He stretched and pulled the energy between his forefinger and thumb as he glanced around to see if anybody noticed.

He sat at a local coffee shop, in the corner at a small table as the red spark danced between his fingers, a dull glow, snapping and fizzling, that should have drawn attention.

But as always, no one looked up.

He rubbed his fingers together, building a small ball that pushed back against his skin like a piece of hard candy.

Mid morning on a Wednesday, he had nothing better to do. Most of the others were working on their computers, headphones in. There was one mother with a child that was kicking and grumbling. He flicked the ball he’d created at the child’s head, where it landed right at the hairline and absorbed immediately with a slight jolt. The fight was instantly gone, and the child started sucking his thumb, his eyes blinking heavily.

Then there was a couple whispering furiously two tables over. He picked the angrier looking one, the woman in a suit jacket and a full face of makeup.

He flicked it towards her, a high loop, lazily confident. No one had ever followed the ball. No one ever saw it.

A dark-haired woman with a backpack bursting with papers, a phone cradled between her shoulder and her ear, and a purse draped around her torso, caught it just as it started to arc and fall. She dropped some papers she was holding and they scattered across the floor. She locked eyes with him as she squished the ball in her hand, her eyes hard. “I’ll call you back,” she told the other person on the phone and stuffed her cell in her purse.

“Don’t do that,” she said low and harshly, before grabbing her papers off the floor and continuing to the counter to order her coffee.

He sat in shock for a moment, staring at her. She grabbed her drink when the barista called out “Casey!” and she was gone, ignoring him as she charged past him.

He got up then, running to the door and following her out. “Can I talk to you?” he said, slowing beside her.

“Absolutely not,” she said, trying to cram her overflowing belongings back into her backpack. “I’ve talked enough to shitheads like you to know it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

“There’s more?” he said, dumbfounded. “Like us?”

She hesitated, slowing down just a bit. “You haven’t met anyone else?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t know there was anyone else like me,” he said. “Nobody ever seems to notice. It’s like a stupid trick. I only use it to help people.”

Her eyes got hard again, and she picked up the pace. “You’re not helping people.”

He sighed. “Please, talk to me then. I don’t know what I am or how I can do this. I didn’t know there was anyone else.”

She stopped, gritting her teeth. “Okay. Fine. I’ve really got to go. I don’t know what you do for work, but I have responsibilities. I will meet you tonight, at 6 pm, at the bar on 16th street. We can grab a drink and talk.”

“I’ll be at work by 5 pm,” he said. “How about 11 pm?”

She groaned. “How old are you?”

“Twenty three,” he said.

“Lord,” she sighed. “Okay. 11 pm.”

Written by Elizabeth Silverstein. Join me on Hew and Weld every Sunday for a fiction piece as I work on consistency and imagination.