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Rated: E · Short Story · Emotional · #2149347
it's my first story I was bored in a coffee shop.
          It started in a coffee shop on a warm, rainy day. While the average person would still be nestled in bed with a good book or a TV movie, she is people-watching in the coffee shop.
          Jess brings her homework, not that she is going to be doing any of it, but her tells her mom she is working hard. Jess looks around and sees friends meeting up, and couples talking. Now and then someone will come in to sit in a quiet corner where he or she can work alone. They all seem happy to be apart. They all look like they have the best company. People say you are your best company. Though she doesn't see it. She loves being alone but also enjoys being with someone special. Jess isn't confident whether she'd rather be alone or have company right now.
          It's a Friday late morning. Her friends are at school and she is here. She wonders what her life would be like if she weren't always alone; if she put herself out into the world and tried to be someone. If she was like her friends, but at the same time, she doesn't want to be her friends they aren't the best people. They party, they smoke, they hook up with a different guy every week, they don't try in school, and they just don't care. She wants to care and wants to be popular but not like that.
          A little girl just came in with her grandmother. She is dressed in bright green rain boots. She looks so happy, so uncaring. She was with her grandma who looked like she needed a nap but seemed delighted to be with her. The girl is running around not giving a crap what people think. She wishes she could be like that again. Like a happy little kid. (not to mention the naps.)
          She misses that part of her life. As she sits there in the coffee shop, She is thinking, struggling to figure out what has happened. What changes in a kid's head that makes them go from not caring to care too much what people think. To thinking that they aren't enough for the world.
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