no use for time

Elsie was wearing her usual dark clothes for hiding: tiny black DMs, black jeans, black blouse. A small, open faced pocket watch dangled from a chain around her neck, its silver gleam peering out from the dark folds of the blouse. Elsie looked smallish in these clothes like a slight, barely perceptible shadow. Her short hair glowed with the color of ripe coffee beans, almost shining the rich mahogany hue that was its true color in the dim light above her. Her skin was pale, translucent, almost olive in the light. She could be Asian or Italian, or neither of these, or perhaps a mixture of both. Her dark eyes were deceiving, full of intense emotion if looked at closely, but a quick glance merely revealed her quiet nature. Perceiving Elsie was about discerning angles in light. But she was a shadow hidden in the shadowy corner, alone, quietly sketching a young Asian woman, who was sitting, also alone, two tables away.

Next to Elsie, on the other side, a man in his early twenties--U2 t-shirt, black leather jacket, black hair short and well combed--was watching her while she carefully sketched the Asian woman, all three of these people forming a strange sort of triangle with Elsie at its center. Pausing a moment, Elsie glanced at the man and he smiled at her rather feebly, then his eyes glanced down to her chest, catching the silver of the pocket watch.

Elsie took a sip of mocha and returned to her sketch. The Asian woman was gazing intently at a notebook in front of her, occasionally writing in it.

After a long moment, the man next to her said, "Your watch must've stopped. Doesn't have the right time."

Elsie looked down at the watch then at her cafe neighbor. "I have no use for time," she said softly, then looked back at her sketch.

"Then why do you have a watch?" the man asked, while noisily clearing his throat.

Elsie glanced at him, smiling slightly. He seemed nervous. She wasn't sure why. Elsie rarely made people nervous. "I like it," she said. "It reminds me of someone." She held the watch in her hand. "Someone important."

"Don't you ever wind it? Or set it?"

"No," Elsie said. "Time just doesn't interest me. I don't care what time it is."

"Well," the man said, then paused. He sounded exasperated now. Elsie wondered why. Elsie never exasperated anyone. "But," he persisted, "what if you have to be someplace at a certain time, like an appointment or something?"

"Someone else will know," was all Elsie said in response to the man's obvious discomfort.

"Aren't you ever late for work?" he went on.

"The work I do doesn't require that I know what time it is."

"Hmm," the man said, looking quite perplexed. To Elsie he seemed more like a young boy. So demanding and curious. Yet overly concerned with being on time. Maybe not a young boy after all. More like an old man. And so full of questions. Like this next one:

"What do you do then, for work?"

"Whatever comes along. Like right now. I'm sketching. And I don't know what time it is. And you probably do."

Elsie smiled but the young boy/old man didn't. His expression gave off a look that said he wasn't getting something, like he didn't understand. He seemed quite flustered. Elsie wondered why this was. After all, Elsie never flustered anyone.

"It's 10:30," the boy/man said, as if Elsie had asked, as if he was demanding that Elsie care.

"Yeah," she said. "It does seem a bit late. Dark outside." She peered forward, glancing out the window. "Definitely nighttime."

"Your watch says 6:20," he went on. "That's more than four hours off. Maybe you should get it fixed."

"It's not broken," Elsie said, then went back to work on her sketch. The Asian woman was still sitting there, still pouring over her notebook. Elsie's sketch was nearly complete. The woman had initially interested Elsie because of the intensity of her thought. Like she was examining a half remembered dream and trying to capture the feelings on the paper in front of her. With words. Elsie sometimes found words difficult. Especially when it came to trying to describe feelings with them. She preferred drawing or sculpting. But the Asian woman clearly was a word person and Elsie was sketching the expression that this word person conveyed while searching for the proper words. To perhaps capture her dream feelings.

Just as Elsie was adding some final shadings to her sketch the man next to her spoke again.

"What is it then, exactly--," he said, then faltered, "--that you do for a living?"

Elsie turned to him. "For a living?" she repeated.

"Yes. You know, to make money, pay the rent, buy groceries." The man was breathing heavily in and out like he was extremely agitated. Elsie was growing concerned for his well being. Elsie knew she never agitated anyone. Especially extremely. In response to his question she said, "I let my imagination decide."

Obviously not satisfied with this, the man, who was a boy really, said, "Do you have a job?"

"No."

The boy, who was not a man but wanted to be, said, "So you're rich or something?"

"No," Elsie said again. She sensed impatience. And Elsie knew that Elsie never caused anyone impatience. Except her boyfriend, Max, but that was only at the beginning of their relationship. Eventually Max learned to be patient with her--he had to, like a parent must learn to be patient with a child. And then, like Elsie, Max was no longer so concerned with time.

Sensing this sort of impatience now, Elsie decided to elaborate slightly, to give the boy thing next to her one more chance at understanding what he clearly was not understanding.

"I make shapes," she said. "Of people. On paper. Or in clay or marble. Sometimes bronze. And sometimes people buy the shapes. Or ask me to make one for them."

Elsie looked at him, studying his reaction to this, wondering if he would finally cease to spew endless nonsense questions at her. His black hair was perfectly combed, his face was a blank mask of incomprehension. The much more interesting sulking visage of Bono stared at her from the U2 t-shirt. Elsie found the contrast amusing.

"It's 10:45," the boy monster muttered. "I have to be somewhere." He got up abruptly, said, "You really should get that watch fixed," and hurried out of the cafe. Elsie sensed her former cafe neighbor was in a terrible rush. Elsie wondered why this was. Elsie never rushed anyone.

She took a sip of mocha and glanced over at the Asian woman, but the Asian woman was no longer there. It didn't matter though. The sketch was done. And anything Elsie had missed she could fill in from memory. Or make up from imagination.