GLASS ROOM

There is a girl sitting alone in a quiet cafe. She has a laptop, phone, green notebook, a black pen, and a look of forced concentration on her face. She is typing away madly, but suddenly she stops and looks up. Her hand brushes away an itchy, blonde strand of hair from her eyes. She sighs an exhale of relief. Wrinkles in her face begin to fill, and form a quiet smile. She is behind the glass in another world far, far away. Behind the glass in her little cafe, her emotions seem transparent on her face.

Reaching to sip her hot drink that she cannot really afford, she swoops in too fast and spills her almond milk latte all over her light-blue ripped jeans. “Shit.” The barista’s eyes meet hers. They both begin to laugh as she hurries over to the counter to grab a bunch of napkins.

“Thank you.” She says smiling, halfway embarrassed.

He nods, “That’s alright.”

Carefully positioning the napkins, she pivots and attempts to look inconspicuous as she sits in her quiet corner again. Returning her concentration to her laptop, she writes a new line for a song: “burned but I’m not broken.” She scratches it, but likes alliteration. “broke but I’m not broken,” she writes. It is a work in progress.

A subtle hum fills the air as she desperately tries to regain focus. It was unmistakably from behind her chair. Behind the threads of her dyed-blonde hair, a glass window sorts her sanity. It keeps the world outside, and her in there.  But the hum out there insistently grows louder.