I turned the pages and stopped at the Owl Cafe. Instantly, I thought of the times I had called the Owl and spoke to a waitress named Amanda. And with that, the feeling of serenity and that everything was going to be alright came over me. I needed to touch, to feel the Owl Cafe, not only to see it. Before that thought exited my head, my hand had reached out and touched the page. It was paper, nothing but paper with an image. But there was more to it than that. How can paper have so much feeling, so much emotion? It was almost telepathic. It conveyed more than what I saw. The pages projected thought, a connection. I could only assume that it spoke all languages. I don't know why that came to mind, but it did. And now, I have to ask, is thought a language? I can only assume that it is, because I’m clearly hearing the unspoken words of my mind. With all that aside, it felt good to touch the page. And for that reason alone, I need to go with it, to accept what it conveyed. As I stared at the Owl Cafe, a feeling slowly came over me. It wasn't a good feeling, nor a bad one; it was a feeling unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I felt a separation of being. I don't know how I knew that, but I did. And for the first time, I saw the Owl Cafe from within. I felt as though I was looking at its soul. That thought had never occurred to me, to think that an image had a soul, but why not? After all, the image is the shell, the imprint of a once living entity. So why does this surprise me? With all that aside, it felt good to touch the page. And for that reason alone, I need to go with it, to accept what it conveyed. And then, I heard it. Noise….noise that was coming from the soul of the Owl Cafe. I heard a bell ring, and someone said.
“Your timing really stinks, you know that?”
A voice I had heard but never seen. Instantly, I placed the face to the voice. I turned, and there she was, Amanda. She put the phone on hold, walked up to the cook line, and gave him a dirty look as she picked up her food.
“I still love you no matter what,” said the cook as she walked off.
The way in which she walked had never occurred to me. One thing for sure, her walk I liked. The gracefulness of her stride, the curvature, and strength of her back as she held all that food on a platter with one hand. It was movement I had never seen. I had always pictured her on the phone, smiling, looking around as she spoke to me, but never walking. Which is stranger when I really think about it. Often when I thought of women, I saw them walking, but not with Amanda, but from this day forward, all that will change. She walked up to a table, positioned the stand she carried with her other hand, and placed the platter on it. A homeless man walked up to her. She turned to him and said. “Leaving already?”
The man nodded, extended his hand, and opened it to reveal a few coins.
“Oh, no, that’s all right, honey. You be careful out there. Okay?”
Disappointed she wouldn't take his coins, he turned and walked off. Later that night, she walked toward the front desk, and then.....I don't know why, and I don't know how. I found myself watching her from outside, through the front window. How can this be? And there it was again, that warm feeling of acceptance. Walk with me; I heard from I don't know where, as warmth covered this exterior of mine. I watched her as she picked up the phone and could see her lips say.
“Hello, hello, oh great,” and hung up.
She looked down at the coins on the desk and smiled. Picked them up and clearly heard her say.
“Oh, how sweet.”
Frozen in that moment, as I stood outside in that parking lot, I waited as if I had a choice, as if I had the means. Silence no longer escaped me, as the inevitability of that very moment awaited. And as always, once I saw that moment behind me. I picked up my bike, took my five steps, stopped, and as always, I turned to see her glance but was invisible to no one there.
