Hidden Views

Feeling stuck to this dark table. A book, phone and chapstick linger close by to this thirteen inch Macbook. I look past four friends who have been exchanging words of various sorts. Laughing and drinking the water-soaked coffee grinds that hard-working baristas have created. Locals we call em'. Beyond them, a wall sized glass barrier to the outside world. Automobiles, log trucks and fermented beverage trucks pass by restaurants with after hour bars, vintage shops containing old jewelry and someone's old valuables, as well as other small businesses.

It's fairly simple to veer past these images into a world unseen. My internal thoughts which are currently being bombarded with musical lyrics that contradict my actual emotions. A beautiful contradiction and annoying epiphany.

Coffee shops bring about the most unique of people. Theater majors hug the glass barrier, left alone to their imaginations and monologues. A middle-aged man with black glasses sits near a tall lamp to a wall near the back. He is focused on a stack of just-printed pieces of paper filled with words of entertainment, or rather words of enlightenment.  There are two women of unimportant ages sitting behind me. I am unsure of their conversation but it seems to be filled with hurry, frustration and friendly advice. Their voices ring out an echo of low tones through the open spaces of these headphones. I can feel their words fly into my back with a forceful strength, reminding me of the hairs sticking up on my arms, like soldiers halting in a formed line with their guns straight in the air.

Engrossment fills my ever-wandering mind, enjoying the contemplation of other people's lives. Where were they born, what amazing or mind-altering experiences got them here, what emotions created the personalities they uphold and maintain, or why they chose to come into this local coffee shop today. We all have a story enveloped inside of us. These stories can impact our lives in ways we never would imagine. Stories of hope and understanding. One time I met a man named, Talden. He was your ordinary change collecting, homeless man. The kind you meet walking on a busy downtown street in a bustling city. He had peppered hair and a long, red beard.

On a warm, sunny day, I asked this very man to take a stroll with me. He politely accepted. We walked past several people downtown as they watched us walk side-by-side into the city park. I sat down on a black, two person, park bench. With a suspicious look, he looked around the park, then at me, but did not sit down. "You can sit here, it's alright," I said. Slowly, he placed his glove covered, dirt stained hands, onto the bench and lowered himself into the metal barred seat.

........TO BE CONTINUED