Controlled Falling

Ramblings, Writing / July 9, 2008 / John / 1

“Go on,” she laughed, her eyes wide and sparkling, “show me again!”

I gave a pretend sigh of long-suffering and dug the ten pence piece from my pocket again. It danced over the back of my hand, flickering in between my fingers like a ghost, before flipping up in the air, catching the light streaming through the coffee shop window in a blaze of silver, and vanishing, only to re-appear – this time – from between the pages of the battered paperback sitting beside my new acquaintance’s cappuccino.

She clapped her hands and let out a squeal of delight.

“That’s fantastic! However do you do it?”

I shrugged and smiled. “A lot of practice, a lot of spare time, and a lot of lost pennies,” I answered. “Look.”

I popped the coin onto the back of my hand and trapped it between two fingers. I wobbled it left and then right.

“It’s not really dancing, it’s just a kind of controlled falling.”

“I know how it feels,” she said.

I smiled and navigated the coin to and fro, slowly, considering the light patterns it cast on the back of my hand.

“It’s something I do,” I said, “something I’ve always done. Fidgeting with a purpose. I suppose it helps me relax.”

“Let me try,” she said.

I held the coin out to her. Our fingertips touched as she took it. A brief spark of connectivity – the passing of something between us. A blush and a smile. Dropped eyes.

“Ok, just balance it there, between your fingers. Now let it drop slowly to the left.” The coin hit the tabletop with a clatter.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for that type of fidgeting. Requires too much effort.” She thought for a moment. “I play with my phone,” she said, “for my fidget-fix. I can’t really work it, but I like messing around with it anyway.”

“I don’t have one. Can’t abide the things – I had one at my last job, but it seemed like I had no privacy any more. No escape.”

“What do you do?”

“As little as possible,” I laughed. She smiled and waited. “Well, I fix things mostly. Electronics. How about you?”

“Public Relations,” she said. “I convince people that the glass is always half full. Might have been more helpful to go down your route though – I have problems changing a plug.”

“Everyone has their gift,” I said, “I’m not much good with people.”

“Oh, I don’t know – you could dazzle them with your dancing coin trick!”

We laughed. I took a sip of my latte and she smiled over the table at me.

“You have a moustache.”

“I came in wearing one,” I countered.

“Then you’ve aged suddenly – it’s gone all white.” I dabbed at my top lip with a napkin. “Better?”

“I’ll have to think about that. You looked quite distinguished.”

I glanced down at the paperback.

“Stephen King?”

She blushed. “I like them straightforward. I have enough plotting and scheming to do to get me through the day.”

I held my hands up. “No criticism intended – I’ve read a few myself. It’s just that, you know,” I dropped my voice to a chilling stage whisper, “we’re in a coffee shop!”

She laughed again and instantly clapped her hands to her mouth, eyes darting left and right. Her hands came down, but the smile remained.

“Let them stare,” she proclaimed, loudly, “I’ll just pretend I’m writing an acerbic critique of pulp fiction in a modern setting.”

“While really enjoying it,” I added.

“Yes, while enjoying it, and grinning at the gory bits.”

“And drooling.”

“Ah, no, I don’t drool. Well, not often.”

We sat in silence for a few moments; a comfortable silence in which nothing needed to be said. A waitress clattered past the table, snatching up a tray left by the previous incumbent before scurrying off in a cloud of efficiency.

“Makes me tired just looking at them,” she said.

“I’m developing idleness into a new art form,” I smiled.

“I don’t think it’s possible to be idle. I’m always doing something. Even if I’m not. If you see what I mean.”

A brief pause.

“No, not at all.”

We laughed again.

“I mean, even when I’ve nothing to do and nothing I can busy myself with, I’m always thinking, watching what’s going on around me, that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean – it was just too much of a comedy opportunity to pass up, that’s all.”

She shot me a look which would have been withering if not for the radiant smile lighting the lower half of her face.

“So what did you think of him?”

“Him who?” I asked.

She nudged the paperback.

“Ah, the venerable Mr King. Actually, I thought he was a lot of fun. Something about vampires, if I remember. It was a long time ago.”

“I know the one,” she nodded sagely. “Lots of vampires. Lots of gore.”

“And drool,” I added.

“Oh yes, lots of drool. Almost as much as you had on your top lip a few minutes ago.” Again, the tinkling laugh lit the room.

“Your coffee.”

“S-Sorry?” I asked.

“Your coffee. Are you in the queue or aren’t you?” The waitress gave me a tired look, trying her best to avoid rolling her eyes. The woman behind me in the queue gave an exasperated sigh.

“Uh-uh-oh, th-thank y-y-you.” I stammered.

“Do you want milk or cream,” she said. Very slowly and very clearly, as though my inability to articulate in some way made me deaf and stupid as well.

“C-c-c-c”, the word lodged itself in the back of my throat; fully formed but unwilling to proceed.

She dropped a handful of of cream cartons on my tray and looked at the person to my left. I was dismissed.

I turned back towards the girl sitting by herself in the window seat. She glanced up momentarily and our eyes met, ever so briefly, before I dropped my gaze, blushing.

I collected my tray and looked around for a vacant seat, then walked towards an empty table for two. A quick glance at the girl revealed she was reading her book again.

“No sense dwelling on a fantasy,” I thought to myself, placing the tray on the table, “the words won’t dance for me.” I pulled a notebook and pen from my jacket pocket. “Controlled falling might be a start, though.”

Controlled Falling