This week’s photo reminded me of an old post you can find here. This story is the same story, from a different point of view.
Empty Chairs #2
The ladies at table 8 are just excited to be out. They smiled showing their passports, willing to pay the price; unlike the man at 3, who feels his freedoms would be eroded by a piece of cloth.
Maggie walks in and sits at 1. No sign of Pete. She used to order him a burger while he himself rolled in, but there’s no burger today. She orders with her mask on, slips it off for each mouthful. She watches his chair, but he never comes. When Mr 3 gets aggressive, she stands up. Meek Maggie has something to say.
Jojo had read every single book in the Library and she had not fallen into a single one of them. She’d spent hours in her Grandpa’s closet and never once stumbled on a fawn, or a talking beaver or even a witch trying to corrupt her with Turkish delight. On her eleventh birthday, neither an owl nor the mail had brought an invitation to wizarding school.
Life, she decided, was rubbish. And books, well, they were the worst rubbish of all.
Pens, though, pens could take her anywhere. She need only pick one up and she could change the world.