Crossroads
When they said I will come to a crossroads. I didn’t think they meant it literally. Who builds a cafe in
the middle of a crossroads, anyway?
She will be here in about ten minutes and I still don’t know what to say, so i drink my latte in the
round raised rotunda, watching the traffic go round and look at the four antique sky-rise
buildings surrounding me. The roads looking like an X with me at the centre.
Isn’t it ironic that my life has come down to this? An X at a crossroads that marks the decision that
will change my life forever.
The waitress returned up the stairs at the centre beneath the rotunda, refilling my coffee for the
third time and with a flash of those brown eyes, and the smallest smile from her red pouting lips,
flirts with me; at least for a moment. Then, with a seductive smile, brushes my arm with her
slender, manicured hand, her nails matching those departing lips.
She pauses at the wrought iron stairwell; her backward glance saying more than any words can. I
blush as she steps from sight.
In the distance, the woman I’ve been waiting for crosses the street. Her long slender legs and
summery, sunflower coloured dress making their way towards me like a cool breeze on a summer's night.
My heart pounds in my chest. She’s early!
I can feel the dryness in my throat. My chest aches with the pain of her arrival.
Those piercing eyes, stalking me like a predator with every step. I am her prey, and she knows it.
Her long flowing hair, like a horse's mane in a slow motion gallop.
I can’t breathe, but she’s close now. I’m trapped. Even if I wanted to run, she’s already at the wrought
iron steps to the rotunda.
My hand shakes as I reach for my glass, the water quenching my thirst, but not the dryness within
my mouth.
I swallow hard as she reaches my table. The power of that one sultry look, my body weak within
her medusa’s gaze.
She sits, not waiting to ask; and with folded arms, stares at me in silence. The fragrance of her
perfume, filling my nostrils and bringing the last of my resistance to its knees.
The waitress returns, and with an air filled with unspoken jealously, asks her for her pleasure. The
woman waves her away as would one would brush away a fly as she leans over the table. Her long
arms and unsoiled hands reach towards me.
I pull back and say with my last breath of sanity.
“The answer is no.”
Then with the last ounce of strength I have, I rise, leave my money on the table and without a
backward glance, step shakily down the stairs, tears welling up in my eyes as I leave her behind.