She was just another old lady, sitting in the corner of a cafeteria.
To any casual observer, there was nothing to set her apart from any other well-dressed woman of her age. The place was always crowded around midday and this was just about the only reason she sat there now, sipping her tea. It was lunch time for many of the town’s workers and the hall was not only packed, but noisy. She didn’t mind the clamour of it, it was something she sought. In fact, the general hubbub of it all provided solace. Just sitting here made her feel she was a part of a society that she had never really connected with. Put simply, she was in her comfort zone. As peculiar as it might sound, she was not so much lonely, but a loner.
To say that she was lonely would not cover it; not by half. It had been the way of it with her since very early childhood. She had never found it easy to get on with others, to share their hopes and dreams, to care about their problems and personal misfortunes. There had never been the desire to want and find a childhood friend. That in itself being the intrinsic part of her character that had set a path for the rest of her life. She had often wondered how many others fell to this same malady; how many similar sufferers outside of her world spent their time and money attending sessions with psychiatrists and therapists. This was not something she would ever consider.
She had often given thought to the strange dilemma that had her both seeking and avoiding company. More than company. Wasn’t it affection that was missing from her life? What about devotion and fondness? Certainly no passion or intimacy had ever been there for her. She had never known a partner or even a close friend.
She looked around at the diners. All talking, eating and laughing. She looked at their ages and their dress, their obvious enjoyment of sharing and caring. She would receive occasional glances. What would they see? They would see just another old lady, sitting in the corner of a cafeteria.
On this particular occasion she was quite close to a similar corner table that was likewise only occupied by a single customer. It was a man of middle age, not eating, but occasionally sipping from a cup. He appeared to be intent on reading. It took several moments before she realised that he was actually reading braille. She watched with interest for some time as the blind man ran his fingertips gently back and forth across the page of his open book. As she sat staring, it struck her that she felt such contentment at being able to scrutinize him without the hindrance of any unwanted connection.
He sat for an hour. She sat for an hour.
In the weeks that followed, all she could think of was how she would really like to know what the word ‘love’ feels like.