Beautiful Things Seen Around Town
I sat quietly in the corner of the local coffee shop, tapping away at my computer as I attempted to tackle the mountain of ESOL work sitting in front of me. It was a bright, sunny, thousand-degree day, as per usual in this part of the world in August, and in my two years of life here, this had become a common retreat from the heat for my days off when adventures elsewhere were not calling.
It was lunch time, so the building was buzzing with the sounds of adults vying for their midday caffeine fix. A clearly-exhausted man in scrubs stood at the back of the line, leaning on an empty chair as he waited for his turn to order. Groups of teenagers stormed in, escaping from the clutches of their overbearing parents for an hour or two. Overworked mothers tried to juggle trays full of cups, strollers, and raucous toddlers hell bent on creating as much chaos as their tiny hands could conjure.
For an hour, my usually-peaceful retreat is transformed into a revolving door of laughter, hollered kitchen orders, spilled drinks, and a menagerie of strangers who surely frequent this spot as often as I do, yet I rarely see them appear in the same pattern.
I put my headphones on, turn up my music a touch louder, and keep typing.
THEN. Over the soothing sounds of my aptly named playlist, "What Valium Sounds Like", came the screeching cries of a young girl, a sound that can only mean one thing: tragedy has struck with a vicious fury.
I looked up to see what heinous crime could have been committed and saw the culprit at hand. The poor child was yet another innocent victim of physics as her pink balloon floated slowly but surely out of her reach until it reached the ceiling. She was crumbling to pieces, distraught over her lost treasure, surely lost forever. That's when a conveniently-placed, excessively tall stranger leapt into action. Moving without abandon, and with the commitment of rescuing a drowning puppy, this tall stranger was able to return the coveted pink balloon to the small girl. The tears instantly ceased, a shy "thank you" was said, and then he carried on with his conversation at his table.
I returned to tapping the keys of my computer.
End scene.
It was lunch time, so the building was buzzing with the sounds of adults vying for their midday caffeine fix. A clearly-exhausted man in scrubs stood at the back of the line, leaning on an empty chair as he waited for his turn to order. Groups of teenagers stormed in, escaping from the clutches of their overbearing parents for an hour or two. Overworked mothers tried to juggle trays full of cups, strollers, and raucous toddlers hell bent on creating as much chaos as their tiny hands could conjure.
For an hour, my usually-peaceful retreat is transformed into a revolving door of laughter, hollered kitchen orders, spilled drinks, and a menagerie of strangers who surely frequent this spot as often as I do, yet I rarely see them appear in the same pattern.
I put my headphones on, turn up my music a touch louder, and keep typing.
THEN. Over the soothing sounds of my aptly named playlist, "What Valium Sounds Like", came the screeching cries of a young girl, a sound that can only mean one thing: tragedy has struck with a vicious fury.
I looked up to see what heinous crime could have been committed and saw the culprit at hand. The poor child was yet another innocent victim of physics as her pink balloon floated slowly but surely out of her reach until it reached the ceiling. She was crumbling to pieces, distraught over her lost treasure, surely lost forever. That's when a conveniently-placed, excessively tall stranger leapt into action. Moving without abandon, and with the commitment of rescuing a drowning puppy, this tall stranger was able to return the coveted pink balloon to the small girl. The tears instantly ceased, a shy "thank you" was said, and then he carried on with his conversation at his table.
I returned to tapping the keys of my computer.
End scene.
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