The Last 5 Minutes - a short story
‘Help me,’ she said.
I hadn't noticed her sit down next to me in the cafe, that cold, dark and wet November afternoon. I was lost in the maze of my thoughts. At first, I wasn’t sure that she was speaking to me.
‘Help me,’ she said again. She was calm, measured, but insistent. When I turned to her, she wore a smile. It somewhat softened the demanding tone of her statement.
‘Excuse me?’ I replied.
‘Help me.’
My coffee cup was down to the last, dirty wash of cappuccino. I should have left for my meeting ten minutes ago. But this stranger had a way with her. She wore a suit that belonged to a lawyer and a way of looking at me that was at home in a courtroom.
She spoke again. ‘Help me with this. My friend asked me, what would I do if this were my last day on earth?’
For a moment, I didn’t know what to do. I could either ignore this stranger or engage her in conversation. What the heck, I thought. ‘What would you do if this were your last day on earth?’
‘That’s the point. I don’t know.’
There was a lengthy pause. I wondered if that was the end of this unusual, brief encounter. But it wasn’t.
‘Then my friend changed the question. She asked, what would I do if this were my last five minutes on earth?’
I repeated myself. ‘What would you do?’
‘I don’t know. That’s the problem. You couldn’t do anything, I guess. There wouldn’t be time. Forget about having sex, my friend said. You have to assume there’s nobody to have sex with. So I suppose you could only think. That’s all you’d have time for. ‘ Her gaze wandered to another part of the cafe before returning to me. ‘What would you think about?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
She crossed her legs. ‘They say, live every day like it’s your last. But how do you do that?’
I paused to think. But I didn’t have an answer. I decided to fire a question back at her. ‘Have we met before?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m just making conversation.’
Her manner was familiar. Yet I couldn’t place her. I was sure that if I’d been confronted by those viciously attractive features before, I would have remembered them. And remembered her.
‘What would you do?’ she asked.
‘Me?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What would you think about with your five minutes?’
‘Good times I’d had, I guess.’
‘Of course.’
‘For me, that would be time spent with my wife, my holiday in Vietnam — that was stunning. Finally getting a Ferrari. That was nice. I’d wanted one ever since I was a kid.’
There was a pause before she spoke. ‘You see, I’d remember the things I regret.’ The way she said it made it sound like an accusation.
I was annoyed. I snapped back at her. ‘I don’t regret anything.’
I wanted to pick up my briefcase there and then, but even though her manner made my skin bristle, the conversation intrigued me. I remained seated.
‘You don’t regret anything?’ she asked.
‘No. Nothing.’
‘Your whole life, you regret nothing?’
‘Nothing.’
She nodded, a signal of understanding. She took a sip of her coffee.
Just then, a man nudged my back as he tried to squeeze by. I looked over my shoulder, but he was already opening the door to make his exit. He didn’t say sorry or even acknowledge that he’d bumped into me. He ignored my stare completely. The cold air from outside was wafted in by the door swinging shut.
I turned back to face the woman. ‘Some people,’ I muttered, grimacing.
‘Yes, some people,’ she agreed, half-heartedly. She drained her coffee cup. ‘I have to go.’ She stood up.
‘Have you got an answer for your friend?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Good.’
Her voice betrayed a feeling of uncertainty. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’
‘My pleasure.’
And with that, she placed the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and walked to the door. Another current of cold air streamed in as she left. I hadn't known her long, but she had made me worry about her.
I looked around. The bar was empty. It hadn’t been bustling before but there had been four or five customers trying to rejuvenate themselves with caffeine.
The barista walked up to me from the other end of the bar. ‘Can I get you another coffee?’
I looked at my watch. I’d missed my meeting, but I didn’t care. They could go hang themselves.
‘Another cappuccino?’
‘No, thanks.’
I didn’t fancy going outside. I hated winter, always had. There’s something slum-like about cold temperatures. I should have been born in a warmer climate.
I wrapped my scarf around my neck, picked up my briefcase and headed towards the door. I paused to watch, through the cafe window, a couple walk by outside, arm in arm.
I opened the door. More cold air.
A gunshot rang out. Echoed.
The air became colder, so much colder, freezing. It was inside me now.
Copyright (c) Mark Capell 2012. All rights reserved.
Click on 'like' if you enjoyed 'The Last 5 Minutes' or tweet it.
