by Stephen Winburn
Inspired by “The Deadly Hour” by Elspeth Eric
There once was a man, like many others before him and after him, that went largely unnoticed in the world. He was neither rich nor poor, handsome nor homely, of well or ill-repute, neither couth nor gauche, possessing neither great intelligence and wit nor was he a dullard. In many respects of the word the man was Everyman, the average man. He worked an average job for average hours for average pay, returned every day to his average home; He lived an average life. For himself, he neither liked, nor disliked, envied nor cherished his way of living. To most who ever thought of him [himself included], he was average, not memorable or noticeable. To most, that is.
In the story of this man, the only thing of note was his lunch break. It was of the average length, but within the span of it he managed a single outstanding triumph: He would get into his average car and drive 10 miles out to what he considered the Best Coffee Shop in the known world. No one could truly understand this trek since his job offered the same amenities in their menial break room, including the exact coffee he seemed to adore so much. When asked, he’d only ever answer “It’s the atmosphere.” It was true that ever since coffee shop chains began to spring up everywhere, the locally owned coffee shops began to attract more and more unordinary people. People who loved coffee, people who were against commercialism, people who just wanted a place to relax and write the latest chapter in their novel; people who weren’t so average. Most would take his answer and leave it at that.
If anyone with an above average level of general curiosity pressed him, he might finally answer “There’s a barista…”. What about him? “It’s a woman.”. Okay, so what about her? “She’s very hospitable.” So she’s attractive then? “I guess so.” It’s a simple Yes or No. “Yes, I guess.” And what else? “I don’t know”. What’s she like? “She’s just… nice.”
For an average man, it’s hard to describe what must have been an average crush on an average woman.
In itself, his relationship with this barista was the average relationship one might have with any customer service worker. He worked 5 days a week, and of those 5 days, on average he’d see her 3 days. And of those 3 days, on average she’d serve him one day of 3. And when they spoke, it was just an average conversation.
“How are you?” She’d ask.
“I’m fine, thanks.” He’d respond.
“What’ll it be?”
“The usual, please”.
“Just that then?”
“Same as always.”
“ Three-eighteen please.”
“Here you go”.
“Thanks, come again.”
“I always do”.
Despite being a daily regular for several months he never got any special treatment. Though whenever she brewed his coffee he thought it was a bit tastier than any other barista’s. She never asked his name, though he knew by her name tag hers was Charity. “A fitting name,” he said aloud once, thinking that surely it was her own kindness that kept her working at a mere coffee shop for as long as she had been. And yet she’d only smiled and said “Thank you sir”, before returning to her duties. It was a small gesture but for him that day had been an above average lunch break.
By all accounts he was just an average, ordinary man. So it was much to his and everyone else’s surprise when he caught the eye of a rather extraordinary woman. It had been another average day at work, and on his lunch break he headed to the coffee shop as he did every work day. There must have been something in the air that day, some spark of illumination that made him realize that he looked forward to his lunch breaks not just for nourishment and a reprieve from work, but just maybe it was to see Charity. Not just to see her visage, but to chance upon her smile like she sometimes did when he found himself watching her. Her charming grin he’d suddenly realized he’d taken notice of. He’d even began to entertain the idea that maybe she only smiled when he was around. A great stirring began welling up within him, something other than average feeling of desire. He had a spring in his step, a quickening of his heartbeat, his hair rising on the back of his neck, an excitement he’d not known before. Could it have been for Charity? All these thoughts began to well up inside him as he approached the coffee shop. For once, a day – this day in particular– was not going to be an average day, he thought.
And that’s when it hit him.
It, the door to the shop, swung open, smashing him square in the nose. For all his heightened feelings he’d been in the cloudy haze that blurs all things into nothing and, so blinded, he didn’t notice the woman attempting to storm out of the coffee shop.
When he came to, he could see Charity worriedly hovering over him. He could see her expression, the fear change to relief, the hint of that smile that he’d only just began to yearn for. And yet… at his side, still worried, still anxious, kneeled a goddess. In his imagination, he’d only ever dreamed to be held by someone who bewildered him so. And here she was in the flesh caring for him, embracing him, and noticing him even if only for being the cause of his temporary loss of consciousness. He wondered to himself if he was nearly dead because surely an angel would not descend upon him until the end of his simple life.
