NIGHT TALES 12
Tags: Night Tales, Fiction, Short Story, Literally Literary, Interview

One-Question Interview

One-Question Interview

“Do I look sad to you?”

I look up from the screen of my laptop to the woman who is parking her scrawny ass on the other side of my table. And I say “my” because I’ve been going to this café for more than two years now, and everyone (well, the staff and some regulars) knows that this corner table is where “the lady with the glare” sits.

I’m mentally debating what to do next, and I decide that I should just take all my shit and leave. I know that sounds rude, but the main reason why I kept coming back to this place is because no one talks to me here. The only conversation I tolerate here is with the staff. Every time I order, when they clean my table, and when I pick up the bill.

So when the woman approached me and asked me a question, she was ruining that one good thing for me.

I stand up to do just that when the woman starts reaching across the table to hold my wrist, stopping me from leaving the table.

“Leaving so early?”

This woman, who is still holding my wrist, apparently knows that I stay late in the café. I should be pulling my arm away from her now, she looks creepy too, but I’m surprisingly calm. In these kind of situations, I always lose my shit really fast, but for some reason I’m feeling pretty chill. Maybe it’s because of her question when she sat down.

Do I look sad to you.

Does she?

What’s in front of me is a middle aged woman. Probably in her mid to late 40s. She’s dressed fine, I can’t really tell if it’s good fashion or if her clothes are expensive, I mean, it doesn’t look like they are. A black button-down shirt that’s sizes big for her, black jeans, and black shoes.

She lets my wrist go, brushing her shoulder-length hair back, seeming embarrassed with what she just did.

I sit back down.

I say to her that I really don’t talk to people. Especially strangers.

“Oh, me too.” she answers back.

Oh.

That moment, Jessa, one of the baristas in the cafe, starts approaching the table then places a coffee in front of the woman. Jessa then throws a “are-you-okay-should-I-get-rid-of-her” look my way. I say no. Jessa just leaves with a polite nod.

The thought that was running in my head when I asked the lady what I can help her with was that my day was ruined anyway, so I might as well entertain her.

“I just want to know if, when people, you know, strangers. When they look at me, do I look sad?”

I think she looks miserable but I wasn’t going to tell her that. Though I wasn’t going to lie and tell her that she looks like sunshine too.

I say that yes, she does look sad.

“Oh.”

The woman looks hurt. I internally roll my eyes. Or maybe I was really rolling my eyes. Is she expecting a different answer? Maybe if she asked a different person.

I have to say I’m a bit disappointed. It was a curious thing, wanting to know how you looked in the eyes of a stranger. I like that idea. But now it looks like it isn’t what she wants. She wants validation from strangers.

For the second time that day, I rise from my seat.

“You know, you look sad too. I meant miserable.” the woman says, fidgeting. “That’s why you’re the one I approached when I can pick like, others here. I always come in here and I see you and you just look so sad that I just want to try if I can make this day okay for you? I just really had to try.” She says that not with spite. She says it like she’s sad for me too.

I say to her that I know what I look like.

I close my laptop, dump it in my bag pack, and then walk to the counter to pay. She can have that table, I’m never coming back here anyway.

The woman didn’t stop me this time.

Shame, I really liked this cafe.