Déja Scene

Another day at the Ratpack’s Café Lounge. Morning complaints, the weekly gossips and business deals, bouncing off every corner of the café. Customers were wearing suits and ties, skirts and blazers, chatting on their phones, ready for their week. Fatigue, tired eyes, the mourning disguised under the foundation and powder that lay around the house for years. I really don’t put much makeup on. The café filled up with customers by the second and puddles of coffee gathered at the countertops. The mugs became a blur, I tried to refocus my sight. It felt as though my temples played the percussion. The environment slowed down. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath in, slipped another pill and breathed out. Everything, refocused.

How may I help you? What can I get you, sir? How would you like you milk, ma’am?

Greeting customers with a big smile, welcoming them into an unexciting Monday morning, exactly what was needed feel better. My heartbeat quickened. My hands pushed faster. The receipts were disappearing one after another.

We were together almost 3 years now. He was really someone different. He is a man who never opens the door for women, but walks on the outside when strolling on a sidewalk. He doesn’t give money to the poor on the streets, but almost all volunteers at food drives recognise him. He isn’t a university graduate, but has a library of wisdom at home. When I first met him, he was the drunkest man at the party. Thinking to myself, a working man who’s drunk like that doesn’t have his life together. And he really didn’t, but I didn’t know why.

Footsteps echoed from the entrance to the cashier.

The sketches of our new page together, erased. He worked as a delivery man in New York City, and I was halfway across the world. After a couple of years of saving up and living apart, we planned to reunite somewhere quieter and simpler, in order to give and provide for those who needed the help. He parted ways with his parents, almost daily. His parents represented different business companies, Goldman Sachs, JP Morgan and occasionally Deloitte, which struggled with difficult clients, celebrities, like Penelope Jane, or Ross Rayer, in the city’s law industry. His parents were shaping and paving his future, handling disputes between employers and employees. He thought otherwise.

As the plane was landing, I could feel the excitement rushing through. The tranquil surroundings were foreign. The hustle and bustle settled into a barren hallway with a few passengers who were on the same flight. Standing at the edge of the waiting area, I looked at my watch on my left wrist. 30 minutes late. Chauffeurs were usually well-dressed with a black suit and tie, acting like the CEO of the vehicle. I lifted up my sunglasses and gazed through the aisles in the carpark. Under the 40+ degrees of heat, I wiped my sweat. I thought about going inside to wait, but I didn’t want to miss my ride. The sun started to be become intolerable, the rays aimed like a laser pointer on the surface of my skin. I looked at my watch again. Wondering why the chauffeur was so tardy, I took out my phone, to check if I misread anything. I gazed out, pupils following the deserted horizon. It was calm, silent. A muddy and dusted maroon car was striking towards the airport gates. Boy, what a road wreck. I thought to myself. The vehicle meandered through the carpark, pulled over right in front of me. No way, this is the man who’s picking me up. I took one step back.

The ride was twenty-three minutes, I was watching. My lunch was about to revert in the car. The ups and downs were parallel to the shaking up of everything in my stomach. The stable ground stabilised. I never felt so grateful for stable ground when I stepped onto the rocky driveway. Stepping out of the car, gave me a new breath of fresh air. The dizziness I felt gradually stabilised. I carried my backpack. There was a cool sensation that hit against my back, something was leaking. The water bottle must had opened during the bumpy ride. Luckily, my wet books and belongings were going to dry easily in this heat.

The door was moist and its spine rubbed against its metal screws. The crackle echoed into the empty corridors. I followed the instructions, trying to find the main office. I decided to wander through the corridors. Voices passed through the walls, sounding nearby. In the direction of the muffled sentences, I peered two corridors down. A chalkboard placed in the front of the classroom appeared through the small window on the door. Additions and subtractions, it was a math class. The students were in the corners, they were standing on the desks, paper and pencils were flying around. It looked like kindergartens at the cafe. Nowhere was a teacher.

A boy was sitting alone in the far corner of the classroom, next to the window. Knees to his chest, eyes focused outside, still as a statue. I knocked, I didn’t want to intrude. I entered the room, the students didn’t notice me.

Paper airplanes flew across, pencils and scissors covered the ground and pieces of clothing were being thrown all around. In the middle of the chaos was a little boy. His hair was neatly combed and his bangs were mowed down. He sat at the window still, looking out. The skies reflected into his eyes. I tapped him on the shoulder. Nothing. His eyes continued to watch the clouds and birds. “Excuse me,” I said. He gave me a quick glance, but reverted back. I tapped him again. Without looking, he walked away.

The students didn’t notice me at all. I was a ghost. I followed the boy as he walked away. His mouth remained silent. We ended up sitting at a river next to the school entrance. He was wearing white shorts with a ripped shirt. He sat down. Grass stains… I thought, but this boy clearly didn’t care. Next to the river, he continued to stare in the skies.

“What do you see in the skies, sweetie?” No response, again. His thoughts just lingered in the skies.

It was a bungalow, sitting at the corner of a small street. The front was decorated with old toys. The front gate was opened. I entered unaware that I was stepping into the hen’s den. The path led to the entrance of the house. The pebbles had gotten stuck into my flats. A tall man was at the door.

“Who are you?”

Answering the door appeared to waste a lot of his time.

“Are you the father? I’d like to talk to you about your son.”

He shut the door behind him, taking a step too close towards me.

“What happened? Don’t kick him out of class, please. He didn’t mean it.” It wasn’t what I was expecting

“Well? Don’t just stand there, tell me what’s happening!” His face was close. I wasn’t here to complain about his misbehaviour, I was visiting out of concern, I said. He shifted back.

“If there is no trouble he’s causing, then leave. I’m busy with other things. No need to worry, our family matters don’t concern you.”

Family matters? I decided to arrange another time to meet him.