Faith And Hope

Sunlight from the window shines on his face. Slowly, and with an exaggerated wince, he pulls out his sunglasses and puts them on. Still uncomfortable, he cracks his neck, pulling it violently from one side to the other. An unknowing sigh leaves his mouth.

There’s a beautiful woman looking at him illuminated in the massive beam of light.

What she sees in him, he has no idea.

You see, he is wearing sweatpants, slippers, a very old hoodie, a ball cap and his sunglasses—no underwear and his hood was up. As much of himself as he could cover was covered. He looked like a degenerate who doesn’t care how a beautiful woman sees him. Mostly because the woman he loves dearly just dumped him again. So he sits in a coffee shop and vents into a childish laptop—childish because it is covered in cheesy stickers. He has had this laptop for 15 years and it has been a great machine to vent to. One could make the argument that his relationship with his laptop—although one-sided—was the most consistent relationship he’s had in 33 years of life.

A blank page with a blinking cursor stares back at him.

Yes, that’s right, the woman he loves just ended things with him again. And now he is feeling broken. It’s always a tragic comedy with him—usually more tragedy than comedy.

Holding onto an ounce of fool’s hope, he tells himself whatever story he needs to so he can live with himself.

The beautiful lady gets up and walks to his table. “Can I sit?” she asks him.

He just nods and manages a slight smirk. She sits.

“I won’t talk to you. Don’t worry about that,” he says, putting his headphones in.

She frowns at him but he doesn’t care. He isn’t even aware she is hitting on him.

A heavy guilt drags his face down to earth, as if gravity was yanking at it. He supposed guilt can feel heavier than gravity sometimes. An awareness of how much he was an asshole was growing. And he hated what he was seeing.

The woman in front of him says something but his music is so loud that he can’t hear a thing she is saying. He pulls out one headphone. “Sorry?”

“I was just wondering what you are working on?”

“I’m working on solving the homeless crisis. There should be plenty of homes for everyone. There has been for decades,” he says, blatantly lying to her.

“Wow,” she said in disbelief. “I never would’ve guessed that.”

“I’m one medical emergency from being homeless myself. So, you see, it’s not as selfless as you may be thinking. I am just looking out for my future.”

She sat back, crossed her arms underneath her huge boobs and frowned at him. “You are messing with me, aren’t you?”

“You catch on quick.”

“Well I don’t appreciate it,” she said.

“Oh no,” he said very sarcastically.

“What are you really working on?”

“I’m writing my ex out of my will.”

“Oh,” she says, surprised.

“Sorry, that’s another lie.”

“What is wrong with you?” she asks, scolding him.

“Everything,” he says.

“You're an ass.”

“We all have one.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Yours seems to be rather large. I’m sure you can attract a decent man with that thing. It is wasted on me.”

She blinked, realizing something. “You are hurting, aren’t you?”

“Nope. This is exactly what I expected to happen.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Your heart is hurting, isn’t it?”

“What heart?”

“You have one.”

“Not anymore.”

“I can see it in your eyes and the way you sigh.”

“I don’t sigh.”

She frowned at him again. “You’re a writer, aren’t you?”

He hated how everyone could tell he was a writer. It didn’t make any damn sense to him. He was way too handsome to be a good writer. “No,” he said, narrowing his eyes, studying the lady in front of him.

She smiled, delighted with herself. “I knew it. Are you writing a book?”

“Nope.”

“A short-story?”

“Nope.”

“A play?”

“Nope.”

“A poem?”

“Nope.”

She hesitated before whispering, “Smut?”

“Now that’s a good idea,” he said, the faintest smile briefly forming on his lips.

“But not what you are currently working on,” she said as she tapped her finger on her chin, looking up at the ceiling in consideration. “You are writing about your lost love.” It wasn’t a question this time.

“Nope.”

“Yes, yes you are.”

“What’s your name?”

“Faith. What’s yours?”

“Chester.”

“Liar.”

“Hey Faith, can I get back to my work?” It wasn’t a question.

“By all means, ‘Chester’, don’t let me stop you.”

He put his headphones back in his ears and stared at a blank page for ten minutes. She had a book out but spent most of the ten minutes on her phone.

When he got up to leave, she asked, “Chester?”

“Yes?”

“There will be another.”

He stopped and blinked at her. “Nope. There won’t.”

“Have hope.”

“Nope.”

“Take care of yourself,” she said with a smile.

“Nope.”

“And don’t be a stranger.”

“I am a stranger to you.”

“Well, stop being one.”

“Sure.”

“Bye.”

“Bye, Faith.”

CH 8/7/26