Ever since my son's return, it's been hard for me to sleep. I didn't speak to him the day of the newspaper crisis and I hadn't seen him since. I've come to wonder if he was just my imagination. As these persisting thoughts have continued to swell my brain, the 12 hours of sleep I had endured last night seemed surreal. I was elated to learn that I had slept through the night and when I looked out the window, my day became even better. White flurries swiftly glided through the air before they landed on the snow infested ground.
I loved the cold. When it was cold outside I could cozy up in my battered lounge chair, next to the fire place, and read. And not feel guilty if that's the only thing I do all day. Before I got the free place ready, I wandered to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, coming to the realization I had run out the day before. That's fine I thought to myself, I will go into town and grab some.
There was only one cafe open in the whole town and I was the only customer. I sat down and begun drinking my coffee, with my book in hand. A few seconds later the bell on the door chimed and an older man came in.
I loved the cold. When it was cold outside I could cozy up in my battered lounge chair, next to the fire place, and read. And not feel guilty if that's the only thing I do all day. Before I got the free place ready, I wandered to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, coming to the realization I had run out the day before. That's fine I thought to myself, I will go into town and grab some.
There was only one cafe open in the whole town and I was the only customer. I sat down and begun drinking my coffee, with my book in hand. A few seconds later the bell on the door chimed and an older man came in.
"Hello," he interrupted. "Cold day, isn't it? What brings you out? I'm Herman Marshall, by the way."
Annoyed by his friendliness, I responded "I'm ClaraJean Mallory, and I came here because I thought I would be the only one."
"Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized as he got up awkwardly from his seat. I could tell I had hurt his feelings and felt a rush of remorse.
"No, I'm sorry," I said. "Sorry, ever since my husband died, it's so much harder to be in public."
"I understand," he sympathized, "my own wife died just a few years ago. I probably wouldn't be out here now if it weren't for my persistent children."
At least he had a persistent child to keep him from isolation, all I have is Daniel and I hadn't heard from him in weeks. I felt my mind slowly being infiltrated by the thought's and fear I have of my son. The man stared at me blankly, waiting for a response and I decided I better change the subject.
"Do you like to read?" I asked, pointing to the book I cradled in my hands.
"Yes, that's one of my favorites. I have to go to the doctor now, but if you're ever interested in discussing books or having some coffee, please let me know," he said, as he wrote his address on a napkin for me.
"Bye, ClaraJean. It was excellent meeting you!"
This was the first time in a while that I willingly had a conversation with someone and didn't want them to leave. I guess the snow changes you.
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