I hadn't noticed her sit down next to me in the cafe, that cold, dark and wet November afternoon. I was lost in the maze of my thoughts. At first, I wasn’t sure that she was speaking to me.
‘Help me,’ she said again. She was calm, measured, but insistent. When I turned to her, she wore a smile. It somewhat softened the demanding tone of her statement.
‘Excuse me?’ I replied.
‘Help me.’
My coffee cup was down to the last, dirty wash of cappuccino. I should have left for my meeting ten minutes ago. But this stranger had a way with her. She wore a suit that belonged to a lawyer and a way of looking at me that was at home in a courtroom.
She spoke again. ‘Help me with this. My friend asked me, what would I do if this were my last day on earth?’
For a moment, I didn’t know what to do. I could either ignore this stranger or engage her in conversation. What the heck, I thought. ‘What would you do if this were your last day on earth?’
‘That’s the point. I don’t know.’
There was a lengthy pause. I wondered if that was the end of this unusual, brief encounter. But it wasn’t.
‘Then my friend changed the question. She asked, what would I do if this were my last five minutes on earth?’
I repeated myself. ‘What would you do?’
‘I don’t know. That’s the problem. You couldn’t do anything, I guess. There wouldn’t be time. Forget about having sex, my friend said. You have to assume there’s nobody to have sex with. So I suppose you could only think. That’s all you’d have time for. ‘ Her gaze wandered to another part of the cafe before returning to me. ‘What would you think about?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
She crossed her legs. ‘They say, live every day like it’s your last. But how do you do that?’
I paused to think. But I didn’t have an answer. I decided to fire a question back at her. ‘Have we met before?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m just making conversation.’
Her manner was familiar. Yet I couldn’t place her. I was sure that if I’d been confronted by those viciously attractive features before, I would have remembered them. And remembered her.
‘What would you do?’ she asked.
‘Me?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What would you think about with your five minutes?’
‘Good times I’d had, I guess.’
‘Of course.’
‘For me, that would be time spent with my wife, my holiday in Vietnam — that was stunning. Finally getting a Ferrari. That was nice. I’d wanted one ever since I was a kid.’
There was a pause before she spoke. ‘You see, I’d remember the things I regret.’ The way she said it made it sound like an accusation.
I was annoyed. I snapped back at her. ‘I don’t regret anything.’
I wanted to pick up my briefcase there and then, but even though her manner made my skin bristle, the conversation intrigued me. I remained seated.
‘You don’t regret anything?’ she asked.
‘No. Nothing.’
‘Your whole life, you regret nothing?’
‘Nothing.’
She nodded, a signal of understanding. She took a sip of her coffee.
Just then, a man nudged my back as he tried to squeeze by. I looked over my shoulder, but he was already opening the door to make his exit. He didn’t say sorry or even acknowledge that he’d bumped into me. He ignored my stare completely. The cold air from outside was wafted in by the door swinging shut.
I turned back to face the woman. ‘Some people,’ I muttered, grimacing.
‘Yes, some people,’ she agreed, half-heartedly. She drained her coffee cup. ‘I have to go.’ She stood up.
‘Have you got an answer for your friend?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Good.’
Her voice betrayed a feeling of uncertainty. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’
‘My pleasure.’
And with that, she placed the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and walked to the door. Another current of cold air streamed in as she left. I hadn't known her long, but she had made me worry about her.
I looked around. The bar was empty. It hadn’t been bustling before but there had been four or five customers trying to rejuvenate themselves with caffeine.
The barista walked up to me from the other end of the bar. ‘Can I get you another coffee?’
I looked at my watch. I’d missed my meeting, but I didn’t care. They could go hang themselves.
‘Another cappuccino?’
‘No, thanks.’
I didn’t fancy going outside. I hated winter, always had. There’s something slum-like about cold temperatures. I should have been born in a warmer climate.
I wrapped my scarf around my neck, picked up my briefcase and headed towards the door. I paused to watch, through the cafe window, a couple walk by outside, arm in arm.
I opened the door. More cold air.
A gunshot rang out. Echoed.
The air became colder, so much colder, freezing. It was inside me now.
Copyright (c) Mark Capell 2012. All rights reserved.
Click on 'like' if you enjoyed 'The Last 5 Minutes' or tweet it.
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