The story is about a man seeking the right person to share his broken story
The door was slowly pushed open, as the man took shelter from the sleet pouring down from the sky, the smell of the coffee shop strong in his nostrils as he entered. The machines clicked and grinded away as the female at the counter completed the guests orders, the coffee ran like waterfalls down the filters, the roast grind getting burnt by the water. The man took his seat and waved a waitress over.
“Excuse me Ma’am, but may I inquire as to what your personal recommendation is?”
“We just got a shipment of Liberica beans today, we can brew it through a Ristretto.”
“That would be just delightful!”
The man sat at the table listening to the talk and banter, smiling to himself at the friendliness in which the men and women interacted. Looking around the shop, he sighed at the homeliness of it all, the colour of the wood, the ambience the candle light created to the giant beams holding up the ceiling, all in all, ‘very pleasing’ he thought to himself. His hands drummed on the table as if impatience was getting to him.
His mind settled as he wandered into his thoughts, preparing the story in its whole, how he was to tell it he knew not, only that he has to. The parts moving of their own accord rearranging themselves to the stories pleasure, almost as if he had not experienced it, that the story had a mind for itself. He tried to control it, wrestle it back to his own accord but it did no such thing the story just fought back harder. ‘How am I supposed to tell a story if I cannot think of it myself’ he shook his head and started back at the beginning.
More people walked in, finding refuge from the rain, drenched as if they had gone swimming fully dressed. He watched carefully at everyone who walked in searching for something familiar, something remarkably different as to be a beacon that signals the start of the story telling. His focus shifted to the coffee maker, her features plain nothing remarkable almost too unremarkable, as if you can see her, and not notice she was there, she had an oval face, round brown eyes, Shoulder length wavy hair, not skinny not fat, an hourglass-like shape, yet not extremely prominent in chest or waist. She was unmistakably regular. She was moving further down the counter with a steaming mug in her hands, she handed the mug to the waiter who had previously served him, she pointed and said something inaudible to his ears. As they met eyes she winked.
The waiter put the steaming mug on the table and smiled at him,
“One cup of coffee for a magnificent man, or so I’ve been told.”
“Hardly magnificent, just in the wrong places at the wrong times.”
“Yet you sit here, and drum your fingers as if it is the most ordinary of things to do.”
“Like I said, just an unlucky ordinary man”
“If you insist, Mr. ordinary,” she said pinching his face not so gently. He shook his head. ‘What is it with women, and why will I never be able to understand them.’
The story flitted back into his mind, causing chaos to his thoughts, looping and jumping from place to place. The man tried rearranging the words, make it fit, yet whatever he did, the story just did not listen to him. He closed his eyes, feeling the grain of wood underneath each fingertip as each finger consecutively tapped the table, he filled his thoughts with the conversations of the people in the coffee shop. The story slowly sliding into place.
The man sipped his coffee, his mouth burst with delight, all the flavors popping in his mouth like a balloon filled with candy. He eyed the coffee maker motioning her over. She took off her apron and slowly walked over, the waitress taking her spot. Putting on the apron and continuing to complete the orders, moving from machine to machine passing the finished mugs to the waitresses to pass to the patrons. The coffee maker pulled a seat out and sat down.
“How do you like the coffee”
“It is absolutely fantastic,” the man said over a sip, “so you’re the one”
“Yes, I am the supposed one” she replied
“Where to begin”, the man mused to himself
“Probably at the beginning where it all started”
“Agreed, that would make the most sense, even if somewhat boring.”
He took a long sip of the coffee and stared into her eyes, his voice going cold. There was a tangible feeling in the air, as if it solidified scared as to what was going to be said, the voices all going silent at the same time, it was impossibly silent, the man’s first words were as said, unremarkable.
“The horse carriage drove along the road, following the ruts of the many travellers before it”.