Sunday, 6 March 2016

Cat in The Attic 3

almost


Mary opened the door; doing this took more of her strength than she was aware of  - yet the door would have opened for her even without her trying.

She looked at the man whom she had never seen before - except once, before they both existed.

She tried to speak.

She wanted to say hello, but no words came.

The man wanted to say hello too, but he only knew how to write.

Neither would really have the words they needed until the coffee had brought them to this point, had been drunk.


And the smell.

The cat (please say you haven’t forgotten), rubbed against Mary’s legs and as both Mary and the Man looked at those legs, the cat rubbed against the man’s.

Mary and the man looked up at each other and spoke as one –“Would you, I smelt, like, the delicious aroma, a coffee, please”. 

The words tumbled from Mary like a young waterfall in a mountain meadow; the man’s words edged forward slowly towards an almost solid certainty.

Their words followed the cat inside and they sat down at the kitchen table.

The kitchen table was not as old as the door of the house.

It was older.

The table had been there before this moment - waiting for it to arrive.

It had been there before these lives  - waiting for them to be born.

Before everything had been ordained.

Without this table there is no present, past or future.

There would also be no room and no house.

And no need for coffee.

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