“That’s such a good movie though. It’s hilarious. It, you know, I can’t remember how it starts but then this one woman gets killed and then another person gets killed and then because of that they have to off another person and then, you know, another one, and another one… And that’s how it ends – you know, everyone’s dead. The camera pulls back, and everyone’s dead. It’s hilarious. The Simpsons did one like that. At least, I think it was the Simpsons… Great movie. Real neat concept.”
This man comes into the coffee shop with his girlfriend every Wednesday and they sit at the table directly beside me no matter what. This coffee shop has two rooms. It’s long and narrow. There are tables over there, and over there, and over there. And yet, this man, without fail, sits here. He seems nice enough, but his voice is the kind that carries over land and sea. If you’ve ever had a quiet moment to yourself to sit and think and found the silence broken by the sound of a guy's voice yammering on in the distance, it was probably him.
They like to talk about politics, and movies, and things happening in the city. Sometimes they even talk about me. As though I cannot hear them across the one-foot chasm between our tables.
“I like her laptop case,” says the woman, reaching out and touching it.
“Yeah,” says the man. “It’s real bright.”
(It’s yellow. It is, for sure, real bright.)
“I don’t know where to get one like that,” says the woman. I smile at her, unsure as to whether this is a question directed at me or not.
Decidedly, though, it’s not. She doesn’t look at me and my smile pings off the side of her head and hits the barista.
“Sears, probably,” says the man, mistakenly. “They’re probably selling like hotcakes over there. I bet they’re all on sale.”
“Yeah,” says the woman.
I open my mouth and close it again. Am I eavesdropping right now? I feel like I’m eavesdropping. If someone comes over and yells stuff in your ear and it’s about you but not directed to you, are you eavesdropping?
I need to know for next Wednesday.