Fruit of Her Apathy

Mother died and the day moved on. I may as well had been doing the laundry or taking out the garbage. My emotions were shut off. Is this what people call shock?

Her death aside, it was a lovely, Late-Spring day. As I walked underneath the trees towards the cemetery entrance, I felt cool while in the shadows, warm once I separated from the natural covering. Off the grounds, I strolled towards the train that would take me home.

A tiny café looked inviting. I chose to stop and sit at one of the sidewalk tables, grateful for the umbrella covering. The waitress seemed friendly enough. I made a mental note to tip her.

The place must have just opened. The tables were naked. I took a look at the menu that was brought over and waited for the young lady to return.

A breeze caressed my cheek. Birds celebrated the weather in a nearby tree. "Espresso and cheesecake, please."