And then the woman, once worried, laughed, a sound to him that was akin to songbirds in the Spring.
“Angel of Death?” she scoffed, her voice like silk to his harshly ringing ears. “The Grim Reaper? Some pick-up line.”
For a moment, he’d thought she could read his mind as any goddess surely could, until he realized he was speaking his mind aloud.
“Oh, a goddess! Now that’s better. Definitely an upgrade,” she sang to him, her tone music to him. He made a conscious effort now to keep his mouth closed as he dreamed. If there was ever a victim of a concussion, surely it must be him, he thought. But if this was merely the invention of an addled brain, he was glad for it; what should be confusion and hallucination was instead a definitive clarity, a certainty. Of what, he yet knew not, but something Shakespearean if such a fiction could be reality.
“So you’re good?” she asked.
“I…I’m fine” he finally spoke.
And then she smiled at him, like Da Vinci would have painted if anyone ever smiled for art in his time.
“That’s really corny” she laughed, “But it’s sweet”. She helped him to his feet, keeping his head tilted back to keep his bloody nose from staining his work shirt. Though his eyes stayed fixated on his attacker and savior, he saw her shoot a furtive glance out towards someone that was beyond his narrowed vision just as a car sped off and away from them. Just as quickly as he’d looked away, her full gaze was upon him again. Her eyes were as deep a pool as the depths of time itself, all things to be made insignificant in a simple glance, and they were undivided in their attention to him. That spark that was in the air before, it had ignited him in that moment; the very average, ordinary man had been ignited by the very extraordinary feeling that must have been…
To the average person, the world must have been a blur after that moment, life moving so quickly that it would have been an overwhelming whirlwind of emotions and events. He’d been knocked over, she took him in to make up for her clumsiness, they’d chatted, they’d exchanged information; So suddenly it seemed, they were meeting again and yet again, they were talking regularly, they were going new places together, doing new things together. The minutes that slowly turned to hours, all at once turned to months of time that had gone by to the outside observer.
And yet, to him, it was as if life had suddenly began to remember his very existence. Every moment he’d spent since meeting her had become important; The sun rose each day to illuminate his life, the clouds came to offer him shade, the wind blew to quicken his steps, the flowers bloomed to catch his eye. Everything was immediately extraordinary simply by association with this extraordinary woman. There was nothing that escaped him anymore.
She was everything a man could have wanted in a woman; she was eloquent, she was clever, she was beautiful, she was well-off, and her eyes only ever seemed to be fixed on him. No one, not even he, could explain why the most desirable woman in the world would even take a second glance at him, the formerly most insignificant man in existence.
And then, one otherwise ordinary day, she said to him in the angelic chorus that was her voice,
“I love you.”
As if he wasn’t always dumbfounded in her presence, she’d said the three words that he’d only so clearly felt that moment he’d woken up and saw her but feared to think lest she truly was a mind reader; The three words that cemented what must have been a nearly year-long dream into reality.
“You, love me? How can you?”
“Because you’re sweet. Now, kiss me.”
In that time that came to pass, he’d come to know her; he’d seen sides of her that no one else knew existed before him and in turn she brought out him out of the average and into the world of the unique. In loving her he’d himself become a sort of demi-god in his own right. And, in what most would say was merely a short time later, the goddess and her demi-god were walking down the aisle together.
The wedding was the most extravagant party he’d ever been to, and he was half the reason everyone attended. Even without the alcohol that spilled from his cup, his happiness was without bounds. For the second time in his life, he was a man without parallel, the envy of all who saw him. This, he thought, must be what it feels like to be his goddess, the deity he from then on would call his wife.
For all the splendor that his bacchanalian wedding inspired, there was still nothing and no one that escaped his notice. For one, Charity was in attendance. After all, everyone in the coffee shop was invited on whim since it was there that the two of them had met. Charity wore a simple dress, herself seeming to go without notice by anyone. He noticed, of course, having been beneath notice himself up until very recently. When she finally caught his gaze, she smiled her same smile, that smile he now saw as just an ordinary smile, surely the same she gave everyone courteously he thought. A smile that was a mere candle to the star that was his wife’s smile.
