Page 52 - The Houseguest

HER
It was a rainy Monday and after all these years back at work, I was still following my routine religiously. The alarm went off at 5:30 and I rose mechanically, showered, chose my navy “Monday” tie, finished dressing and headed out for La Barista’s. Approaching the counter to place my usual order, the woman asked, “May I help you?” I was caught off-guard because the regular employees didn’t ask questions. They would just prepare my tall, black coffee and it was capped and ready to ring up by the time I reached the register. Most days, my head would remain lowered the entire time I used my card to pay before quietly turning to leave, cup-in-hand. There was a certain satisfaction in frequenting this particular shop, not having to perform the courteous social routine of exchanging unnecessary pleasantries. After all, they didn’t care how I was, nor did I care how they were...so why ask?
But she did ask. And so, it fell upon me to answer. Raising my head only to bark my order, I caught her stare. Suddenly, there was a disturbance in my soul, an imbalance in my psyche, a fury rising up inside of me and settling in my throat. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t speak. It was as though the room was spinning out of control. What was happening? Grabbing the edge of the counter, I steadied myself. “Sir? Sir? Are you okay?” Hearing her words echo in my head, I found my way to a booth and sat down. “Yes, yes. I’m fine.” I answered, though not believing it myself. She followed me to the booth and stood there. Lifting my head, I gazed at her face from inside my own personal bewilderment. Could it be? The voice? The persona? The size? The coincidence was too great to be real. But what I
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life