he won’t have to shoutpublished: 2013-07-15
The sad man, or strange man, or creepy man – he’s all of those – talks to himself. Sometimes he tries to talk to me.
I’ll nod at him, or say hello. And he’ll jump up and lean over his table to say “oh yes, of course. I believe we met. Might I ask if you’ll join me for a coffee?”
And I always say, “sorry no, I’m on my way to work.”
I’ll make sure to keep my back turned to him for a while. Rejection is supposed to be a private emotion.
After a few minutes, he leaves his table to sit on a chair tucked away in a corner close to the toilet. He thinks nobody can see him there. But if I step back from the counter, I can. His eyes change, they turn inward. His face hardens. He starts talking to himself. It’s the incoherent mumble and mutter of insanity. In a couple of years he might be shouting.
Perhaps I should join him for a coffee. Perhaps if he can tell me everything he needs to say, he won’t have to sit in a corner. He won’t have to shout.