A quiet wave is crashing in this piece of the world.
Mother and Daughter sit and stare silently into the fluttering, cottony cafe. Daughter exudes carelessness, Mother feigns it. Mother folds her hands, not sure where to put them in this quiet, clean, expensive world. Daughter is clearly bored with it. Neither wants to be here, mother nor daughter, but they should right? They should be enjoying themselves. This is where people come to enjoy themselves.
Mother’s drink arrives and she tries to give it to Daughter, like so many other things. Daughter doesn’t WANT it, mom. Mother relents, carefully sucks the strawberry up the straw, a strange sensation. Was there a time when another straw meant a day out, a walk along the sea face, buying a juice as a young fresh-faced Daughter?
Mother tries to give again.
Daughter gazes out. Rejects the drink, places it firmly back. I don’t. Want it. But that’s not the point, Daughter. Daughter will not see.
Mother’s insistence is drowned out by a persistent mechanical dinging. Daughter disappears into an imaginary world – it is as though Mother isn’t even there. Mother sits, with her hands folded. Mother leans, peeking at the imaginary world — where is Daughter going? Daughter glances sideways. Mother leans back. Mother sits with her hands folded again. Quiet. Accepting.
Epilogue: This is a piece of the story, and not the whole one. There is more to mother, there is more to daughter.