On a warm early-summer late morning, a writing session in my favourite café presented me with a unique, slightly emotional, observation experience. The coffee by my laptop completed the desired scene for my direct and peripheral vision’s satisfaction. Movement around, people walking in, walking out, eating, drinking, chatting, laughing, using their mobile phones, was also caught every now and again in brief, intermittent, scanning, acknowledging glances around the place. A big glass window by my seat provided light and space for glances beyond the walls of my immediate setting. Then, suddenly, a glance caught a scene that diverted all my attention from the laptop, the coffee, the movement, and all, towards a single table, outside. Here is how the scene goes:
An older couple, a man and a woman, grey hair, neatly and brightly dressed, both wearing glasses, serene wisdom surrounds them like a halo, sit at the table, opposite each other. Two cups of presumably coffee, or tea, in front of them. They sit back, in complete and utter silence. Their faces are expressionless but calm. They don’t say a word to each other the whole time. They look around in different directions. Sometimes one looks towards the other while the other is looking away, but their eyes never meet. There is no conversation whatsoever…or at least no conversation in a ‘conversational’ kind of way. No talk, no words, no gestures, no smiles, no nods. Just heads and eyes continuously moving in different directions.
They seemed comfortable and content in this silent co-existence, but the questions began to race in my head: “Are they having a mental talk? A telepathic conversation? Are they having their own self-talk?” Their faces showed they were deep in those. The questions continued: “Do they feel the urge to speak, and then pull back? And if so, why? For fear? Respect? Giving space? Taking space? Is this happening just today? Or is this the nature of their relationship? What stories do they hold, individually, and together? How much do they actually share? Do they feel the need or desire to share? Or have they achieved a higher level of communication? How did they get ‘here’?!!!” – there was a sense of serenity, although perhaps slightly troubled serenity, about them. The scene continues:
They finish their drinks, and then, as though they operate on a timer, they both stand up at the same time, so elegantly, unrushed – like they’ve done this before – walk to the till, pay for their beverages, and walk out, still holding on to the silence, still not looking directly at each other. They leave. Outside, they turn in the same direction, and walk, together, side by side, and yet, as it seems to me, miles apart.
Although, as a writer, I felt I had plenty of material for a story from this observation, I also felt a huge responsibility towards this couple; a burden to write their story in the most truthful way. Their silence seemed deep, peaceful, almost spiritual. But can I really be sure? Am I making any assumptions? And, as a writer, do I have the right to distort that multi-dimensional interaction (given that’s what it was) into entertaining ‘drama’? While there might be a hundred ways I could write this story, and many directions I could develop those characters, this one felt heavy, private, elevated, so high beyond my desires to transform the scene into script or prose. And so, this one will stay in the archives for a while, until the observation allows my inspiration to flow, and the story chooses to scream at me to be written.
Have your observations inspired you recently?