Of all the seemingly ordinary people that had attended his revelry there was only a single person who managed to draw his attention away from his wife more than what was due to politeness. There was a man, a man who stood apart from all others. He seemed to lurk about at the edge of the party, never seeming to be long out of eyesight. This man was more than average height, more than average build, and definitely more than average in attractiveness. This more than ordinary man was someone many people seemed to recognize, and yet he was not someone familiar.
“Something wrong, Husband?” the goddess whispered to him, immediately drawing him back into the world of only them two he’d come to know as his own.
“Who is that?” he finally managed to ask.
“Who is who?”
“That man there. In the back?”
Her endless depths that he called eyes shot a sidelong glance, one he’d vaguely seen before. Where, he couldn’t remember.
“Oh, that guy? I’ve no idea. Don’t mind him.” Once again she’d let loose the full power of her gaze. “ I love you.” And with her magic kiss, his head swam and all sense of time and space was both immediate and insignificant.
It wasn’t until the honeymoon that the glory that was his wedding finally began to die down, merely to be replaced by another insurmountable new landmark in life. As man and wife, the two now got to spend time away from all friends and family that seemed to never leave them alone, away from stress and work and all earthly troubles in order to spend time as the god’s do: in the lap of luxury.
Sunbathing in the Yucatan with his own person star, his wife. How is little world only revolved around her love and its loveliness.
And yet, once more he found his unyielding devotion distracted by some other unordinary person.
“It can’t be…” he muttered to himself as he sat up to get a better look, his vision dazed by his sun’s effulgent rays.
“What is it?” she chimed as bells do.
He squinted to focus…and sure enough.
“It is him! Why’s he here?” his confusion was apparent.
“Who’s him, love?” his bronzed statue shifted towards him, but her gravity did not pull him away for the first time in many long months.
“It’s that man. From the wedding?”
“Which man exactly? There were hundreds.”
“I can’t say.” He said, as the man absconded into the confines of the resort. “We weren’t introduced.”
“Are you sure?” She sat up, removing her sunglasses to look upon her husband. Once her gaze met his, all sense of unease melted away, for all he could think of was how the simple moments like these must have been Shakespeare’s inspiration to first take up his inked quill and pen his sonnets.
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “Maybe it wasn’t.”
“Just relax, dearest” she intoned, her caress on his uneven skin softer than the gentlest breeze. “It’s our honeymoon.” She then blessed his crooked lips with a the fullness of her own, another unforgettable kiss that could only be vaguely described in lengthy poetry.
She rose to her feet. “It’s spa time!” He attempted to rise as well but she intervened. “Women only, remember?” Indeed, though he loathed to spend any of his happiest of days apart from her, they’d planned the occasional activity separate from each other. “To build anticipation,” she’d said.
“Don’t be long.” He tried to sound charming, but he was still naturally too timid to sound convincing.”
“I won’t be.” Once more, the goddess leaned over to grace him with a kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you” he said, breathless as always.
At length, he’d come down from the clouds to remember he was indeed still on Earth. He’d dozed off, and time had escaped him. While the glow of the Earth’s sun had begun to dim to give way to the moon, his own personal star still shone brightly somewhere without him. He did not know how much time went by but it was long enough.
He bounded along to their shared suite, never having lost the spring in his step from that average day that seemed several lifetimes ago now. Lifetimes, for each new day he’d spent with his now beloved wife became a new life. He shuddered to think of how he or anyone could go on living not knowing her graces. Even when he tried to reimagine what he possibly did with his life before she’d happened upon him, the most that came to him was a toothy grin on some face he could no longer place; that same smile would flashback to him once in a while over a cup of coffee, sometimes an eye or a nose, but nothing memorable.
