I woke up feeling great. The sun was streaming onto the bed cocooning me in its warmth, the sky was without a hint of cloud and I, sitting up on the mattress, felt like a normal person. I felt less guarded and less like I had things to hide. On days like these I liked to brunch at the café to celebrate this feeling, to drag it out.
I headed to Lenny’s, one of the nicer cafés in the local area. Maybe I could make eye contact with a good-looking waiter or a man sat across at another table. Today it would be the latter: a muscular guy, with dark skin and dark hair, but with the most alluring light eyes. Once we’d made eye contact for the third time I started to wonder if I was making him feel uncomfortable. Before I had chance to ponder it further, he gave me a flirtatious smile. But, before I had chance to smile back, someone had sat down at my table and stolen my attention. It was that homeless man, the one who always seemed to stare. Except now he really was staring at me. He tried a timid smile. I quickly glanced back at the handsome man, but he was gone. I sighed and looked at this man with no name, who I felt I somehow knew. I refused to smile back. I didn’t want to encourage conversation.
Poor guy, maybe he couldn’t help but stare. I bet he made everyone else feel as uncomfortable as he did me. I didn’t want to just dismiss him. I thought it would be unkind. Something kept me at that table, something more than just wanting to finish my omelette and latte. I was no psychic, or psychoanalyst, but by looking at his face I felt he may just have been riddled with even more pain and secrets than me. Of course, I wasn’t going to pry, I wasn’t going to find out about his life, because I didn’t want to. Above all, I didn’t want him to know about me. Yet I stayed there, and I surprised myself with how I looked right back at him as though I had no shame. Why should I move?
‘Hello,’ he said, and it seemed like he was attempting a smile again, but it still didn’t look quite right.
‘Hi,’ I said, stone-faced.
He was silent for a while; his head drooped down and he was gazing at his hands, interlocked and resting on his lap. There was something about his voice that I didn’t like, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. He looked like he was either in his late sixties or even seventies; his skin was dark and leathery, perhaps the product of having lived on these sunny streets for so long. His hair was long, sparse, messy and grey. He was neither skinny nor particularly big. People-watching was fun but this had begun to feel too close for comfort. He looked up at me suddenly, with a sharp gaze that startled me.
‘What’s your name?’ he said.
I was still stunned, and replied without thinking.
‘Silvia,’ I said.
‘Silvia,’ he repeated, and nodded slowly, as though deep in thought.
Oh god, I thought, I know this game – you’re now going to proceed to read my palm and tell me my future, right? Yaaawwwn. But after that he was silent once again, not looking at me. Should I ask him his name? I was about to, but he looked up suddenly with his piercing, sad-kind eyes.
‘Where are you from Silvia?’
This time I didn’t feel so startled; after a little thought I decided that if I was going to tell anyone a bit about myself then this odd random stranger could certainly be that person. I smiled, almost laughed.
‘Mexico,’ I said, ‘but my mother was Norwegian.’
Fuck. Why did I add the bit about my mother? I could have just said I’m half Norwegian, half Mexican, the usual spiel. Why did I have to go and mention her? Did it even matter? Why would it matter? He was just an old man who roamed the streets after all.
A strong gust of wind sent my napkin flying off the table, my body automatically followed to catch it. Suddenly the sky opened and rain started to pour down. I felt a sudden need to escape and the rain provided a perfect opportunity to do so. I looked back at him. He looked at me. I didn’t say goodbye. As I ran home, attempting to shelter myself by weaving in and out under shop and restaurant awnings, I wondered about the rain and about the man and his tired, sad old eyes.