Insane

Sitting at the corner of a quaint and cozy hide-away restaurant, a man wearing a casual pair of blue jeans has his dinner. Ever so often he peers out of the window to gaze at the blackened sea.

The Waterfront Café, a place that effortlessly changes its mood throughout the day. From a light-hearted breakfast nook that any person can quietly skim the newspaper and enjoy a plate of eggs and bacon, to a bustling lunch buffet where large families would push a few tables together and liven the atmosphere with their infectious merriment. The waiting staff would become part of a temporary family as the father orders steak for himself, a chicken dish for his lady and then interpreting his children’s orders as they rush to order all at once.

Then as the day turns into night, the café’s lights are dimmed to mask the light blue walls. Each table is visible by candlelight and every couple feels a sense of privacy for intimate conversation and hushed laughter that only the shrimp in their cocktails could hear.

However, it seemed as though the man hadn’t gotten the memo to fit in with the crowd. He sits alone, eating his chicken and pasta whilst staring out into the calm ocean. He rests an elbow onto a folded newspaper, that allows his body to angle more clearly at the scenery before him. Soon enough, he feels a presence sitting in the chair across from him.

“Mark.” The voice sweetly beckons him.

He looks up to see a woman in a nightgown – many times more underdressed than he is. He doesn’t answer but thinks to himself, Yes? She continues, “You don’t need to look at me, I understand... but lots of girls wear these now.”

“Yeah.” He scoffs.

“Yeah.” She agrees with him, “So how are things?”

“I’m fine.” He answers quite coarsely.

“Mhm.” She responds, “Fine.”

“How are you?” He asks out of politeness sake.

“Fine.” She mocks his tone. Then a playful smile reaches upon her lips. “But seriously, how are you doing?”

He pauses for a moment – mid-chew, thinking of what to tell her, “I’m okay.” He finally responds truthfully as possible, “The doctors believe I’m progressing bit by bit.”

“That’s good to hear.” She reacts, forcing a smile.

“Then again, they could be softening some future blow. While I’m laying there in the bed, they might surprise me with Congratulations, you have cancer.” He grumbles as he pushes around the food with his fork.

“Are you glad to see me?” She asks, “You seem mad at me.”

“No.” He replies nonchalantly, “I’m just feeling different today. Not mad… more depressed than anything else, Liz.”

“You have something to tell me.” Liz surmises, “It’s okay – whatever it is. It’s okay.”

Mark puts down his fork and rubs his hands together, “I’m getting old. I’ll be 50 next year and I haven’t seen my family in over 20 years and I want to see them again because I can see them… and in order to do that – I have to stop seeing you.”

“I know.”

“No, see – you don’t know.” Mark starts, “Because I still love you and I don’t know how to stop doing that.”

“You don’t have to stop loving me… you just have to stop seeing me.” Liz replies, she glances at the newspaper under his elbow. “You have to stop obsessing.”

“I can’t.” Mark covers his face with one hand.

“You can.”

“I can’t just let someone get away with it.” He whispers harshly, “How can I have children knowing that somewhere out there they can be taken away at any moment.”

“That doesn’t happen to everyone.” She reasons, “Much less, twice.”

“Statistics don’t matter. I don’t want to hear the percentage of how many people are safe every year. It should be 100% and not the majority. You knew me before you married me.”

“I did.” Liz nods.

“Right, you did.” He points a finger at her, “And how can I live life without you? What’s the point of getting married? What’s the point of saying together forever if I have to say goodbye – you know.”

“Don’t you want to see your family again?”

“Of course but – people keep thinking I’m crazy Liz and most times, I don’t care but sometimes it makes people lose respect for me. – God, why is this so hard?” He closes his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I came to the conclusion that I can do more good in this world – without you by my side.”

Liz nods solemnly.

He continues, “I could do what I’ve been doing for the last 20 years. I could come back here every year, go through the same routine, go back to the same place and talk to the same people who think they understand me. Most of them are liars, and the rest are basket cases. I don’t belong there.”

“You don’t.”

Mark looks at Liz sorrowfully, “You don’t exist anymore and I have to come to terms with that.”

“Don’t come back next year.”

“I won’t.” Mark tells her, resting his fork on the unfinished meal. He looks at the newspaper he brought. It’s clear to him now that it’s deteriorating because of how long he’s kept it.

The heading on the paper reads something he has memorized.

Wife killed in her own home while husband was at work.

Violent struggle, kidnapping, ransom.

“I feel bad.”

“Don’t.” She tells him, “It’s not your fault that you had to go to work. Everything that should have been done, was done. You’ve stressed and you’ve stressed over me for years. What’s the point of life is you can’t live it? When you’re still living in the early 2000s and everyone you know has moved on. They’ve grieved, they’ve made peace with it.”

He looks down, “It’s hard knowing I won’t get to see you again and talk to you again. I want this forever but at the same time, I’m tired… I know now, that you’re not alive. I just don’t know if I want you to go.”

“Saying goodbye is hard so how about I’ll see you later.”

Mark ponders it for a moment, “I’ll see … you later.”

“Now get up from your seat and follow the guys back to the clinic.” She advises him, looking over his shoulder to the two doctors sitting at the other table ever so often looking at Mark, “I think they’re finished with their meal too.”

“Yeah.” Mark apprehensively stands up, which causes the doctors to drop what they are doing.

“Did you talk to her?” One of the doctor’s ask as the other clears away Mark’s food.

“Yea.” Mark answers solemnly, “I think this was the last time.”