Sebastian noticed his loneliness for the first time on a Tuesday morning at 9:17 in the doughnut shop across the street from his apartment building. Until then, he never particularly cared about other people. Not to say he was a misanthrope or that he actively avoided contact with anyone. Instead, he simply found the most enjoyable path of life to be one where people were more incidental than regular. He enjoyed friendships in high school, but did not languish their dissolution upon graduation. He saw it as a part of life, the normal ebb and flow of human existence. Each day followed the previous day's pattern of drifting apart from anything he had that could be called a friend.
He graduated and left Cloverdale, not seeing much point in remaining where he felt no real obligation. He wanted a more populous city so, two days after receiving his diploma, he bid his parents farewell and moved. With two banker's boxes of odds and ends, a second hand Honda Civic his grandmother had gifted him, and a few thousand he had saved from odd jobs, he left Cloverdale behind. He sold the Civic when he reached Chicago, found an apartment, and landed a mail room job at a burgeoning tech company.
A year passed, and he didn't notice his loneliness. Though it haunted his apartment and followed him to and from work, he was too distracted to pay it any mind. It squished between him and the young woman on the train, but he only edged away while listening to a blaring song in his earbuds. It lingered at the lunch table with him while all the tables around him exchanged weekend stories, and he gazed mindlessly at a hand held video game. The loneliness didn't only confine itself to his mundane moments, but found its way awkwardly into the room during his work promotion and the few telephone calls from high school friends to check on him.
The calls became infrequent, and then stopped. Sebastian did not notice. He enjoyed his new job and the comfort it provided. He found better music and more involving games. Other hobbies trickled in, jogging in particular. It gave him time to listen to music and think through his games, and loneliness is not very cardio oriented. As a reward for this new hobby, he partook of a small bag of donuts on his day off. So he entered the doughnut shop at a quarter after nine on Tuesday, and he recognized someone.
"Amanda?" he said, dumbstruck. The young woman had just turned around holding a cinnamon role halfway to her mouth. She looked the same as he remembered from high school. Thin and tall with a mousy demeanor. Her brown hair was pulled back in a short pony tail, and she looked as if she had just rolled out of bed.
"Oh my god, Sebastian?" The two engaged in an awkward dance involving an attempt to hug, an attempt not to hug, Sebastian's loneliness, and Amanda's pastry. "How have you been? I haven't seen you in forever."
"Oh, good, I've been well, you know," he blundered through his words. It felt strange to talk to someone outside of work. "What are you doing here? I mean, what are the odds?"
Amanda stepped to the side as busy, doughnut-seeking people pushed past her. "I'm in town visiting family. I was supposed to leave today, but who can resist a cinnamon bun?"
It was then that Sebastian's loneliness grinned from ear to ear from over the shoulder of the simple young woman. The specter, which he had held at bay for years, seeped into his being with ease, gripping his heart with emotions he had not thought of since childhood. His mind worked rapidly through the situation. "You're going to eat and travel? That's terrible for you. As a person who took one biology class several years ago I can testify that as fact. I insist you have breakfast with me."
She blushed and cast a furtive look to the street. "Ok," she replied. "I'll grab us a table."
As he exchanged the usual pleasantries with Wanda the doughnut lady, a sense of elation came over Sebastian. He had found the missing puzzle piece. For the first time in years, he was excited to talk with someone. The two had known each other in high school. She had been into debate and academic clubs. Sebastian had been more into apathy. Of the few people he did notice, Amanda had always been one of them. As he put cream into his coffee, he recalled a few angst driven poems written vaguely enough to mask the fact that they were odes to the pretty girl in his study hall. He dropped two coffees on the table and took a seat beside her looking out into the street.
"So, you're going to school back home right?" he asked. Small talk was not his best skill. Nevertheless, he wanted to talk. He wanted her to talk. He wanted his loneliness to sulk in the corner with the day old eclairs.
"Yeah, but school's out. One year down. I think you did it right though, moving up here. I'm getting burnt out on Cloverdale. Too much history in the town. How about you? How's big city life?"
He told her. In long stories and short ones. He made her laugh. He admired the small creases around her eyes when she smiled. She was everything he remembered, but more. "You came up here by yourself?"
"Yes, why?"
He shrugged, "The Amanda I went to school with wouldn't go off to Chicago by herself."
"I've grown a lot," she said with a demure smile. "Say do you remember the time at the Clarke Central game..." she lapsed into a story. He told a few more of his own. They laughed, and she touched his hand. The morning went on until the streets thinned of commuters and bleary eyed students. Wanda eyed as she cleaned tables, and Sebastian's loneliness found itself in an existential crisis.
"Well, I have a long drive ahead of me," Amanda said finally. "It was great catching up with you. You shouldn't be such a stranger all the time. I'm sure some folks back home would like to see you."