FelÃcia was at the usual cafe that she frequented every morning, that day, she was waiting for a friend. She sat in a corner, she wasn't a person who liked to stand out, she was discreet and shy, contrary to what she appeared to be. In general, they thought that Felicia was a very extroverted person, as she knew how to say exactly what she felt, but many times, her feelings were ambiguous, she had other ways of expressing herself. She deeply believed that the best way to translate her feelings was through actions, she never believed in pretty words, they had already deceived her at various times in her life, as for actions, those were remarkable.
She had arranged with him at nine o'clock. As usual, he was late. She was looking at her coffee cup, now empty, playing with the spoon in circles and listening to the clink every time she touched the cup. She lifted her head and discreetly watched the customers as they entered and took the chairs in the establishment. She liked to delve into her thoughts, which were occasionally interrupted by the shuffling of chairs. She would look at her watch and think "Why am I not in the habit of being late?" It was already nine-thirty and Bruno still hadn't arrived. She picked up her cell phone, thinking about texting him, but she didn't like being disturbed so much that she stayed watching the incoming and outgoing customers a little longer. Bruno had already arranged a coffee with her several times and hadn't shown up, was this another one of those times?
She took the opportunity and took her notebook to start writing and drawing, it was the way she found to pass the time. She watched customers go about their daily business, some in a hurry, others, in turn, reading the newspaper, and still others drinking coffee with friends. Today, she expected Bruno to show up, they hadn't seen each other in many years, and they had made an arrangement. Bruno was supposed to give him a book that Felicia had lent him a long time ago, History of the Times. Felicia, in turn, wanted to deliver a job that had been done just for her friend. She had spent hours on that work, it had a lot of meaning for her, she knew that Bruno would never see her work that way, Felicia was a plastic artist she had endowed her work with such a deep feeling that any observer would never be able to see what was really there. She had already gotten used to the external interpretations of her work, she knew that a work could never be translated into words, but that she only composed herself with those same observations and descriptions by others. It was like a mutual surrender, and that surrender was about to be made to his longtime friend Bruno.
She looked at the clock, would he show up? Or as usual, she would come up with one more excuse and leave it there to wait.
Irina Marques