sonder (noun)
The realisation that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own — populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness — an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.
The damp cloth removed the layer of dust that gathered every time the door opened. But however hard she scrubbed, the coffee stain circles clung on persistently. Like me and this place, she mused, worries flitting through her distracted mind. Rent rises, fewer customers since the downturn, more cakes left at the end of every day. Everything looked tired too. The stains told a story. Like the drawn paleness of her face, the hint of over-eagerness when the bell tinkled. She’d loved that yellow-orange glaze on the mugs when she opened five years ago. Found a local potter and paid full price for the set. Now she watched customers slurp at their drinks, seeing the dark roasts she loved drip down the sides, pooling on the counter. She had conversations in her head. Let me wipe that for you. No, no, it doesn’t matter, it won’t stain badly. But it always did. And here she was, wiping out of habit, alone in her pretty coffee shop with no customers.
The doorbell tinkled.
The man in the crumpled suit - no tie, bad shave, she noted - took a seat as far from the counter as he could. Damn, he would pick the one with no menu. The scrape of metal chair legs on the wooden floor grated, clawed at a surface diminished by use. She had been so proud that first day. Everything just so, just as she had imagined it. But five years of use, of customers neglecting the place … it was, well, worn. He didn’t look like he was bothered. No worries, game face on.
“What’ll it be, this fine sunny morning?”
“Double espresso, glass of water”.
He saw the pale woman behind the counter wince. “Please”.
The niceties had tailed off as the blows rained down on him. It was hard to mask the rancour, as bitter as the whiskey he’d used as mouthwash this morning. He surreptitiously popped a mint. Pride still nagged him into sharpening himself up. Maybe it was to head off the questions. Nice job you must have, mate, hanging out in coffee shops mid-morning. If only they knew. Did they know? Could they tell? There was nothing out there for men of his age, cast aside on a wave of false stories and accusations. We have to let you go, Brian. Eyes downturned. Gutless managers slavishly following orders. Corporate unsettled by how close he’d got to the truth of it. We have to let you go. Fuckers.
“Hey, there’s no need for that sort of language”.
He mumbled an apology, forgetting his concern about the stale smell of mid-morning alcohol. The words in his head had forced themselves into the open. He’d have to find somewhere else to waste his days. Other places that would keep him away from the apartment he could no longer afford, out of the gaze of a landlady who had taken her curiosity on a trip to the borderlands of nosiness.
The girl was in the kitchen as his espresso disappeared, her bitter chocolate Brazilian infusions masking the malty Speyside pick-me-up. He dropped coins on the table, shuffling for the door with a gruff thank you cast over a slumped shoulder, a man weighed down by the injustice of it all.
“Hey, watch where you’re going, mate”.
“Rude”.
The women revelled in the companionship of shared effrontery, the scruffy man’s embarrassed exit stepping clumsily across their post-Pilates gossip.
“And did you smell his breath … gross … it’s barely 11 in the morning”.
“Such a loser”.
“The usual? Two oat milk lattes, please, hon. And a slice of that carrot cake to share … vegetable cake, almost healthy, like”.
“Did you see Bake Off last night. Fudge cake, gross … there’s that girl in class - she looked like she’d had an extra portion. Loser”.
The young man frowned as he glanced in the coffee shop window.
He’d been slow getting away from the community centre after Pilates. A few kind words for the lovely lady who was comfort-eating her way through the grief of losing her mum just before Christmas. It was the least he could do, to offer a counterbalance to the cruel asides of the Tik Tok mafia. She pretended not to be hurt - I’m fine, they don’t really mean it - but the bitching was clearly nipping away at her confidence. He wanted to make sure she kept coming to his class. It was folk like her he’s set it up for.
He sighed. The mafia had seen him now. There’d be no quiet moment to himself. No chance to ask ‘how’s business’, words that flowed more naturally than ‘when do you finish’ or ‘would you like to come to the open mic night at the Ugly Duckling or the gallery, if you prefer?’.
He almost bottled it, almost walked by, but heart quietened head.
“We knew you couldn’t resist us”.
“Are you following us, Coach?”.
He kept his thoughts tucked deep inside. Wrong, ladies, so wrong.
She smiled that smile, green eyes twinkling as she frothed his cappuccino to go. He liked that she knew him so well.
“Check out my muffins, fresh today”. He blushed as he bolted for the door.
Check out my muffins. What was she thinking? So lame.
He’s so good looking. Quiet and thoughtful too. It flusters her every time. He always looks like he’s got something to say. She wants to say something herself but not with those two cackling in the background. No way.
He probably doesn’t like art anyway.
“You never really know the true impact you have on those around you. You never know how much someone needed that smile that you gave them. You never know how much your kindness turned someone’s entire life around. You never know how much someone needed that long hug or deep talk. So don’t wait to be kind. Don’t wait for someone else to be kind first. Don’t wait for better circumstances or for someone to change. Just be kind, because you never know how much someone needs it.”
Nikki Banas
This is so lovely and poignant Barrie. I loved the way you pulled each thread of thought together - masterful. And beautifully illustrating the message 💛✨ love it x
Love this Barrie…. And spooky does it, the coffee shop in Leeds where GiGi works is called Sonder…