The Friday Ritual

It is cold outside, finally. I have been waiting for this weather for weeks. I love walking back from work, feeling the pungent air on my face; it makes me feel alive and awake.

Illustration by Ema Sojer

My best friends and I made an appointment at this café for our usual weekend chat. I don't know exactly when we started this ritual, but what matters is that we can no longer do without it.

In a few minutes, Clair will walk through that door, saying she is late—she knows—but it's Mario's fault. Mario is her dog, and if he could, he would never leave her.

Susan will be the last one to arrive; she is always the last one. Maybe this is a ritual too.

Even the waiter knows about our Friday ritual. He comes to our table only when all three of us are together: “black coffee, berry tea, and one spritz Campari.” He lists our drinks, always the same, indicating us with his ordering pen before walking away, leaving us to our confidences.

I like changes; they make me feel time passing, they make me feel that I am always in time to change something in my life, but I cannot imagine my life without the Friday ritual.

Written by Annalisa Porrelli at the Female Voice