We were sitting in the coffee shop at the farthest corner by the window. Everything seemed to be empty today, which in our case was good.
"What Im about to tell you will probably end up sounding like a joke to you. But you need to understand that my talents are not bogus and Im being completely serious." He said, for once sounding soft and unthreatening.
The question as to why he is telling me this is still lingering in my mind. Honestly the most confusing thing about this is that he talks to me like he's known me forever.
Talent. As this experience carries on it gets slightly more unbelievable. Now he's talking about his talent not being bogus and I don't know where he's going with all of this.
"What do you mean, talent?" I ask crossing my legs under the table. He pauses, hesitates again and finally sighs.
"Your mother died when you were 10, leaving you with your father and judging by your personal trust issues and your defensive stance toward the male gender, he was physically and vocally abusive as you grew up. You live alone without a significant other and have limited social life. You are displeased with your job because you feel trapped which leads me to believe you are longing for something you don't have, freedom, adventure maybe the false hope of quitting your drab job and moving to the next town over. Due to your fathers treatment of you, you're left with therapy every week, you have an unstable mental condition, most likely something a long the lines of an anxiety dissorder and/or you have had self harm problems with the corrupt view that you deserve what has happened to you in the past, and even present."
I am left without knowing what to say. As overwhelming as it is to hear a description of you and your life being voiced back to you, its all true. He must have known me when I was little or he must be someone who knows my father. Maybe thats why he has been treating me like he knows me so well.
Fighting the erg to cry, I look out the window trying, and willing the tears to stop forming behind my eyes. I can feel the heat of embarassment rise against my cheeks. If I stay quiet I won't cry. All the memories I've spent my whole life blocking out have rushed back with emense power, bringing all the surging emotions along.
Its very quiet for a long moment. I don't look at him and he seems to look down at his lap in shame. As the strong feelings slowly melt away, curiosity takes its place.
"Im sorry." He says finally looking up at me. His eyes look somewhat sad, and lonely. His apology is obviously sincere, but its so hard to think straight when Im confused.
"How do you know me? Do you know my father?" I ask, the sound of my voice much higher than I expected to come out.
He looks at me for a minute, his face expressionless until he sits up.
"No. No, you don't understand. I have never met you before yesterday at the bookshop." He say's watching my response.
That doesn't make sense though. How would he know any of what he did without some connection to me?
Even more confused than before I reply, "Explain."
"Thats the "talent" I was talking about, more or less a curse really. I can see and understand things most people don't. Within minutes of being in that bookshop yesterday, I knew as much as I just told you." He said, now looking out the window.
Bloody hell. Thats hard to take in. And how do I know he's telling the truth? This isn't something just anybody can do. What if he's making it up to impress me?
"I don't believe you yet." I say.
He looks up from the window and raises his eyebrows.
"I'll show you then."