Mauve. Or Indigo. That is how I would describe the colour of the sky when the sun decides to retire for the day but not before it decides to put on a show before its daily last bow. I have never had a way with words.
That man would be Steve. The quintessential ladies-man. The man of words. He is a man of many words, whereas I am a man of my words. Does that make any sense?
That became clear with the "C" I got in Mr. William's English class. Whereas Steve never got less than an "A+" in his class. But somewhere I think his essay on "How to eat pizza without burning your tongue" was not as good as my "Understanding the social construct of high-school hierarchy post 2002." But Mr. Williams thought otherwise.
Now, as I stood by my desk at his cafe', trying to figure out what colour had graced the horizon this evening at the time of the sun's descent, I heard the dying riff of November Rain playing in the background somewhere mixed with the self-taught symphony of the wind-chimes.
The wind chimes always knew how to capture the dull thudding of my heart with perfection. Maybe, my heart always decided to dance to its beat whenever it heard them somewhere.
Intruding my chain of aimless thoughts was a sound of wood being dragged against stone. I knew someone was behind me as my back was towards my desk and I was staring out the narrow space between the cafe's wall and the tarpaulin that covered it.
"Please, go away," I said without turning.
"Let me enjoy the carnival invading my thoughts at the moment."
"How did you even know that I was here? I was trying to be as crafty as possible and trying not to make any sound," Steve said, his face flushing to the few shades of scarlet that it knew.
"Because this here, is my haven. I know every sound to come out of surroundings." I say, not before sighing deeply and quite audibly, pointing to the enclosure in the unfrequented corner of his cafe', a place I had come to call my make-shift office.
This was not the first time Steve tried to sneak up on me. I was aware of all the tricks he had up his sleeve. This was not my first rodeo.
"Okay, I'll leave. Just tell me this, did you apologise to Anna or not?" He asked, twiddling his thumbs idly on his phone, another sound I had come to recognise. He always did this when he was trying to buy time.
"Yes I apologised to her Mom."
"Whew. Thanks man. You know I cannot lose a customer."
"Yes, I am well aware of it. Now may I please have some space. I really need to clear my head before I start winding up for the day." I irritably told him, my eyes fixed on the clouds that were blocking my uninterrupted view of the sunset.
"Fine, be like this. Dick," he said, before sashaying away in a huff. Now I do not know that he sashayed. But that is how I pictured him waltzing away.
My eyes trained themselves back on the sunset that was playing hide and seek with a cloud that looked like a kite. The cloud made sure that my view of this sunset was constantly in jeopardy.
Looking at the sunset had become my ritual. After a hard-day, I would bask in the afterglow of the sun as the day ended. It reminded me that I had survived another day. It reminded me it was another day when my dysarthria and my issues had not overtaken my psyche.
Just as the cloud had decided to pass and I regained my my view of the sun, I heard the sound again. Wood against stone. Gosh, how I hated that sound.
"What's a man to do to get some peace and quiet around here?" I said angrily without turning, certain that it was Steve back to his antics.
"Well, he could tell me his secret to becoming a marketing guru," I heard a timid voice that seemed pre-occupied.
I whirled immediately only to see a smirking Anna fiddling with my laptop.
"What are you doing?" I asked her as I hurried towards her. I did not allow anyone to touch the laptop. Its nothing personal against them. Its just my mild OCD acting up.
"I am trying to get an answer to my question," she said to me, taking a few steps backs and gently raising her hands in mock surrender as I charged towards her.
"Its KISS," I say to her absentmindedly, turning my laptop upside down to check if she had messed with anything.
"What now? What's a kiss? Who gives you a kiss? You get a kiss everyday before you start work? Lucky guy," she said to me, a crestfallen expression evident in her demeanour.
"No Ma'am. Not an actual kiss. K-I-S-S," I say to her, unable to raise my eyes to meet hers. Though my eyes caught a good look at her footwear. Nice shoes, if you were going hiking that is.
"You know, I know how to spell kiss. Even my phone's auto-correct never does that, corrects me, that is."
"No. It stands for Keep It Simple, Silly. Its a mnemonic device I use to remember it." I said, finally gathering enough courage to face her, but failing to meet her eyes.
"Isn't that an acronym and not a mnemonic device?" She asked me, visibly puzzled.
"I guess it is an acronym. But I use it as a mnemonic device." I say, baffled at the simplicity of her question. Why had I never thought of that?
"What are you doing here? I thought us exchanging names was an indicator that all conversation between the both of us had terminated," I say, the rising panic of interacting with her again quite evident in my voice.
"Are you always this rude when someone disturbs your chain of thought?" She asked me, glancing around her to take in the surroundings of my desk.
"Well, only when they answer my questions with more questions," I tell her, as I close the lid of my laptop to slide it into its sleeve, which will then be nestled in a cushioned backpack.
"But why simple? I mean, in this world of ever-complicated plans and techniques, why at all keep it simple? I mean, does it work?" She asked me in a rush. Her shallow breathing indicating her rapid chain of thought.
"You want the long answer or the short one?" I ask her, picking up my well-worn notebook and black fountain pen that was lying unopened on the desk.
"Judging by the swiftness with which you are packing up your stuff clearly indicates that you are uncomfortable with this discussion. So, I'll take the short answer and ease your pain." She said.
"Well human beings like simple. Not everyone does, but the lowest common denominator always appreciates simplicity," I say, without looking up at her while making sure everything was properly stuffed in my backpack and the fountain pen was not leaking.
"Does anyone really go for that these days? I mean, isn't a large part of your target audience tech-savvy millennials?" She asks, unconsciously shifting her body to block my exit from the enclosure.
"Just because I emphasise on simplicity does not mean I intend to go back to the dark, tech-free ages. My messaging to the audience is simple. That way, everyone understands and everyone is happy."
"And that works?" She asks, her hunched shoulders showing her genuine interest in the conversation.
"Brought you here, didn't it," I say, with a triumphant smile lurking on my face.
"Touché," she said, "But the friendly staff is one of the main reasons that I come here."
