Another part of this project that I did simply for myself, to try to get my head around the characters and who they really are was to write a short narrative about them. Enjoy, and I'll post another blog soon:
Sitting alone at a table in the most typical of coffee shops in the most ordinary town was a man. This man waited for nothing but knew something would eventually turn up, not for him but for someone else. Everywhere stood elements of the classic Italian coffee house; canvases with picturesque little shops with old Italian men buying their daily espresso, beautiful young women riding Vespas down the winding cobble-stone streets of Rome or Milan. All in black and white of course, it wouldn’t look nostalgic in the normal vivid colours of these places, despite the fact most of the customers were business men and women driving through or the locals who had never left the country. Contemporary glass ornaments sat in shelving units, filled with coffee beans that gave off such a rich aroma he could not help but take a moment to enjoy it. The deep brown wooden chairs and tables, along with the soft oversized armchairs that sunk almost to the floor when even the lightest person sat on them, gave the place a warm welcome feel. The clean, shining coffee maker resembled something you would find in a diner of the nineteen-fifties and although it should have seemed out of place it only added to the character of this quaint little coffee shop. Despite all the manufactured elements that made up this wonderful place, a place he could have stayed all day, there was one thing that caused not a break but a minor crack in the illusion. The coffee. Ever since his first visit to Italy, quite a few years back now, a cup of freshly brewed coffee never tasted quite the same. He was quite the connoisseur when it came to good coffee and had always found there was no better bean than the Columbian, straight from the plant and made as fresh as any coffee could be. Nonetheless, this cup of coffee was absolutely fine. It was the best in this part of the world in fact and so he found any chance to work in the area. Working was what he was doing today, but as it often was, work was scarce so he did what he always did, waited. He often got compliments from the women he met and twice already had been approached by women, both beautiful, who wanted his phone number. He had politely declined. They were attracted to his boyish good looks that while young-looking were also chiselled. He had long brown hair that he brushed to one side. The words most people described him as were “classically handsome” which had always made him laugh.
Once he had finished his first coffee, he placed the cup back to the saucer gently and called over the waitress. Long red hair tied back into a ponytail and a black blouse and trousers with a green apron tied around her waist, she looked stunning. In fact, maybe stunning wasn’t quite the word he would use. She was beautiful indeed but there was something about her that made her invisible to most men who visited the coffee shop. She would spend every day exchanging pleasantries with her customers and always get a nice amount of tips, but never for her beauty. This had led to a shyness developing within the girl that was all the more endearing to him and clearly to the man sitting across from him. As she walked over to him, she smiled sweetly and took his empty cup away with her, quickly returning with another hot coffee. All the while, the man across from him followed her with his eyes, love-struck and completely enchanted. Her pale flawless skin glowed in the soft lights of the coffee shop that seemed to reflect and bounce so perfectly off the countertops. He knew very little of her other then she worked incredibly hard and on her breaks sat at a table in the corner of the cafe studying.
Rooting through the inside pocket of the coat placed across the back of his chair, he took out a black book, around the same size as the average novel. It was leather bound and held closed with a piece of well-worn elastic, a piece of ribbon sticking out of the bottom of its pages, keeping his place. He took a pencil from the same pocket and, stretching the elastic over the book he began drawing the man that sat across from him. This man, so infatuated, was the perfect subject. In the twenty minutes or so that he was drawing the man he moved only to try to catch the gaze of the young waitress. It was done. Both pride and happiness escaped the man in the form of a small grin and once he had finished up some last bits of detail, he signed the drawing.
Moving his attention over the waitress, the artist turned the page and began drawing her too. She stood there cleaning the counter, completely unaware of her surroundings. Some of her hair fell across her face and as she ran her hand through her hair to tuck it behind her ear, he knew this was the perfect pose to capture her in. Cute and airy yet motivated. He sketched her head, then down her body and as he finished the drawing something changed in her body language. She was suddenly more aware of her surrounding but did not shift her gaze from the counter. Then, taking the pencil he signed the drawing as he had done with the other and as the pencil left the page in that spilt moment so did her gaze leave the counter. She looked directly at her admirer and a long, meaningful stare began between them. She smiled. He smiled. And as quickly as it had begun it stopped and she knelt to get something from behind the counter. The admirer was utterly disheartened and decided to give up on her, for today at least. He dropped a generous tip on the saucer in front of him and reached under the table for his bag, and leaning so far over he looked up. She was stood ahead of him, he could only see her legs but he knew it was her. As he lifted himself up from beneath the table he saw her holding a fresh cup of coffee and smiling at him. His face lit up and so did the artist’s. His job was done. And with that he stood up, placing the book back in his coat pocket and left the cafe, the happy couple behind him finally introducing themselves.
When the artist arrived home, before anything else he took the sketchbook from his pocket and made his way to the desk. Above this desk was a blank spot on the wall almost the perfect size for these drawings. Tearing them out of the book carefully, he placed them side by side on the wall with tacks. Looking at the pictures of these two people he smiled and his eyes wandered to the other drawings covering his wall. Couple after couple, some drawings barely held together for the age of the paper with the people on them sporting hairstyles and wearing clothes not seen for many years. Each a happy couple and each one of his happy couples.
