of the person sitting behind you. And sometimes the person sitting behind you makes remarks that are worth hearing.
I sat on a chair in the sunshine with my coffee in one hand and current read in the other and started hearing the conversation of the cute English pair sitting on my left. The gentleman was telling the story of his ex girlfriend who apparently got engaged a week after they broke up, a fact I failed to fathom that was then juxtoposed with the sight of two men flopping around doing a swatting dance in defense of a single bee. I thought I disliked bees but this was actual live farce happening before my eyes. The one gentleman worked himself into such a tizzy he asked the waitress to be moved to a table inside. After they left I saw the bee nestling the jam and the sugar on the table and I swear I could actually hear Rimsky-Korsakov's "Flight" playing in the background and the bee laughing silently at winning back his table.
As the English pair and the two gentlemen moved inside more people were seated behind and in front of me. Two women at one table, two men at another. Both, defensively discussing their relationships. "I just want to date, I don't want anything serious," declared one of the women. "Or that going out to dinner means you're going to have sex. I mean, seriously?" And at the bachelor table there was, "So then she says to me, 'You're just gonna leave and go do whatever you want and move on and be happy?'" And his friend encouragingly stated, "Well you just go do what you're gonna do and she'll go to India and maybe you guys will see each other later on when you're back and.....well, who knows."
The gentlemen, whose conversation far outweighed the volume of the ladies and thus grabbed my attention continued on with a recollection of a misunderstanding concerning a bartender and the India trekking woman's fake I.D. to which the seemingly disinterested ex subtley remarked, "She's a gorgeous young lady, that's for sure."
There is something about our pheromones that makes an attraction seem to withstand experience and emotional duress regardless of how we desperately try to ignore or destroy it. Those we hold inexplicable attraction to seem to always remain attractive in our eyes no matter the distance, time or strangers we use to nullify its existense. Perhaps this and this alone in all its simplicity is the reason guys and gals so often can't stay friends.
Eavesdropping on so many separate similar conversations I had a humorous revelation that literally made me laugh quietly aloud with the bee.
My story, while intensely significant to me alone, is not in fact unique or special but merely a mirrored copy of everyone else's same book.
We in our isolated self imposed individuality are missing this obvious truth.
Our heartache, our misfortune doesn't distance us from our fellow man but rather draws us nearer to them. The one who rejected you was in fact rejected by one he too loved. And the one you can't muster any interest in is bemoaning his loss over pancakes to another who also feels without.
Isn't it a deliciously comforting reality?
There is this profound moment in the movie "Anne of Green Gables" where Mirilla is convinced that her new houseguest Anne has stolen her amethyst brooch. Try as she might Anne cannot convince Mirilla that she didn't take it. Finally, as punishment, Mirilla tells Anne she cannot go to the picnic Anne was desperately looking forward to until she admits the truth of what happened with the brooch. So, after a time, Anne approaches Mirilla saying "I'm ready to confess." Anne then tells an elaborate story of wearing the brooch and accidentally letting it slip into the water. Thinking this truth will allow her passage to the picnic she is startled to discover Mirilla still won't let her go. When Mirilla shortly thereafter puts on a sweater and discovers the missing brooch she asks Anne why she lied. "You wouldn't believe the truth" Anne says.
So often people are convinced to a startlingly stubborn degree that they know the truth about someone, their motives, their intentions, their heart. They think they've figured out what you yourself may be unawares and use such presumption to then treat accordingly. Even in your attempts to speak the truth they, like Mirilla, can't believe it is as simple as that. So you, wanting to appease even the foolish, allow them to believe what they will. And only a few, the rare kindred spirits, will take the time to come back and ask why you didn't suade them from all the lies.
You won't believe the truth, you think silently to yourself and wonder if their ears will ever hear what they were so afraid to before.
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