It’s time for another story.
She couldn’t understand the worry on her friends face. It was discontent, She knew his circumstances, his recent job loss, the divorce, and the house in foreclosure. She understood all those things. Today was different. All the other things were ancient. What she couldn’t understand was his constant need to keep dragging up the past. In her mind it was over and he should forget that it ever happened. That was easy enough, right? For her, it was easy to detach – to leave her emotions at bay. She considered herself emotionally gifted. She never worried, cried, laughed, or became angry. She often became agitated, though it never gave for much concern. The loss of her parents and siblings didn’t really effect her. Her friend, on the other hand, was distraught for years. He still brings it up. For her, it becomes more a nuisance to discuss. She rolls her eyes, and she lets him know she doesn’t want to speak of the issues; not because she is trying to repress the memories, but because it annoys her when his eyes start to get wet and his nose starts draining. He suddenly needs a tissue and it wasn’t even his family.
She changed the subject. He still had the worried look even though the topic was light enough to make anyone content. He kept talking of his constant sorrow. He started to cry. She became more annoyed. She started to tap her fingers on the table. Her taps became louder and louder. Her friend didn’t seem to notice, although other patrons of the cafe started to stare. His sobs became louder. She stopped tapping. She looked around her and everyone was looking over, craning their necks to gawk at the scene. She breathed a heavy breath. He looked up and wiped his tears with the heavy cloth napkin. He blew his nose into the material. The sound was deafening. She pounded her hands on the table. She snatched the cloth from his hands. She twisted the cloth by its edges, gaining a firm grip until the cloth resembled a tightly wound rope. She took her aim and snapped one end toward his eyeball. She always had perfect aim and impeccable wrist control. She made a perfect basketball player, if she would have ever tried for the team. He screamed in pain. He immediately covered his eye with his hand. She couldn’t see the results right way, but she saw the blood trickle between his fingers.
He desperately reached for another cloth napkin. She handed it to him, in hopes he would release his hand from his injured eye. He took it and he took the bait and she quickly wound the cloth napkin and took aim for his other eye. He bled profusely. His screams echoed off the cafe walls. Everyone was panicked. He was now covering both of his eyes and the blood covered his hands. He paused a moment and looked at her in sheer confusion. She smiled a sly grin, “I just wanted you to stop crying.”