Phonecall

I sat back in my chair, and watched him tap his feet. Right, left, right, right, left, right, left, left, left, left. An uneven beat to music I couldn’t hear. Every time the door opened, he raised his head a few inches, scanning for whoever he was waiting for.  His stained smoker’s fingers joined in the percussive sound, a little pitter patter against the metal chair out of time even with his own feet. I wished I could hear his song, fill the gaps in his drumming. The tension of his expectation was nearly unbearable, a cheese wire stretched tight across the room. Others were beginning to notice, I could tell. The old lady on the other side of him had been staring intently into the middle distance, but now even she was focussed on his arrhythmic feet, tracing their motion was her tired eyes. He was looking at the door now, not trying to hide the interest, no sense now of that field of insolence that he had so studiously been projecting. Whatever this moment was, you could see the expectation changing him. He seemed to be coiling himself like a spring, preparing for motion, for movement. Then,  for an instant, his feet stopped and his fingers fell silent. A change of song, a different beat. The old lady and I caught each other staring at him, looking away in embarrassment. By the time I looked back, he was on his feet, making a bee line for the door. I glanced over, quickly trying to guess which of the new arrivals he was meeting, but he surprised me. Ducking through them, he headed through the door, and out into the night. Cursing myself, I  realised I’d been in the right place all along. My idle people-watching had distracted me from my true purpose. My reason for being here was sprinting down the street and out of my control. I jumped up, and fought my way through the crowd. I made it out to the street, and just managed to catch sight of him sprinting round a corner about a hundred yards down the street. He moved fast, much faster than I would have imagined. I took off in pursuit, abandoning the newspaper in my hand to the wind. The sound of music from the bar faded into silence behind me as I rounded the corner. I couldn’t see him, but kept going, letting the sound of running feet guide me. By the time I rounded the fourth corner though, they too had faded with nothing, and I paused to get my breath back. I stared around, and tried to get my bearings. I realised I was looking down a steep hill, leading far out of the city, a trail of street lights leading into the featureless night. I had no idea I was so close to the outskirts. The chase was pointless. There was no way of knowing where he’d gone. If he’d gone off the road, he could be anywhere. I’d never see him. I started walking back the way I’d come, resisting the urge to light a cigarette. Just as I reached into my pocket for my lighter, the shrill tone of a mobile phone ringing pierced the silence.

~ by grimbojones on March 28, 2009.