“How long has it been going on for?”
“About ten or fifteen years, depending on how you think about it.”
“And how do you think about it?”
“I try not to – if I do it feels like my life is just an excuse to waste time.”
He stopped for a moment, took a cigarette from the pack on the table and started searching for a light.
“Have you got a light?”
She smiled: “I thought you were going to ask me something else...”
“I can do – just as soon as I light this cigarette”, she threw him her lighter; he took a glance at it before quickly lifting it to light up.
“Starfish – I like it... on a beach, I presume.”
“I don't know – it just seemed to make me happy when I saw it”
“Is there much happiness in your life?”
“That's what I thought you were going to ask me; before, I mean...”
Isaac placed the lighter onto the table in front of them, equidistantly between their two cups of coffee, starfish side up:
“So you're intelligent; you can quickly see the rules of life and see what might happen next”
“It's not interesting though”
“Perhaps, Serena, the interest comes from understanding what to do with the talent”
“I only ever think of bad things to do – I get angry with people...”
“The situation...”
“What?”
“It's better to get annoyed – or angry as you put it – with the situation, rather than with a person or persons.”, he turned the lighter over hiding the image.
“What difference does it make?”
“It makes a big difference – it can be the difference between doing something useful with your talent and getting annoyed with everybody and yourself. Try it... if you like.”
“OK – I might do... once I get 'annoyed' I find myself less likely to 'help'.”
He paused and looked at her, trying to gauge whether she was still thinking – she was
looking down at her hands. The odd car drifted by, another drag on the cigarette and he drank some of the cold black coffee that had been untouched on the table for about 10 minutes. He winced:“I don't know why I drink coffee – I'm not convinced I actually like it.”
“You're just the same, aren't you...”, not a question – more of a statement, a gradual realisation, “you're trapped too – aren't you?”
“If you mean I'm trapped by my romantic 1950's Hollywood vision of the world and that I believe that at moments like these I should smoke a cigarette and drink black coffee whilst I talk to my beautiful ex-girlfriend then, yes, I'm trapped... I drink coffee because I think it fits the part I'm playing.”
“Why do you play it if you don't like it?”
“It's not that much of a hardship to drink black coffee, smoke too many cigarettes and spend some time with the only girl I ever loved...”
“Stop!”
“I'm afraid you can't switch me off – that bit of my life was real – I did love you. It's the rest of it that seems a bit mad... otherwise I'm just hanging around waiting for the rest of my consciousness to return.”
“Sorry – I didn't mean to do that. I mean, I didn't mean to say 'stop'.”“It's OK, no harm done. I'm in a wide open space...”
She smiled – and shook a little with a suggestion of laughter; by way of explanation:
“Just a song I used to like – in fact I still like it... reminds me of long drives...”
“Sounds good. So how does life feel now?”
“OK. Thanks. I know you've helped – although I'm not quite sure how.”
“Nor am I. It might be that I haven't.”
“Well thanks anyway. Thanks for your time.”
He stood and stretched, arching his back: “It's always my pleasure. ...and if you feel the urge to 'put out' as our American cousins would put it – do get in touch.”
“You're starting to sound like a film now. I don't like it...”
“Too late. You're stuck with it – we've started.”
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