Table for Two

Madison McLaughlin

You sit in the coffee shop at a table for two, but the second chair is being used to house your belongings rather than a friend to spend the time with. The morning is hazy, lit only by the morning glow of the sunrise. You’d like to order something warm to soothe the icy tips of your fingers that endlessly drum at your keyboard, but you cannot justify the act of ordering a drink for one at the table for two. Those around you sit with their groups, toasting with their flimsy plastic cups and sharing whispers of delight and stealth that will never reach your ears. Suddenly you realize that you are the only one alone in the room, and that nobody would notice if you left or stayed. You’ve grown comfortable with the loneliness, but cannot help but wonder what it would be like to have someone to say goodbye to.

You try and continue the homework that glows bright on the screen before you, but cannot seem to peel your thoughts away from the nameless faces that glow bright with companionship around you. You try to remember the last time your face glowed in that way, but the life you led prior is now a distant memory that hurts too much to recall. You’ve moved three hours away from home, nobody calls to check in on you anymore, and you realize that everything that once felt familiar—your high school locker, the friends you’d meet with every day after school, even the “goodnight” parting with your mother before bed—no longer provides you with the comfort it once did. It hurts to admit that you are a shell of the person you once were.

A group of six sprawls out on the lounge chairs and couches; you imagine that the worn fabric has enveloped the scent of espresso over the years, and while you’d like to sit there for yourself someday, you can never convince yourself that it’s meant for you. Time and time again, you find yourself alone at that stiff table for two, watching from afar, and forever wondering what it would feel like to be a part of something. You see that some are on their phones, while others crack jokes to keep the conversation alive. Even when they grow quiet, they share an electric energy that is almost tangible to you, an outsider. You wonder if others in the room can feel it too.

As you close your laptop and prepare to wander aimlessly to wherever you must go next, you wonder if you’ll ever make peace with feeling lonely in a room full of people. You imagine what it would feel like to sit with another, wanting to linger for just a moment longer in their company—to feel loved. You know you are loved in theory, and often find it in the low rumble of your cat’s purrs or the ghost of a warm embrace that brought you comfort long ago. You realize how foreign the feeling has become as you make your way towards the exit, unsure of when you’ll return next. With a final glance towards your spot by the window, you wonder how much longer you’ll have to wait to share your table for two.

Madison McLaughlin is a senior attending Eastern Illinois University and will be graduating after student teaching in the Fall 2024 semester. She majors in Secondary English Language Arts and is also obtaining a minor in Creative Writing as well, primarily focusing on poetry and creative nonfiction. After graduating, she hopes to continue teaching while simultaneously furthering her education in English.