He’d reached his suite as quickly as his lead feet would carry him. He straightened himself, opening the door gently as he now always did in fear that he might one day strike his goddess in the same way she did him on that fateful day. But to his dismay, he found the suite empty, devoid of her radiance. The bath was drawn and ready, but unoccupied. The bed, still strewn with yesterday’s underthings, had not shifted since earlier in the morning when they’d left together for breakfast. She’d been here, but had not stayed. He was not panicked in the slightest, but he was indeed anxious to be with his beloved. After a minute, he’d resolved to ask for her at the front desk, for surely even those unfortunate souls who did not worship her as devoutly as he did would have noticed that they were briefly in the presence of the divine.
Just as he’d reached the door, he heard the distinctive click of the electronic lock and jumped back as the door swung open. She’d gasped audibly, her bath robe nearly coming undone in the shock of the moment. She was as radiant as ever, if not more so being freshly exfoliated down at the spa. Her fragrance was that of rain kissed roses, heavenly. And yet, something distinctly earthy that he was not familiar with.
Before he could wonder more about it, another door somewhere closed hurriedly.
“It’s only you!” she piped, her shock giving way to laughter.
“Who’d you expect? It’s our room!” he teased. “Nearly killed me!” gesturing to the door.
Then, the slightest glimpse of an expression he’d not seen before on his goddess face, a nearly imperceptible glance in the direction from where the door he nearly forgotten had closed, and then her winsome smile that he’d always loved.
“What’d you say?” she hummed.
“The door again,” he stammered, distracted. “Just missed me.”
“Don’t I always!” Miss you, she meant. He’d always appreciated her play on words. She threw her arms around him, letting her bath robe open around them, her bare, fair skin warming his. On an any other extraordinary day, with his extraordinary woman, in this extraordinary moment, he would have let himself be enveloped in the Dionysiac haze that would overwhelm him. But this time, he was certain of something. It was woodsy, the fragrance he couldn’t place earlier. Woodsy. Earthy. Which drew him back to…
“About that man…” he started, being the first to pull away for this first time in all of time he could remember.
His goddess, his wife, his woman, gave pause for a perplexing moment, and then she spoke.
“Oh, yes that man you saw earlier! You were absolutely right, he was the same man that was at our wedding! Can you believe it? I ran into him as I was coming back from the spa.”
“You ran into-“
“Yes! I had just drawn the bath here for the two of us and was coming back out to find you when I happened to run into him on his way out. He greeted me first, very familiarly, was surprised to see me here at the same time he was. We’d announced we’d be coming here at the wedding, remember? Or maybe you don’t, you did have more to drink that night then I’d ever known you to stomach before.”
“Yes, but why—“
“So I chatted with him for a bit. Here in the hall of course. He’s one of my father’s business partners back home. And you know my dad, always hoping to play matchmaker, he invited him in the hopes he’d meet a nice single girl at the wedding—like your cousin who caught the bouquet, hint hint—and get married himself someday soon. Something about the image of stability in the upper echelon, business bafflegab, you know how it is.”
“But what about—“
“And that’s what brought him here! He’s entertaining some of the international clients down here at this fancy resort on our pseudo-recommendation. It is beautiful place after all. Then, being the gentleman he is, he invited me into his estate room for a drink. I was standing in the middle of the hall only in a robe and a towel to dry my head after all. From the spa, which I wish you could—“
“You were where?”
“Yes, yes in his room, I know, it may have been faux pas, but I chose the lesser of two evils my love, stand and talk in the hall nearly naked for anyone who may have happened upon us to see or sit in a private room where at most he would have seen only what everyone who was out sunbathing would have us had already seen if I crossed my legs too quickly. And so one drink turned to two and then three – you know how easily I can put away a tasty martini and he’s nearly got a fully stocked bar under the guise of entertaining business guests! I lost track of time in there. When I realized how late it had gotten I figured you must have been worried about me so I rushed back to the room—Our room—and here you are waiting for me! Almost got you with the door I was in such, like the day I first met you at that coffee shop, that glorious day. Only this time I would have been smashing my husband with the door to our honeymoon suite! And that’s what we’re here for, our honeymoon. Because we’re married, you and I, and you and I get to do what married people do. Not that we hadn’t before but here, in this magnificent place… Honey, my Husband, do you think I wore nothing under this robe by accident? I wanted to surprise you when we got back in the room… I’ve wanted to do this all day”
And she lavished him with a kiss so powerful that the spell she’d had him under once again took hold once more. As his mind began to swim up to the clouds again, he wondered if it was the alcohol in her system or her earnest love for him that unleashed this particular kiss that this goddess never deigned to bless him with before. If he thought every kiss before now was poetry of a romantic author, this one was history itself.
