Old Maid

Elisa glowered through her thin, stringy hair. It hung over her eyes, like an emo kid without the brazen teenage attitude or black dye. Elisa’s hair was a mousy brown, dull and flat.

She looked out at the couples around her, walking in for their coffees, sitting together on dates – first or thirtieth, it didn’t matter – and was annoyed. Look at you, she thought, with your love and good will and happy times. I bet you think you’re so great, lording it over me, thinking to yourselves, Oh, look at that ratty old maid, no wonder she didn’t get a man what with her unwashed, plump little cheeks and sunken eyes, she’s probably a witch. Bah, she thought.

Hearing a voice, Elisa started, thinking she heard someone she knew, a laugh that sounded like a friend from her elementary school days. But no, just some buck-toothed little tart in a mini-skirt and putrid little boy in tight pants trying to show their genitals to each other.

Elisa tested her coffee, one small sip. It was the right temperature, hot but not burning. She downed the entirety of it in one go, let the mug clatter on the table, and stood. She nodded to the barista, who smiled at her and waved.

“Bye Elisa, see you tomorrow!” the boy called.

Elisa didn’t say anything, didn’t smile, but she waved. That boy, she thought. Okay. Sometimes. At least when his girlfriends broke up with him. Insufferable other times. Makes a good coffee, though. He can live when the apocalypse comes.

Elisa swept out the door, thinking she probably should go home and shower, but what was the point? There was no one to shower for, nothing she owed to these people, no reason to guss up for anything. She turned left, to see if anything had changed in the past few days.