Full breakfast
A family of three is sitting diagonal to me.
Mom asks the kid,“You all right, love?”
Then mom shows dad the picture which their son took last night. The tone of her voice says she is proud of the picture her son had captured.
They are having full breakfast just like me.
I have stopped midway to write. The moment which compelled me to do so was…when mom started Monday with her index finger, looked at her son to imitate her…he did; he opened the tiny index finger while the rest of his little hand remained closed: Monday, then on the next finger: Tuesday and then with each finger he recited all the days till Saturday. Then mom asked what comes after Saturday, the boy paused and then said Sunshine…and everyone laughed. I also did but not aloud, just inside…
The kid is using a plastic fork, which brings in a memory from my childhood — I broke a thin glass with my teeth, some glass pieces fell into the cold chocolate milk and some rested under my tongue. On hearing that breaking sound, mom jumped to me, cleaned me up quickly, inspecting delicately inside my mouth, ensuring everything is removed and from that day I was never given thin glasses. I had the habit of clutching my teeth around the glass, often I used to hold the aluminium glass without my hands and show it like it was some sort of magic.
The kid is amazed to see the blue lights above him, they’re hanging on the outside but he feels like they are inside and tells his mother that they should get this for their home.
The kid finds me amusing and stares at me every couple of seconds. Perhaps he is bored of looking at the same parents already. Our eyes meet once, and I don’t look away, he bends his neck under the table and again stares at me, checking if I am still observing him? I was, but then I look into my plate.
I get a feeling that he likes that I am observing him.
An old lady comes in with her husband, who goes to order her scrambled eggs on toast, while she takes the table next to the window and starts staring outside — her face resting on the palm of her hand which is standing tall elbowed on the table.
She just said Bbye to the that family of three and smiled like she knew them from ages whereas the reality is she just met them few minutes back and she didn’t even see the parents properly as all her attention was focused on their little son just like me. She was pulled in to observe him instead of the rain outside when he was running and stamping around. She had that look of sad nostalgia in her eyes, perhaps she was missing her kids or the times when her kids used to play around in her home. Perhaps she never had kids and was wondering if that was the right choice. I can’t know, but surely she has some memories or questions floating in her head. And those things are the real reason behind the delight she feels to see the kid.
She turned to look outside after a while. Physically her eyes are looking at the rain but now her mind is not in the present, not enjoying the rain — I’m sure of that, her mind is back in those memories…
Her nostalgia is not the same as mine.
I devour the last bit of poached egg; didn’t nail the fork in, rather slid it under the piece like a spoon.
I decide in my mind to learn to make poached eggs as good as this one. I recall the days when my life was simple, I didn’t know the difference between scrambled eggs and poached eggs.
I struggled a bit with fork and knife, despite knowing how to use them. I forced myself to have fork in my left hand as I had read it somewhere, but wasn’t sure what the actual rule of table manners was and wondered if under some conditions it was okay to break it, which I eventually did.
And now they have moved to the bigger table of four and they aren’t sitting opposite like young couples, they don’t want to look into one another eyes, rather they would like to stare at the rain from glass…have they got enough of their eyes, their stare is not romantic anymore? No. It’s the other kind, when you don’t need to sit physically opposite to feel the love, they feel the closeness without having to see their partner…
The toast wasn’t crisp, nor was the bacon but still I felt I had a good breakfast.
It’s all about the people and the little things, isn’t it?
