DARIN HAYTON

Tag: Scenes from a Café

  • Yellow

    Yellow

    The woman sitting at the table outside is the only person not consumed by a screen. She divides her time between a book on Chakra Healing and the tiny dog in her lap, which she has wrapped in a blanket despite the bright, warm day. She looks up eagerly when anybody approaches as if hoping to see an old friend after a long absence. A wide-brimmed hat casts a dark shadow across the top half of her face. Blue-tinted glasses hide her eyes. A large, leather bag lies open on the seat next to her. Conspicuous among the jumble of personal items is the bright yellow journal poking out of the top of the bag. What does she write in the journal? Notes from her Chakra Healing book? Thoughts on the young couple that stopped to pet her dog? Sketches of what she sees? Questions for the person watching her from inside the cafe? She takes the journal out, retrieves a pen, pushes her book to the far side of the table, and prepares to write. For a couple minutes she stares off into the distance, wondering perhaps what to write. Then she changes her mind, cuddles her dog, and returns both pen and journal to her bag. She also puts the Chakra Healing book into her bag. She scoops up her dog still wrapped in its blanket, grabs her bag, and walks down the narrow street.

    Urban #231013.5. A color photo of a woman sitting at a red metal table outside a cafe.
    Urban #231013.5.

    A mile away, a different, slightly older woman slouches outside another coffee shop, next to two yellow plastic toy trucks she had carefully arranged on the ledge when she first sat down. She struggled with her phone, treating it more like a microphone than a telephone. Holding it in front of her, she would say loudly “I can’t hear you” and poke at the screen a few times. She would then quickly raise the phone to her ear and just as quickly pull it from her ear, saying once again to the screen, “I can’t hear you.” Her conversation continued like this for a surprisingly long time. Eventually, she stuffed her phone into her bag and wandered off, leaving the toy trucks on the ledge. I don’t know if she came back for them.

  • Business is slow

    Business is slow

    Seven women sit in the cafe. I’m the eighth person. Aside from the worker’s voice that carries, the room is quiet. One woman is writing something, her pen poised above a pad of paper. One woman reads a book. Two are working on class assignments — like most students, “work” seems to mean announce that they have assignments to finish, and then to talk to each other about non-assignment issues (e.g., “I’m looking for an audio version of that book I wanted to read” and “My Spotify smart list introduced me to lots of new music” she said as she put in her earbuds). Another woman just entered and put her stuff on the table nearest me. She ordered an iced chai.

    The three workers behind the counter pass the time by telling stories.

    Urban #230916. A black and white photograph of ghostly images in a cafe.
    Urban #230916

    Three more women just entered; an old man followed them in. They stopped to put there stuff on a table. He walked straight up to the counter, ordered a large black coffee — “No” he replied when asked if he needed room for cream — and immediately left with his coffee. The women order lattes, one with vanilla.

    So went the first hour of business. Maybe the incessant rain discouraged customers from coming in.

  • Seen in a Café

    Seen in a Café

    The old guy is asking questions, offering suggestions, and taking notes. He’s there with a young couple, planning the music for the couple’s wedding. At first glance he looks like the leader of some cover band, but he’s probably DJ. A full head of lovely silver hair, he is in his mid-60s and easily twice the age of the couple. She does most of the talking. Her fiancé sits quietly, nodding his support when she looks his way. The old guy directs most questions to the young woman. She fields even those the the old guy tosses to her fiancé, who seems overwhelmed, a confused spectator in his own life. The fiancé’s physical presence exhausts his role. His being there is evidence of his agreement with the planning decisions made this morning.

    Black and white photograph of three people sitting at a table in a coffee shop.
    Urban #230909

    She, by contrast, has arrived prepared and eager to engage. Consulting her computer screen, she emphasizes her responses with a chopping motion of her right hand. Occasionally her left hand reaches out to touch her fiancé’s shoulder, but her attention remains focused on the old man. She steps through various stages of the event: while guests are being seated, walking down the aisle, entrances, first dance, father-daughter dance. The fiancé nods appropriately. When he looks to the side to retrieve his coffee, fatigue flashes across his face. He shifts, uncomfortable in his chair. He doesn’t share her enthusiasm for this process. Will the fiancé remember this episode? Does the music matter to him? Maybe. Maybe not. The music will likely have no more of an impact on him than the flower arrangements, the menu choices, or the photographer whose serviceable but unremarkable photographs will rot in some drawer amongst a pile of other USB thumb drives filled with important memories.

    As they stand to leave, the young woman hands the old guy an envelop, she looks at her fiancé who, on cue, extends his hand and thanks the old guy. They say how excited they are to be working with him. They leave. The old guy puts the envelop in his bag, walks up to the register, orders an oat latte, and sits back down.