The woman couldn't believe what she just heard. That was the first time he cut her off that harshly.
The boy, judging by his previous encounters, had already prepared for the backlash his comment had caused. Though he had no idea what was about to happen, he knew something would go horribly wrong.
He sat in his seat with a stiff posture, waiting for her to begin her breakdown. But even after ten seconds, she didn't move.
He was beginning to think he might've gone too far, so much so that she couldn't even respond anymore. Sure, she had her fair share of moments when she wasn't exactly feeling her best, but so far, none of that was as bad as this one.
Seeing her with a diminished spirit that he caused made him act in a way he thought he never could. This time around, the one who attempted to strike up a conversation was he.
"Say, do you like, uh… uhm…" he began, though, that's all he did.
Even when he was supposedly the one coming up with something, he had no idea what to talk about. He wasn't the type of person who could fill such roles.
Come on, come on. She's waiting. Don't just sit here like an idiot. Say something. Quick! he panicked—face calm.
He pondered. Pondered and pondered. But nothing came to him. He was just sitting there, holding his fingers to his chin, trying his best to escape the embarrassment that overcame him.
Some time later, though, he found something.
The weather?
The topic everyone can use once they run out of ideas to make an attempt to connect was at the tip of his fingers. An easy way out of that humiliating space he was trapped in could have been taken had he just accepted it.
No, that's so lame.
But in the end, he rejected it.
This is what he is, what he was, and what he will always be:
A person incapable of becoming himself.
No matter how many other topics flashed before him. It could be about food, favorite color, a place to visit, or whatever; in the end, he refused all of them. Reasons range from being too basic, unnatural, or inauthentic to being inconsiderate. However, there was one question lingering in his mind he couldn't break free from. Even after he tried his best to bury it, the thought refused to go away.
.
What would have you done differently?
.
When the thought of that reached his consciousness, his lungs tightened. Air could hardly surface. He put his hand on his chest, forming a claw with it as the wrinkles pressed against his fingers.
Eventually, the air escaped.
He let go of his chest and cleared his mind, accepting his own limitations that held him back, no longer trying to think or agonize over what he couldn't do.
He was hoping that all his failed attempts at communication would fade into the background. She still hasn't said anything, so there was a slight chance that might happen. And if that's the case, he could just pretend he never tried to talk to her. That was the only thing he could hold on to; as if he'd lose even that, what else was there for him he hadn't failed?
As much as he wanted at least that not to bite him, though, his desire to remain unnoticed shattered to pieces in an instant.
The woman watched him.
Every hesitation. Every failed attempt. She was watching all of them.
Picking her head up, her hands clapped together as she said in a high pitch, "Did… did I just witness somethin' real?"
She wasn't jumping from excitement, nor did she find her discovery a major revelation; instead, she found it hard to decide what emotion her face should even communicate. She sat there, her expression caught between a blank canvas and a vibrant painting.
He didn't say anything, still digesting what had just happened.
While she was busy trying to sort out her feelings, she glanced at the boy. In his eyes reflected a picture of a frozen lake; whites and blues dominated. Her eyes blended with the frozen terrain. Colors mixed until the cold melted away by a majestic landscape of a waterfall falling into a river, all the colors present from the rainbow.
She put both of her hands on the table.
"It's ok. You don't need to hide what you really like," she assured him, her tone warm. "If you wanna ask somethin', you can just ask it. There's no need to feel embarrassed."
As much as she wanted him to understand, her words didn't reach him. He was too busy ordering the things inside to focus on whatever gibberish she was spitting. He just sat there, quiet. 'What was outside?' He couldn't worry about something so insignificant. She could say whatever her heart desired; it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Why was he even there? He didn't know. But there was no reason to. Eventually, this one too will pass like the rest, so what's the point?
Though, as much as he wanted to be somewhere else, he was still there. Inside the cafe. With her, the barista. No matter what, he couldn't change that. All he could do now was survive until the end. And then—
Wait, what's then?
No, no, no. He can't think of that. If something bothering, ignore and move on. Yes, the way he survived this far, the way someone like him could get by, he just had to do that.
So just do that! Do what you always do and wait until there's nothing left! What else can you do besides—
I mean… ahem.
What else can the boy do other than wait when there's nothing left to bother him?
The woman was still there, trying her best to keep their conversation afloat. Though, it looked like the ship had already sunk from the boy's side.
"I'd love to hear you converse with no restraint. Don't think, just say whatever comes to mind," she said, still wearing a big, warm smile.
A spontaneous conversation? he rephrased her.
The concept was so alien he might've thought she was actually joking. There was no way he could just say whatever he thought of. That was one of the few things both his mind and his body agreed upon.
What was there that stopped him? Who knows. But that didn't matter. Why would he worry now after all those years? It's too late to start now.
But the woman didn't let him rest. She persisted, trying to dig up the parts he might still have.
"Say you wanna talk about somethin' so badly you can barely hold it, but you feel it might strike a chord with someone in ways you didn't want them to, and instead of retreating back to your corner, you say it anyway. Wouldn't it be amezin—"
"No," he interrupted.
She just dropped her longest monologue yet, and it was met with rejection. He cut her off with no mercy. She delivered something so large in scale, and all he did was find the shortest response possible. The ultimate rejection indeed.
Though, if we are on the topic of his ways of handling redundant parts of his life, his solution to end the buzzing sensation was nothing more than an act, or to be more precise, he didn't even listen to what she was saying. All he did was grab onto one fragment of the conversation and push the ejection button that spat out a nonchalant 'no.' There was no emotion there, only a mechanical response to something invasive.
As much as he wanted to shut the woman down, however, his reply proved the exact opposite of what his objective was. By saying 'no,' he just negated his entire reasoning behind what he tried to say.
She won.
He said what he thought without filtering, and with that, he disregarded what his comment may cause in her. It was a losing battle. No matter what, he couldn't win against her. She read him like a book, and she didn't even try. How magnificent. The true power of an adult.
The woman's expression went back to a natural position, though, still slightly curled up.
After a bit of thinking, she opened her mouth.
"That's it," she said excitedly. "That's what I was lookin' for. See, you said something rude, and you didn't even correct or apologize for it. Isn't that so refreshin'? Talkin' to a woman like you're supposed to, doesn't that make you feel something in your chest?"
He listened to her; her words flowed and mixed together like an intersection of rivers. The origin was lost, leaving nothing but a bunch of untraceable mess behind.