Albeit, a slight one.

"What's the matter?" Says the patron as she sits in front of me and offers a smile. 

I try to smile back, but I'm just not in the mood. 

Consuela continues to ignore me -- and while there is a lull in the mid-afternoon rush I've decided to take a seat at one of the tables and contemplate; I think.

"I dunno," and say as I shrug my shoulders and start to stand.  She raises her hand to stop me, and so I re-sit and listen to what she has to say.

"You're doing amazing things here." She tells me as she cracks open her can of soda and plunks in her straw before taking a sip.

I nod.  

I am making a difference, albeit a slight one.

"Do you ever get the feeling that none of it matters?" I ask her.  I have no idea why I've decided to treat this particular woman as a confident, but I suppose her interest in the business and her gesture of kindness has propelled me to start to expel all the thoughts that have been weighing on my mind.

"Ah," she says as she crosses her legs and leans back in her chair. 

I like this woman.  She's elegant.  Nice. 

And a good customer.

She comes in here daily, tips generously -- and always smiles. 

"That's just an irrational thought cuz you're tired," she tells me as she points to our Apple-faced friend as he awkwardly attempts to clean the front windows during this quiet period.

"He's the happiest I've ever seen him," she says and then leans forward so he won't hear.  "Before you came along he was in the hospital on a weekly basis, always being banged up for one reason or another.  Poor soul," she says as she takes another sip.

"But now -- now he has a job, and a purpose, and a just look how his shoulders are higher.  Have you noticed that he doesn't slouch as much?"

I take a second to glance over at him between the streaks of water left on the window.

She's right.  He does have more confidence.

"So, you see -- you ARE making a difference." She tells me as she finishes her soda and stands.  "You may think you've taken pity on one person -- but the ripple effect is huge.  My workload at the ER is now less because he isn't in there.  And, if everyone were to take the reigns the way you have -- well..."

"...the world would be a much different place." I finish for her.

"Exactly," she says.

"Donna," I tell her and stand to give her a hug, "You've been very helpful.  I feel slightly recharged."

She looks a bit puzzled when I use her name, but then realizes she's wearing her employee badge with her name on it.

And a moment later we laugh.

As she walks out the door and heads back to the hospital, she tells our Apple-faced friend that the windows look great, to which almost instantaneously I hear from behind the counter a sourly and miserable Consuela retort under her breath, "No itz not."

And, before I have a chance to reprimand her for her sullenness more customers stream into the cafe -- and the harried frenzy of sandwich orders soon preoccupies my mind, no longer allowing me to wallow in thoughts that aren't real. 

Donna is right. 

They were most likely brought on by a fatigued mind trying desperately to stay positive in an ever-thankless world.

I am making a difference.  And what I'm doing does count.

Hell Hath No Fury

"Hey! Slow down," I gasp between breaths to Consuela who is scurrying ahead of me.  For a second I start to let my mind wander as to how someone so chunky can move with such speed -- but then I remember that any second now the beast will awake, and so I double-time my steps and try to keep pace with her.

Thankfully, the first person we see is Donna who is confused by my flustered state.

"Why are you so out of breath?" Asks Donna who doesn't understand all that has happened.

Trying to avoid further attention I quietly motion with hummingbird-like hands for Donna to come closer so I can fill her in on the drama.  But, since the clouds are out in abundance at the moment, the darkness of night makes it difficult for her to see what I'm doing.

When it's evident that Donna is not registering what I want, I whisper for her to come closer to me.  Consuela nods that she is watching my back, and so I feel safe to take a moment and fill Donna in on what just happened -- but before I can finish we all hear a blood curdling wail.

Then the gurgling of a scream - like a rabid animal on a vigilante death charge.

Pandora has left her box.

"Help me," I plead to Donna in a rather unimpressive tone of voice that I can only hope will be rewritten in my memory with more valour.

"It's fine," says Donna who enjoys her position of authority and doesn't seem to be too bothered by the bully who thumps towards us howling like a madwoman whose house has just been set on fire and her children have all been drowned.

I take a deep breath. 

And brace for impact, agony, and pain.

By now the remainder of the townspeople at the fire have caught wind that a controversy has occurred, and one by one they each look towards us; waiting to see how it all unfolds. 

I quietly say a little prayer to anyone whomever might be listening, because it's evident from her rage that all rationale is gone. 

Donna gives me a nod of encouragement as both our shoulders straighten to create a front against the madness.

Seconds bleed past us, but eventually we hear her huffing her way up the path through the darkness towards us.

"Yerz shoulds be caresful," says Consuela as she takes a step to the side as the bully approaches.  Part of me hopes that she's going to be my wing man should the bully strike -- but before I have time to fully strategize I hear:

"You," snarled from her rabid lips as she slows her pace and creeps towards me, waiving for a couple of her posse to join her -- which they do.

"You attacked me first!" I squeal in a rather unattractive octave that bounces off everyone's eardrums before I can take it back.

The crowd starts to move away from the fire and draw nearer.

I immediately have a unique perspective on how a Christian in the Colosseum about to be torn to shreds by a lion might have felt.

I look to Donna for support, and then strategically step behind her -- distancing myself from the bully's rage.

Donna takes a moment to assess the situation, then eventually speaks.  "You are the type of persons that we don't need.  Causing trouble.  Picking on the weak.  Creating a controversy where there isn't one.  You should be ashamed of yourself."

By now, Donna is flanked by two supporters.  And so, I try to position myself between them as well.

"Can't we all just get along?" I ask pathetically from behind Donna's shoulder.  But that only seems to add fuel to the fire, and a moment later the bully picks up a large rock and aims it at my head.

To which, I manage to duck and avoid.

"You're crazy!" I scream at her, and before I have time to react Consuela manages to pick up a log and smack the bully square in the face with it.

We all cringe when we hear her nose crack, and as the bully falls backwards towards the ground I make sure to only allow myself to smirk on the inside for the briefest of seconds before looking to the others for direction.

In the meantime the bullies' friends start making their way towards Conseula, who tightens her grip and stands her ground.

"OK, enough!  Fighting with each other isn't going to resolve anything.  We HAVE to get along," Donna yells, which seems to pause the next sequence of events. 

Both the friends and Consuela stand there glaring at each other, neither moving towards the other.

The discomfort of the crowd seems to act as a tranquilizer to the pending violence, and a moment later I see Consuela breathe out as the friends re-strategize and retreat.  Taking their rabid banshee with them, they disappear towards their respective houses and the night's darkness eventually swallows the mess whole.

It takes another minute or so before the tension in the air begins to wane, allowing people to return back to the campfire quietly muttering random explanations to themselves before eventually forgetting the fiasco.

And a moment later, I begin to relax -- for now.

Donna is right.

All we have is each other.  And if we chose to not get along, we'll unravel to the point of dysfunction -- spiraling towards our extinction at a rate we can't erase.