2022-04-02 - Una's Soft Heart

It's early; early enough that the cafe is only just opening its doors, and too early, still, for most of the shops and stores to have turned their lights on, let alone opened for business. Una-- plump girl, red hair, purple jacket against the chilly morning air-- arrives on her bicycle, wheeling it up to a nearby bike stand to chain it into place. She crouches beside it, looping her helmet through the chain along with the bike's front wheel, and hums tunelessly beneath her breath as she tests the lock.

The squish of wet socks gradually faded as Poppy wanders down the sidewalk, pausing to look into each shopfront she passes by. The now quiet patter of her steps matches the early morning tranquil atmosphere. The fabric of overly-large sweatpants shuffle at her thighs with each step. One hand clutches them to keep them from falling off, a half-consumed, squished water bottle also held in the same hand. Her other hand holds a protein bar in a wrapper, almost finished. There's a lack of coordination to her gait, her unwashed face telling a story even she might not remember. A ridiculously American pro-beer and pro-gun oversized cartoonish t-shirt keeps her decent up top, further suggesting she's not all-there. Nearing a cafe, Poppy lacks any sign of noticing or acknowledging Una's presence near it, her gaze inattentive beyond peering into windows.

Above the rim of her wheel, Una's dark brown eyes lift; attention caught by the movement beyond and falling, inexorably, on to Poppy. Her teeth worry at the skin on her lower lip, and then, abruptly, her lips pull together into a determined frown. The lock gets checked once more, and then the redhead rises, taking a few cautious steps towards the inattentive Poppy. "Hey," she calls, gently, her voice soft in both volume and tone. "Are you... okay? Do you need anything? I could buy you some coffee?"

There's something fresh-faced and very open about her expression, and both hands lift, gently, as if to say: I'm safe.

With a stilted motion, Poppy feeds the last bite of the bar into her mouth and drops the trash to the side of the road, palm clenching to not drop a different, small piece of paper.

All while Una is speaking. It takes Poppy a good five seconds before Una's words seem to register. Her head bobs while turning towards Una, squinting as if someone just turned on a bright light, her jaw slack. Coming to the realization that someone is talking, and talking to her, Poppy halts in her tracks, assessing the situation. She squeezes her eyes shut, rubbing her face with her clenched palm. "Yeah... no, yeah..." She looks back up at Una, more focused now and with heavy breaths, as if cataloging a trustable face and engaging in conversation were difficult tasks that required her shifting gears. "I just... do you have a bag? A bobby pin?" she asks, her squeaky voice sounding both distressed and annoyed at the same time. Still lagging behind in her own head, she nods all of a sudden, following her own questions up with a calmer, "Coffee... yeah, thanks."

A sad little breath escapes Una's mouth, uncontrolled; and then she attempts a smile, nothing too bright in wattage but still very present. "Coffee, absolutely. Wait here, okay? I'll get the coffee and come back, and then I can check what I've got and if there's anything you need, okay? Just wait here, okay?"

That she's repeating herself goes unnoticed, or maybe not: either way, there's no shift to Una's expression. She nods, as if to punctuate everything she's said with the gesture, and then-- without taking her gaze off the other woman-- takes a few steps towards the doors of Espresso Yourself.

"I promise," she says. "I'll be right back."

Una's words echo in Poppy's head, the repetition enforcing that Poppy should stay there and not follow Una inside -- outwardly expressed by frustration, with exhausted eyes focused on Una. Poppy leans forward, almost like her body wants to move instead of shivering in place, but the words hold her back. She looks to the shop suddenly to check if she would be able to see Una's actions inside from where she stands. Regardless, the already hesitant and delayed actions of the disheveled woman would give Una more than enough time to get inside, even if Poppy tried to approach.

Espresso Yourself has big windows, so it's easy enough for Poppy to track Una inside: she'll be able to see the redhead approach the counter and order, exchanging money for a few paper bags full of something, and the promised coffee, as well. The paper bags go into a plastic bag (environmentally unsound, perhaps, but occasionally very useful), and the two paper cups into a cardboard carrying tray. She glances back, once or twice, always aiming to catch Poppy's gaze and to smile.

It doesn't take long, really, and then the redhead makes her way back outside, plastic bag swinging from her wrist and coffee tray balanced in one hand-- all the better to be able to open the cafe's front door without spilling anyway. "See-- I came back," she says, grinning. "Coffee, and there's some pastries for you, too. They're not as good as my cinnamon rolls, but they're not bad. And there's a sandwich. Are you cold? I can give you my jacket."

And then: "My name's Una."

With Una inside, Poppy's cracked lips go taut and her brow tenses, blue eyes barely blinking. The situation is visibly stressing Poppy, eyes widening each time Una looks back, teeth clenched the whole time. And when she returns, Poppy leans back like someone wanting to make a run for it. But her feet refuse to move.

As Una rattles off a list of items, including offering a jacket, the shivering woman looks down to her clenched palm. "I have some bucks," she blurts out, almost out of fear. Then, a beat later, "Poppy." With both her hands full, she doesn't make a move to take anything, instead holding up her shaky, clenched hand to partially reveal a palmed, wrinkly twenty-dollar bill.

Poor Una: her brow furrows and her mouth purses, and she seems to actively taken on Poppy's agitation, either a her own or as a wound. But she swallows that back, whatever it is, and after taking a deep breath, shakes her head firmly. "Well... that's good, Poppy," she says, aiming for upbeat. "I'm so glad. You can look after yourself, I bet, but..."

She sets down the tray, and the plastic bag, laying it all out on a conveniently located bench. And then, without pause, she removes her own jacket, the purple, down-filled nylon set down along with everything else.

"How can I help, Poppy? There's a community centre on Spruce. Do you know it? HOPE?"

It comes as a great relief to Poppy to see the items set on the bench, her entire posture relaxing as the bench acts as neutral ground for their exchange -- or, gift, as Una's words register. Again, Poppy's eyes squeeze shut.

"I don't know," she exhales, rubbing her face again; this time for much longer. "What time is it?" she asks out of confusion, before following that up with, "Where is Spruce?" She groans, lowering her hand, finally, and eyeing the bench. "Thank you," she barely musters, then approaches, first dropping her bill into the bag, followed by the crunched-up water bottle, passed from hand at her hip to free hand. Goosebumps rise on her skin as she takes the down jacket into one hand, immediately embracing the warmth -- though it's still a slow process of getting it on while keeping the sweatpants up. Although Una could help dress her, Poppy made no request for help.

Throughout the conversation, Poppy didn't ask a single question about Una. She just couldn't. Not in this condition. Even the 'thank you' took tremendous effort.

Una's soft heart breaks-- but she doesn't push. There are directions to Spruce to be offered, but that's as far as she'll take it.

Still. Poppy can expect to be watched for, now. Una has her in her sights.