Painting Flowers

"Manage me, I'm a mess,
Turn a page, I'm a book, half unread..."

For the third day in a row that week, Alex had walked down the road to his favourite coffee shop, sitting by the window with his usual drink – latte, skim milk, one sugar - , having had enough of seeing his mother wallow. He was sympathetic, of course, but he couldn’t help but think bitterly to himself that at least they’re in the same boat now. Both living lives in black and white. But what was worse? Mourning a once colourful world, or longing for one that has never existed?

He was soon startled out of his reverie as a figure dropped itself in the seat opposite him, spilling a large part of its drink in its haste. Annoyed, Alex looked up to see a man, around the same age as himself, muttering curse words as he attempted to mop up the mess with a single napkin.

Rolling his eyes a little, Alex reached over with his own napkin. “Hey,” he said, “Let me help you with that.”

The stranger looked up immediately, with such a shocked expression that it made Alex chuckle a little to himself. “Oh. OH. Oh god, I-I’m so sorry. Shit, I didn’t mean to disturb you, I’m really sorry. Jeez, why am I such an idiot?!”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s fine. Listen, um, I think we might need a couple more napkins…” Alex held up the three napkins, already dripping wet.

The stranger jumped up immediately, running to the counter to grab a massive handful, knocking into the table as he ran back, spilling more of both of their drinks. “Shit!” He cursed under his breath.

Alex couldn’t help but smile, and began to laugh as the poor man tried to clean up the mess on the table, knocking over his entire cup of coffee in the process as he muttered a string of curses under his breath. He looked up at Alex, his hot cheeks growing darker by the minute.

“Hey, relax. I’ll get you another coffee or something.” Alex offered, the stranger looked as if he were about to cry from frustration. “I’m Alex, by the way.”

The stranger simply stared at Alex in surprise, blinking several times before finally replying, “Honestly no, it-it’s fine. It was my fault anyway, I’m so clumsy…”

“No, really, I insist. I’ll be back in a minute.” Alex walked to the counter, returning with a steaming latte like his own, and another large wad of tissue. He smiled reassuringly as he handed over the drink, “I’m sorry, I didn't know what you wanted, so I just got you my favourite – a latte, skim milk, one sugar – is that okay?”

“Oh my god, t-thank you so much! Y-yeah, it’s my favourite too, thank you – let me pay you back…”
“Don’t be silly. It’s fine. Really.”

They sat in silence for a while, before Alex decided that he may as well try to make a friend, after all, most of his old friends had left him for their partners, and this stranger seemed nice enough to him.
“So, um, do you come here often?”

The man looked up again, eyes widening like a deer in headlights, “N-not really, do you?”

They made small talk for a while, then began discussing music – they had the same tastes, and both had a passion for playing guitar. They chatted until the store closed, both walking out with smiles on their faces, feeling considerably better. Their coffees sat on the table top, stone cold, having long been forgotten about.

As Alex walked home that day, he reached into his jacket pocket for his keys, instead finding a scrunched up scrap of napkin. Confused, he took it out, and, upon smoothing it out, he found a number, and in a messy scrawl underneath it was the name Jack.