Is it the intense, nut-free dark chocolate brownie with the firm icing that I am eating?
Or is it the beautifully composed woman with a strawberry tart and designer clothes, who sits down beside me after spending longer than politeness requires to look at me. She begins rapid movements of stuffing forkfuls of strawberry and custard covered pastry into her mouth.
Or, perhaps, it is the handsome, dark-haired, private-school-mannered man sitting at the other side of the café who looks at me with a confused question on his face as an older woman talks to him intensely?
I look down at my long double espresso and dense silky brownie. Why did I want to come in the afternoon to this cafeteria in the basement of a store that sells very expensive clothing? Closing my eyes, I place a small bit of the dense brownie in my mouth and cover it with a sip of the inexpertly prepared espresso.
The designer-clothed woman has finished her tart and is now drinking water as an athlete does for refreshment after physical exertion.
The dark-haired, private-school-mannered man is now listening politely to the expensively-dressed, bitter-faced woman who seems to be saying everything she can to ensure his loyalty or, perhaps, obedience.
I turn away and think about the words I had heard earlier, “I know what you need.” What a powerful phrase. The words had come from a face of competent certainty.
When I was at the food area to buy the brownie, the calm, professional, carefully-haired, middle-aged woman with the German accent of competence behind the counter had looked at the brownie and then at me with concern and asked, “No coffee?” I answered quietly, “I already have the espresso at my table.” “Ah,” she said as she smiled a smile of professional familiarity that still maintained the formal distance between us. And then there were those words, said with the no nonsense warmth of a German woman, “I know what you need.”
A stylish black woman and her daughter sit down on my right. Her daughter is both lively and composed. The daughter wears colourful clothes and four bracelets of different colors. Her hair is spectacular. Yet these effects all fit together as if some eye for style had composed them. The mother and daughter both speak to me warmly and then occupy themselves with their food.
An intense man sits down on my other side. He is wearing one of those pinched boy-suits that stylish men are now supposed to wear, even though they look ridiculous on anyone older than 22 or heavier than 140 pounds. He looks at me for a moment, and we share eyes. Then he immediately tenses and turns away, as if looking at a stranger might lead to conversation and he seems to fear that. Or, perhaps, he thought my look meant more than simple, friendly curiosity.
“I know what you need.” She had not said that she knew what I wanted.
We know what we want. Every day, every moment, we know what we want, even if what we want now is different than what we wanted a moment ago. But to know what one needs. Is that possible?
I sit alone, as always, sipping my long double espresso, taking in my mouth small bits of the brownie silky on the inside and crunchy on the out, watching others.
My analyst, whom I refer to when I talk about her with my nephew, the poet, as a wise demi-god sitting on her throne, my analyst usually does not express her views directly. Once, though, when I talked to her about not knowing what I needed, she actually made a direct statement. She said that this dilemma of the difference between want and need and the difficulty of knowing what we need is a consequence of a lack of trust, trust in oneself, trust in life. As with all demi-gods, she left it to those before her throne to connect the ideas. Was she implying that we cannot solve the need-want dilemma directly, that we must first find trust and then the dilemma will resolve itself?
I have no idea what I need. But I do know what I want. Right now, I want to have one more mouthful of brownie just before I sip the last sip of espresso. I reach out and…
………………………..
Holt Renfrew Cafeteria in the Basement
There is no true barrista in sight. Someone should really require those who work the machines to take professional training. However, the espresso is drinkable – don’t bother with their latte unless you are desperate. And, of course, the brownie is essential, though you do not need, although you may want, to eat it all. Pick the one with icing and without nuts. Go here in the middle of the morning or the middle of the afternoon during the week when it is not packed. Then it is just bearable. This café is rated one star. You could stop here if you are in the neighbourhood.
Photo credit: Michael Francis McCarthy
