Invisible People

A short story

Patricia Grayson’s toe caught a chair leg, causing her to almost spill her two Starbucks lattes on the twenty-something woman at the table between the counter and where her friend, Eva, sat. 

The cup wobbled on Patricia’s tray as if inhabited by an invisible spirit. Patricia froze and held her breath, trying to will the cup motionless while concentrating on steadying her hands. After a few seconds, Patricia breathed again, the cup no longer in danger of releasing its scalding contents onto the young woman.

“Sorry, sorry,” Patricia said as her accelerating heart threatened to bust a rib or two. “No harm, no foul.”

The woman at the table, who hadn’t noticed the danger looming over her, didn’t respond to Patricia; she stared into the distance while sipping her coffee. 

“I said ‘sorry,’” Patricia repeated. And for good measure, she leaned to the left so she was between the woman’s face and the Starbucks window.

When the woman still didn’t reply, Patricia muttered, “That’s rude,” and walked the remaining steps to Eva. “Did you see that?” 

Eva blew on her cup, took a sip of her coffee, and then blew at the cup again, white and brown foam rippling along the surface. “Hot!” She waved her napkin in front of her mouth. “Yes, I did. Are you surprised?”

“I kind of am. That woman basically ignored me, as if I were invisible.”

Eva placed her hand on Patricia’s, squeezed it, and smiled. “Sweetie, you are invisible.”

“I’m what?”

“You’re fifty-six years old. I’m fifty-seven. Sometime around this age we become invisible to anyone under twenty-five. They don’t see or perceive us. We’re too old for them to pay us any attention.”

“I see you. And I presume you see me?”

“Yes, of course. We’re friends and in the same age bracket.”

“But the barista saw me. He took my order and gave me our lattes.”

“That’s his job, Patricia. He’s been trained to see everyone because he has to sell coffee. But if you were to pass him in the street he wouldn’t notice you. Besides, he’s too young for you.”

“That’s sad.”

“Which part?”

Patricia smirked. “The invisible part.”

Eva shrugged and brought the cup back to her lips. She took a medium-sized sip. The latte was no longer lava-hot. “It is what it is. They’ll experience invisibility to the next young generation one day. They have little in common with us. We grew up with rotary-dial phones with one phone serving an entire family, an era that feels eerily unimaginable to them, making us unimaginable and unseeable. Can you name a song in the top 100?”

“I wonder if it happened to me gradually, like an autumn wind blowing away the leaves of a tree, or if one day I was visible and the next invisible to anyone who’s young.”

Eva shrugged again. “Does it matter?”

“I still don’t believe it. How can they not see me?” She clicked her tongue. 

“You’re irrelevant to the younger generation.”

“That’s plain mean, Eva.”

“But it’s the truth. You’re worried about retirement and they’re thinking about getting promoted.”

“But I see them,” Patricia objected. “Why?”

“I don’t make the rules of the universe. I’m just reporting them.”

“The rules,” Patricia whispered. Her pupils widened and she took in a deep breath. 

Patricia’s chair squeaked as she pushed it back. She walked to the first under-twenty-five-year-old she spotted. His hair was thick and jet-black—no hair color for him, Patricia thought—and his face was cheerfully round like Tom Cruise’s in his early movies. Patricia pulled out the chair facing him, sat, and said, “Excuse me, but do you have a card?” 

He looked like a lawyer or perhaps an accountant or some other professional—his suit smelled of freshly woven wool—and probably had a business card, but if not, he’d say so. But instead, he tapped on his laptop as if Patricia didn’t exist.

She waved her hand in front of his face. Nothing.

I am invisible to him.

The revelation was both sad and liberating. Patricia wanted a drink, a strong drink, and in a minute, she’d suggest to Eva they go to McGill’s pub across the street. First, she needed to process. Neither her teachers, parents, priests, nor Oprah had warned her about this. 

Unfortunately, nobody can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself.

Something like that. 

Patricia surveyed the half-filled Starbucks.

She took a long, deep breath.

Patricia’s thin smile broadened as she returned to the woman she almost spilled a latte on. She unsnapped the magnetic clasp on the woman’s handbag, removed the wallet, slipped it into her pocket, and skipped to the young couple at the adjacent table, eyeing their brand-new matching iPhones. 

She wasn’t worried about retirement anymore. 

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