to the people who stared at me in Panera

Yes, I know it must be strange
seeing someone my age sitting
in a booth by themselves, a chai
latte to scorch the words bubbling
in my throat, and a bagel half eaten
because I didn't really want it. I
only got it because I didn't want to
seem weird just with a latte. I sat with
my back to a wall, my legs crossed
under the table and my hands gingerly
holding a book as if it were the last piece
of sanity in this world. Sometimes, I think
it really is. I tried to pretend like I didn't feel
your eyes boring into me, as if your
judgement could singe holes like cigarette
burns into my flesh. I felt the passive waves
of wonder from your side of the cafe, but
the awkwardness of not being able to look
up without making eye contact drowned me.
I was enjoying the pages set before my eyes
as I dove head first into a world away
from where your eyes couldn't find me.
See, I could almost hear your thoughts,
but they boiled over to the point where
my presence became a topic of conversation
for you and your other thirty-something
lawyer-looking girl friend. I pretended not
to see your well-manicured hand wave my direction,
and I caught only a sliver of your question before
snotty laughter erupted like it was from the ugliest, whitest
volcano on Earth. You had asked if I couldn't
find friends to hang out with, or if my boyfriend
had better things to do. While you found this oh so
hilarious, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and tore
my bagel a little rougher than intended. I have never had
the need to find resolution and comfort in the company
of others. To many outside my little world, this apparently
is a problem. I have absolutely no trouble finding spaces
for myself to indulge in alone, but to the common white
menopause-stricken middle aged woman, seeing someone
of the likes of me alone must automatically deem me undesirable.
Maybe I am. But I sure as hell don't need your opinion on it.