Book of poems

“Clink, clink.”

The sound of a coin bouncing off the fountain rim and clattering to the street awoke him. Sunlight glinted off gleaming high-rise towers and caused him to wince at the glare, pulling back behind a mat of dark, curly hair. Buses clattered by, cars whooshed past, a siren blared in the distance. Crowds were already ebbing and flowing over the streets and around the buildings. Rhythmic, unstoppable.

Scents of coffee, exhaust, bacon, waste, and cigarettes blended in the warm morning air. He already felt that the dusty blue coat, while necessary last night on the bench, was a bit too thick for the spring heat, but was not willing to remove it. Slowly, he sat up, stretching the stiffness from his legs. Nearby, a few pigeons danced around in time with the syncopated music of a street musician.

Staring at their erratic movements that melded with the music reminded him of something. He reached deep inside a coat pocket and pulled out a little black notebook, and jotted a few words down on a page. The corners of the notebook were worn from frequent use.

A passerby flicked a cigarette butt in his direction, causing him to flinch. He rubbed his temples with one palm and slowly stood up. His head was splitting, struck by last night’s fading memory.

~~~

It was a Saturday. The morning rush was undiminished, but stretched over a longer time frame. The barista noticed a man in a dark blue coat slink through the door and slouch into a corner table. With his head on one hand, his fingers drummed the green checkered tabletop. He pulled out a small black book. She watched him stare out the window—however, his back was to the store front and he was facing a side window that looked directly at a bare brick wall across a narrow alley.

Several minutes later, she slid a cup toward his elbow. “Macc.” was scrawled on the side of the ceramic mug with a dry erase marker. He glanced upward briefly, dark brown eyes meeting her bright green gaze for a brief moment. Neither said a word. She turned and went back behind the bar, wondering if he even remembered last night.

He was a regular at the cafe, as he was their accountant. She had worked here for several months, and while they had rarely spoken, last night he asked her to join him at a bar several blocks over.

She rubbed her silver earring shaped like a willow tree and blushed faintly. When she was locking up the cafe last night, he had stopped her, the scent of alcohol heavy on his breath as he boldly invited her to join him. After several hours of drinks, dancing, and muddled philosophy yelled at her above the blaring music, she had left him smoking outside and took a taxi home.

She glanced over. He still stared away, blankly, thick curly hair hiding his face. She shook her head and picked up a mug.

~~~

He trotted briskly down the apartment steps and out into the street, his long strides keeping time with the music pounding through his left earbud, hands gently brushing a perfectly ironed suit and neatly coifed hair. As he passed under the shade of spindly tree that overhung the sidewalk, he noticed a man in a blue coat passing on the other side of the road.

A glint of anger passed between his eyes and his pace quickened slightly. He did not notice that thee man crossed the road behind him and entered the apartment building he had recently exited.

He recognized that coat. He remembered looking through a dense crowd, smoke hanging in the neon air, watching a fervent, prolonged kiss unfold.

Compressing his mounting rage, he kept walking. Stopping briefly for a scone, he hopped on the subway. The oppressive smells and sounds of humanity clamored around, engulfing him.

At his stop, he emerged, one with the swarm. Approaching a tall, platinum-hued high-rise, he rushed inside with the same brisk pace while glancing down at a watch that gleamed against his dark skin.

After a short elevator ride, he was outside her office, knocking.

“Come in,” came a faint, but fierce voice. Shutting the door gently behind him, he glanced toward the oak desk. A head of short, silvery curls gazed away from him, out a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the city. “Sit down.”

He remained standing. “I delivered it, just as you asked,” he said. Respect wrapped his voice, but a hint of annoyance flickered in his eyes. She turned to glance toward him.

“Good.” She nodded. A long, silent moment passed as she stroked the leather armrest of her chair.

“Why pay such a large sum?” He blurted out, surprising himself. “It’s not like those scribbles are worth anything.”

She tilted her head slightly and turned to face him again, crossing her legs. “When you are as old as I am you may understand.” She coughed slightly. “The world is an empty place. Full of noise, but these are mere echoes in the emptiness. When something fills that emptiness, if even for a moment, it is best to hold on to it.”

He smirked. “I’ve never heard you speak with so much sentiment before.”

“Death’s door has a way of changing people.” She retorted dryly.

“You’re nowhere near death’s door. Quit being dramatic.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” A smile played across her lips, but never quite reached her eyes. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, slim elbows resting on the desk. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

“You know that I never make promises that I don’t intend to keep.” He shifted uncomfortably. They both looked out the window. A small bird with blue wings and a white face danced past, ducking quickly out of sight.

~~~

The little bird fluttered down onto a warm, sunny patch of pavement. A girl with bright green eyes was seated on a wooden bench behind the coffee shop, tossing handfuls of bread crumbs to her winged friends. Her hand inadvertently rubbed her silver earring again. The sun overhead cast short shadows and filled the air with a warmth that made her grow slightly drowsy.

On the other side of the building, a man in a long blue coat walked past, a package and an envelope tucked underneath his arm.

He meandered with the gait of someone who has nowhere to be, but does not want to remain. Several blocks farther, he stopped suddenly as if struck, tripped forward and dumped everything that he was carrying out onto the sidewalk. People stared at him as they moved around him, especially as he aggressively ripped open the package.

He pulled out the little black notebook, flipped ahead to the very last page, and wrote frantically. When he reached the last line, he stopped, dropping his pen. He started at the page for a moment, a mist coming over his eyes. The street had become more crowded, and people pushed their way past him, staring. Slowly he rewrapped the book and picked up his things. Dark, curly hair obscured his eyes once again.

A little blue bird landed on a bench nearby and cocked its head, staring at him. He stood up and kept walking.

~~~

The following Monday, a nondescript package arrived at an office. A lady with short silver hair opened it with anticipation. She pulled out a black notebook and gently ran her fingers down the binding. Gingerly opening it, she began to read.

Several hours later, she closed it and looked up. Leaning her head back, she looked out the window again, tears in her eyes and a gentle smile on her commanding face. The man in the charcoal suit found her in that same position several hours later.

That same Monday, a large envelope was handed to a green-eyed girl in a coffee shop, who turned it over in her hand, unable to decipher the bulky contents. She was not expecting anything, and opened it curiously.

She gasped, nearly dropping the envelope when she saw that it was filled with money. She turned to look at the envelope again, but there was no return address. She took it into the bathroom and locked the door. Staring at herself in the mirror, she tried to take a few deep breaths and calm her pounding heart.

Finally, dumping the contents on the counter, she started searching for clues. Among the stacks of bills was a ripped corner of paper, with two words scrawled on it: ‘College Fund.’ She leaned on the counter with both hands and stared at the pile of cash. After several long minutes, someone began pounding on the door and she quickly swept it back into the envelope and left.

Later that day, someone left a newspaper lying on a table in the coffee shop. On an inside page was an article entitled, “Record deaths on intercity subway this year,” with a few odd photos of the subway station. One photo showed a bench in the corner, with a long, dusty-blue coat draped over it. The article mentioned yesterday’s ‘record-setting death’ when a young accountant fell, jumped, or was pushed onto the tracks in front of an oncoming train. Investigations were still underway. The newspaper was swept into the trash, and taken out later, where several small birds scrounged for leftovers of yesterday’s feast. Warm sun illuminated the alleyway. A nearby fountain had been turned off and was drying up in the heat.