“I’m so sorry” he said, finally coming up for air.
“No no darling, I’m sorry for making you worry. It won’t happen again this trip. In fact, I’ll be skipping all of my planned solo activities for the rest of time here. Better yet, let’s just stay in our room and be alone together. What do you say?” She wasn’t exactly dressed to begin with, but when her robe hit the floor, the sight of her bare skin, let alone the feel of it against his, both drove him wild and calmed his visceral uneasiness. If he wanted to be worried, or even angry, he was too much in love to let it stay.
“I love you.” He said, being the only words he could find to ground him before she took him back to the heaven only they shared.
“I love you too.” She smiled seductively.
And then the goddess descended.
Time, insignificant to the gods, passed. The honeymoon trip had ended, but it never truly left them. They’d returned home, but never back to Earth. He was akin to a bird in flight than any human had ever been, soaring high above the clouds to be closer to heaven, to the star that burned only for him. He’d returned to his average job, but had quickly rose up in ranks to be his own boss. He traded in his average car to one that he figured was more his style, which was also finally beginning to come into its own. He’d moved into a house he bought on Mount Olympus, where the rest of gods already lived, and now he, too, could call it home being more than the average human himself.
And his goddess, he loved her more each day, if such a thing could be possible. And she grew more lovely each day. He loved her none so much as the day he’d heard the three words he’d never would have dreamed to hear:
“I am pregnant.”
As each day was a new lifetime spent with her, the day before it seemed a distant memory. He was, every morning, filled with a new life, but crushed by his own good fortune that a simple single-celled bacterium of a man could have lived in the love of his one true Goddess. What was time if it was not time together with her? What was space if it was not the mere atoms that separated her from him? What was life if it was not lived solely devoted to her?
One ordinary day, these extraordinary feelings finally overwhelmed this formerly ordinary man. He could no longer sit behind his desk at work knowing there was a Goddess to be worshipped at home. And so, in his love, he just upped and left his office and rushed home to her, to revel in her presence once more, to declare for all history that he was indeed the happiest man ever to exist because of her.
He flew, as effortless as birds do, out of his car, up the steps of Mount Olympus, to their front door.
As he undid the lock, and gently opened his door as always, he heard a sound both familiar and unfamiliar. A creaking of a floorboard. A groaning of a bedpost. A smacking of flesh against flesh. A squealing of a delighted woman. A moaning of satisfied animal. A laughing: the symphony he’d heard a thousand times before in concert with a new set of instruments that resonated throughout the palace he called home. Then all was quiet.
How long he’d been motionless in the entryway to hear all the silly sounds he’d come to know as those unique to lovers, he could not count. But what is time? Now, more like a ghost than a bird, he floated up the stairs to his bedroom door and opened it gently, as always. In the bed he shared with his Goddess was a man, both familiar and unfamiliar to him. A man he’d all but forgotten about. The same man who’d been on his honeymoon. The same man who’d stalked about during his wedding. And now that he caught full sight of him, the one who burst through the door first at the coffee shop and sped away that afternoon so long ago, a fact he’d intentionally misremembered when he awoke to the sight of… that toothy grin he’d all but forgotten.
The man didn’t say a word, but only laughed a hearty laugh as he poured himself another glass of whiskey. There was no shock, no fear, no confusion, only a knowing and wry smile as he sipped from his cup.
Then, out of the bathroom, came the Goddess. Her hair wild as thickets, her skin glowing like a flame, her eyes as hungry as an animal; She was still every bit as perfect as Michelangelo have painted her. He could have reached out to touch her perfection as Adam eternally does to God on the ceiling chapel. But what is space?
