The Empty Red Seat

I remember rain tapping at the diner window. The smooth white table we sat at held ketchup, salt, and her mournful face cradled in the palm of her hand. The menu appeared as eye-catching as a butterfly in the dark to her. Her dull eyes only scanned the cars outside, drifting by like weary clouds.

At the slightest push, the checkered floor looked ready to fall one by one. But it was us who had fallen, each piece out of place through years of doubt and frustration. 

In the past, our time together flew by, and any silence between us was fine. But this kind of silence was excruciating. It was hard to talk with a stomach full of uncertainty. Four years of magic ended painfully. Other people entered our lives and things became complicated. "I'll call ya," she said. We both knew she never would.

In the foggy windshield, her head leaned forward for a minute before pulling away. Then, with the red taillights reflecting off the wet pavement, I watched, silently saying goodbye, all the while knowing a part of me just drifted away... like a gray, weary cloud.

Author's Note

Note to self: The poem has been slightly expanded from a poem format to a story format. Thanks to anyone who reviews. :)

Reviews

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

oof. that was a heavy short-short. but i think such experiences are valuable. in the age of ghosting, people forget the immense need for closure. this story depicts a painful parting, one that might not have been necessary, but happened anyway. we know very little about the characters but everything weneed to know about them was expressed. i really liked how the setting illustrated the characters' internal state. very strong writing and you have yourself a new follower.

[Relic]

Thanks very much, Ern. I'm glad you liked the story.

[Cherrie]

I always love a writing that evolves into more than I envisioned. You have captured a moment in time and gave it life.

[Relic]

Thanks Cherrie. :)

[barleygirl]

This is a powerful vignette with vivid details we can almost feel as we read. The well-chosen photo is an interesting contrast -- lots of light & color, reflecting your setting with panache, yet your storyline ends up delivering a sad lack of light & color (in a good/bad way) Fondly, Margie

[Relic]

Thank you, Margie.

[Beccy]

Forget such a haunting poem. Goodness! The subject is sad, but the writing is wonderful.

[Relic]

...........Thanks so much. :)

[Beccy]

A moment that so many can relate to. The eye contact was gone, the magic was over. finis.

And then, these haunting words; 'In the foggy windshield, her head leaned forward before leaving,' the regret, the uncertainty, is writ large and I ached inside as I read them.

Beccy

[Relic]

Thanks so much, Beccy. I forgot I wrote this. haha

[Iam-me]

Really felt the heartache and overwhelming sadness to love go off, and then saying bye for good.

[Relic]

Thanks for your thoughts, Dee.

[Iam-me]

Thank you for sharing.😊

[danielle.]

I can definitely relate to this, and nicely expressed.

[Relic]

Thank you for stopping by, ellemorell. I appreciate it.

[ZakLeonRamsey]

Wow, nice poem. I think being in a cafe or a bar on your own at first is brilliant. No crying babies, no people with their mouths open chatting to their friend aside you, while you eat your pub lasagne and drink your Diet Pepsi while hearing so many people talk at once. "I remember rain tapping the diner window. The smooth white table we sat at held ketchup, salt, and a declaration of her mournful face cradled in the palm of her hand." Rather mundane description, if it was a colour, I would say black, but the way you describe it gives it some colour, I like it. The picture of the poem gives me a further idea of what the place looks like. For some reason, it looks like a 1950s american diner.

[Relic]

It does to me too. Thank you for your thoughts.

[ZakLeonRamsey]

No problem.

[Katerina Grev]

Your words brought me to the diner myself, I feel like the waitress witnessing all of this. Great description and fantastic imagery, you do a great job of capturing the scene and the emotions

[Relic]

Thank you Katerina. :)

[SJ Mullins]

I have a couple of poems that I extended into stories at the suggestion of an awesome poet I consider a bit of a mentor. The ambiance of this one reminds me of a place in Palmer Lake, Colorado called Rosie's Diner. You imagery again is spot on. A sad, but well written piece. So many of us have been through a similar relationship I am quite sure!