Slice of Life

I wrote this while at a cafe this afternoon. I've left the pauses where I apparently felt they went at the time. This is a glimpse into my mind. There are no incredible revelations or life-changing pieces of advice. Just simple observation.

The air is crisp. The trees show their true colors, which are reflected in the still waters of the canal. In the canals I can also see the blue of the sky with wisps of cloud strewn about. I feel the stones under my feet and the slight drip of my nose lets me know that it is fall.

My thoughts are so loud I fear those around me can hear them. Perhaps their minds are feeding into them. As I sit, my gaze is fixed and I am entranced. Occasionally the clink of a glass or an unexpected laugh brings me back to the table. I watch the curly redhead across the street as she gets her hair cut. The stylist twists the locks as she prepares to cut. I am reminded of my poor posture when my back begins to ache from my current position. My eyes are drawn to the cafe decor. Black and white striped walls are interrupted by large, colorful paintings from a local artist. I wonder if they will ever sell. I take a sip of the tea the shop owner helped me pick out and smell the berries as its warmth reaches my tongue. It is followed by a bite of cannebullar - the best I've tried in the city so far. The dough is a bit crispy on the outside, but moist. The cinnamon flavor is fresh and the pearl sugar atop melts in your mouth.

The two girls who were sitting in the Victorian velvet brocade chairs put on their coats and both look at me again, trying to be discreet. My toes feel the burst of cold wind as they walk through the door and they take one more look in my direction before strolling off laughing. Only my imagination will know what is so amusing about my appearance. A young couple walks by - each of their two children carrying a mylar balloon with unnamed cartoon characters.

Another bite of canelbullar. The redhead reads a magazine and the stylist takes a bite of a chocolate bar while the hair is drying. I admire the construction of the cafe's stools- designed for comfort. My mind wanders to all the dogs I passed in the morning's Oktobermarket. Each had such a distinct look and personality that barking was almost unnecessary, because you could already tell what they were thinking.

A woman walks in whose green brocade jacket exactly matches the pattern of the chairs. I wonder if she ever noticed. The scent of the next table's cheese dip wafts over with the shutting of the door. Looking out the window, I catch in the reflection of the blue van parked outside a little girl rolling about on the sidewalk laughing. She rolls far enough that I can see her plainly and she continues to laugh as her blonde braids peek out from beneath her knit grey cap. Mom helps her up as she walks by and the family continues on their Saturday walk.

A girl walks by with a mylar pony balloon attached to a small suitcase. She looks back in admiration and concentration so as not to lose control of the suitcase. Mom smiles and leads on. She reminds me of myself as I rolled my large suitcase through these same streets just two days ago. There was no balloon, but perhaps there should have been.

I stir my tea and the sugar from the bottom swirls around with the remaining tea leaves and I take a sip of the tea which is now slightly cold and slightly too sweet. I think of the coffee I was invited to share with a bible study group this morning when I showed up unannounced at a local church. I tried to mask the flavor with cream and sugar, but was unsuccessful in my attempt. I still do not care for the taste of coffee. It was the first time in this country that tea was not also offered. The tea light on my table is no longer flickering in its black glass cup.

I notice the black wall behind me is covered with two huge canvases. One is the Mona Lisa. The other is a picture of cows. The blonde couple on the couch embraces and the young man gently kisses his girlfriend's forehead. The server arrives with their food and she yawns unceremoniously.

A family walks in and eyes my table upon realizing they are left with only high tables at which they can sit. The clouds shift deepening the contrast between light and shadow. I guess the time is 3:00, but a look at my phone shows me I am ahead half an hour. The mother of the family asks something in Swedish and I am forced to reveal I am a foreigner here. She asks again if she may use one of the chairs at my table to store her things. I nod emphatically. I sip the last of my tea and take the final bite of canelbullar, making sure to get every last bit of pearl sugar. I use my finger to pick up the remaining three pearls. As if on cue, my phone rings. My face flushes wondering how long the call will take and whether I should take it outside for not. I try to answer as inconspicuously as possible and am relieved to hang up a few minutes later. Work.

I let the last few drops of tea run into my mouth and use my finger to remove a rogue tea leaf from my front teeth. With that, there is no further excuse to stay. The cafe is becoming more crowded as people come in for a fika. I leave my seat and bundle up before walking out into the brisk air again.

Greetings from Sweden,
~Molly