She too offered no sense of surprise, no sorrow or remorse, or even confusion, but instead she only smiled her timeless smile and said calmly, “Now you know.”
It was one of the Greek dramatists who said “Those whom the gods love die young” But what is life? For in that moment, the man who had slowly come to achieve godhood amongst the living, had died. But didn’t go to any cold dark embrace, or ascend by chariots to a golden city in the sky; He was still right there in their bedroom, atop Mount Olympus where only the gods dwell. So, being only mortal, he left his altar to his Goddess, descended the stairs of Olympus, got back into his car and drove away without a word.
On an ordinary day, he awoke from his stupor to find it had been many months since his death. The divorce went by quickly and without fanfare, she being from a reputable family and his lawyer easily proving that the unborn child did not share his client’s bloodline. He’d left his office and worked from home, a cramped basement apartment miles from anything and anyone he’d come to know recently. He’d sold his car to fill furnish his dwelling with old things, namely an expansive library packed to the brim with non-fiction. All this he did without saying a word to anyone in all that time; Thanks to the invention of the internet, he could send an email here, mail out a form there, and his entire existence could be continued without ever making a single sound. And he didn’t make one utterance. He never left his cave.
So why this day was any different than any other that it should bring him out of the ever downward spiraling abyss he’d come to know as the afterlife, he could not say. He hadn’t bothered to trouble himself with the differences between one day and the next for as long as he’d care to remember. And yet he arose this morning with some kind of purpose he didn’t quite understand.
He checked the time: it was morning, but the smoldering flame that scorches the Earth wouldn’t be around for a while yet being the cold season. He checked his inbox: still many unread messages from those still mortal and immortal, filled with four letter words in three word sentences he vaguely remembered how to interpret, but nothing of a professional nature so he left them unread. There was nothing he could think of to do at the moment so he laid back in bed to sleep again.
And all at once, the scent of fresh coffee came to his nose and there was twinge of sensation that flickered in him. It was so brief he thought he’d dreamt it having just resolved to go back to bed, but the idea of it allured him. To order it now would be impossible as nothing that delivered such a thing was opened yet, but he desired it and if it was close enough to waft into his hermetic dwelling, he could have it in a matter of minutes.
So, being merely a shadow in the world of the living, he donned the closest things he had to everyday clothing, an old work suit he’d worn to his divorce proceedings, and ventured outside of his door for the first time in months.
The outside world was much more saturated than he thought it would be, having nearly convinced himself that everything beyond his books would be as black and white as the text he’d read about it; Even without that ball of light looming overhead the world still had many more colors than one could care to name. He kept his gaze down to the ground however, knowing that even if he looked too far ahead he might catch a glimpse of the horizon and the all-encompassing blue that was above the ground. He breathed deeply through his nose instead, the chill of the fresh winter air filling his lungs, as well as the growing familiarity with the smell of coffee beans being ground.
It was so close by that even the repulsiveness of seeing the sky now could not stop him from looking about. As if by some accuracy of his sense of smell, or just by chance perhaps, the first building he saw was indeed a coffee shop. A new one, just across the street. How long it had been there he dared not speculate, but everything outside of his simple walls was unknown to him these days.
He didn’t know if it was open yet, but seeing as how it was only a stone throw’s away from his resting place, he hobbled over to see. The hours on the door sign said he would have to wait another few minutes, but the door was already unlocked so he went in. A bell chimed, signaling the arrival of a customer. He winced, he hadn’t heard anything musical since he figured out how to program his computer to start up silently; Music made him feel things, and feeling was that last thing he had wanted to do since…
A woman, homely but charmingly so, came out from the store room, flustered.
“Sorry, we’re not—“ she stopped abruptly, nearly letting her jaw fall open. “Oh, hello there!” she beamed a toothy grin, a tone of familiarity in her voice. She hurried behind the counter, kicking beside a recently used mop.
“How are you?” she asked expectantly.. “Was that wrong? I’ll try again.” She cleared her throat, speaking louder “How are you?”
They both stood in silence for a moment.
