Got the idea for this story from this one from the
Instagram account.I stand behind the counter, unbothered by the lack of customers. The coffee shop took its lead from the surrounding area. In the mornings employees rushed through on their way to work downtown. A walking group pushed two tables together, and were chatting; none wanting to leave just yet, and admit the day has started.
Chatter wafted over from a pair of moms with babies next to them in strollers. I remember having babies that small, wanting to both freeze time, and that they were older. My employees chatted away among themselves about what they watched on television, the latest news, and sports. Gossip about who was coming in with whom through the lunch hour. Louder voices of meetings, and people holding Zoom calls.
I enjoy the evening conversations the most. Night time brings out the philosopher in everyone. That’s when he came in, all style and substance, energy and weariness; it was the contradiction that interested me. Every night I’d pour us both a cup of hot coffee, put exactly three creamers in his mug and take a couple of blueberry muffins I snuck out of the showcase, and join him.
Tonight he looked distracted. He said nothing as I settled the coffee, and muffin in front of him. He stared out at the traffic streaming by; drivers on their way home, and pedestrians on their way out for the night. I sat, thinking about my own day; fulfilling in its own way. The right amount of routine, and stimulation is what I loved about running this place. Happy customers were repeat customers. They brought their family, and friends in, creating new customers.
The paper around my muffin ripped down its seams as I unwrapped it. The noise was enough for him to swing his head away from the window to see what it was. He sighed; a tired sound, as if he were laying down the world’s burdens, and stirred the coffee in front of him. He laid the spoon on the saucer beside the coffee, pulling his head up to look at me.
“Do you ever wonder what you would do with just one more moment with your loved one? Would you make their favourite meal? Tell them how much they mean to you. Relive some shared memory?”
Sensing the moment was more about him, than me I toyed with the idea of lying; minimizing my own pain, in trying to empathize. I rethought the impulse as I looked him in the face, noticing the man had torn his own heart out. Now was the time to be honest.
“Yes,” It was a lifetime ago, but it still hurt. My sister was sick, in hospital, but they were able to treat her; or so I told myself. The doctors agreed, and outlined everything from recent test results, and studies showing those with her illness would survive. Thinking these thoughts, reassuring myself with facts, I left her beside for work, and a merciless boss. I kept myself busy through my shift, happily volunteering for a second when my co-worker failed to show up to relieve me.
My phone showed six missed calls, and three messages when I got into the car. One was from my doctor confirming an appointment, while two were from my parents. Kira died after they left that day. The nurses administered her regular medicine, and she napped. When the orderly came with dinner they noticed she was unresponsive. I looked into his eyes, now glistening with tears.
“My older sister,” I said. She showed me how to tie my shoes, how to bake, and cook. She advised me on fashion, and boys. Told me to stay away from the bad ones, which, didn’t stick because I ended up married up to one. I beat myself up over my actions that night, the question of what I could have done different haunting me for the rest of my days.
The coffee was now cool enough to drink, but still warm enough to send drinking temperature. “My girlfriend slept over last night. First time in our relationship; I really felt like we could’ve gone the full distance. I left her to shower, and lock the place up before she headed to work. I got a call right before I left my office from one of my neighbours. They heard a thud, and called nine-one-one, then went to the door and met the paramedics. By the time they got there, she was gone. I… I don’t want to go home,”
“I don’t blame you.” I related to that feeling too. My parents were in their own respective worlds; my mother making my sister’s room into a shrine, my father determined to act like everything was fine. There were days when I didn’t want to go home either.
I looked around at all the couples enjoying conversation, laughter bubbling up. “This might not be the greatest area to be,” I would have offered him space in my office away from happy couples. He looked up noticing his surroundings for the first time.
“I think this is exactly where I need to be. It reminds me there is life to be lived,” He smiled