“You don’t remember… that’s somewhat awkward. Well, don’t worry.” She goes back to the coffee station and whips up something quickly, nothing extraordinary. “Just the usual. I haven’t forgotten!”, she says, glancing back over her shoulder.
She turns back to the counter with a cute elephant mug and an even wider smile on her face. Then, speaking suggestively, “3.18 please!”
Him, suddenly realizing he’d not moved a muscle since she entered the room, started for his wallet. Just as he’d noticed he hadn’t brought it she said “Actually, never mind. It’s on me.”
Still dumbfounded by her, he approached the counter cautiously. Now that she could see him up close her cheeriness faded into a sympathy. “You don’t remember…” her heart dropping slightly. Suddenly she perked up again. “I’ve got it!” she darted back into the store room, and came out once more fumbling with a name tag. When she was settled, she stuck her arm out over the counter for a handshake.
“My name’s Charity. Nice meeting you. Officially, I mean.”
A fitting name, he thought silently. And just like that he’d remembered the girl at the coffee shop he would drive 10 miles out of the way to see every day on his lunch break; the girl who made the best coffee he’d ever tasted. Despite his descent into oblivion, she still hadn’t forgotten him. Why he had forgotten her clawed at the darkness that was his memory of all things before he came to dwell in his cave, shut out from his memory by force.
He took her hand gingerly, direct human contact being something he hadn’t realized he’d missed until that very moment.
Seeing the recognition in his eyes, she smiled sorrowfully at him.
“You remember me! Well that’s good. I remember you! Come, sit down.” She pointed him to one of the couches that littered the café. He remembered that coffee shops were all trying to be unique, and this one was definitely going for the “Right at home” feeling. Maybe he hadn’t noticed the coffee shop when he moved in because it really was just someone’s house until a few weeks ago.
They sat on a plush couch near a coffee table strewn with books on art and poetry, things he neglected to put in his library at home. He sipped his coffee silently, having remembered that his former “usual” was really steamed milk and sugar with a hint of coffee aftertaste; in reality, the smell of ground coffee beans reminded him of his mother’s home cooked breakfast but the taste of it usually made him gag. Charity’s was the only barista in 10 miles that seemed to understand that on the first try, and so he always went back to her shop.
Charity sat in silence with him as they sipped their drinks, his mostly milk, hers some frothy cream thing that was more parfait than coffee. Occasionally, he’d look up at her as if to say something, and she’d match his gaze, but no words came to him and she, politely, never questioned. It was something in her eyes –not pools of mystery but mirrors of the soul– that he knew that she had already understood what he’d been trying so hard to forget. In her eyes were the words of every unread message of family and friend he’d left behind when he declared himself dead, his very soul mutilated by three little words.
And yet, she whose only certainty about him was how he liked his coffee, was saying more than any of his well-wishers and care-givers had said in the time he’d been away from them.
He realized he’d finished his drink and was merely gazing out into the recesses of pure thought for what could have been hours, or merely minutes. But what is time when every day is exactly the same? Time…
He stood suddenly, bowed courteously, and headed for the door.
“Wait a minute!” Called Charity, but he was already out. He’d still had the elephant mug in his grasp as he made way for his apartment. He’d left his door carelessly unlocked, not bothering since he’d never dreamed he’d be out for longer than a few minutes. He fiddled about in his drawers, finding a 5 dollar bill tucked away with the random change he’d gathered when he cleaned out the basement to make it suitable for living. Now, out of breath, he hurried back across the street where Charity stood behind the counter cleaning out her mug.
“Missed me already?” she said, coming out from behind the counter as he entered. She grinned her charming grin that was much better in person than he’d seemed to recall just a few months ago… the thoughts of his former life suddenly welling up like a dam in his skull. Things he had tried so hard to forget now flooding back into his vision as they say life does during a near-death experience.
He took her hand and placed the 5 dollars in her open palm. Charity looked back at him, feeling the trembling in his fingers. As he turned to leave, she took his hand and said simply
“I’ll be here. Whenever you’re ready. I’ll just listen. If you want.” smiling gently, she let go of his hand. “I’ll be here.”
And he wept.
