A Hot Coffee and a Strange Boy
Somewhere outside Seattle, amidst the grey cement structures and the formidable green Redwoods, there sits a small café named Ambrosia. Back then, an abstract brown design swirled around the inside walls, dipping beneath weathered red booths and rising again to brush the corners of the solidly mauve ceiling. The elderly owner was an idealist, insisting to his son that he wanted his customers to be able to see the aroma of hot coffee in the dreary weather found consistently in Washington. His son, being a man with a more practical view of life, remained unconvinced until one of his business school friends remarked that the idea, if carried out well, might make the café an extra buck.
A light tinkling sound from the bell by the door wafted into the kitchen next to the scent of fresh bread and roasted coffee grinds. Slowly, the aged owner rose from his chair in the back and shuffled out with a smile to greet his customer. ‘Customer’ may have been a little optimistic; the café rarely had any nowadays, but the very least he could do for a person caught in a downpour was offer them warm bread and hot coffee.
A young man was waiting behind the counter patiently. Had the owner’s wife been present, she would have grumbled about the absolute lack of meat on the boy’s bones. Several tufts of dark blonde hair stuck out from under a warm-looking cap pulled down to the boy’s eyebrows, coming to rest upon the high collar of a thin fleece jacket covering a large turtleneck sweater. Dark eyes glittered from a wind-bitten face unnervingly as he watched the man approach. The owner continued smiling, though not quite as welcomingly as before.
“Hello, sir! Anything I can get for you today?” The owner watched as the boy scrutinized the menu behind the counter carefully, as if the man had asked which dog he wanted to save from the pound. A moment of silence passed, only broken up by the raindrops beginning to pound with increasing frequency on the windows.
The disquieting dark eyes flicked back to meet his own. “Black coffee,” he said in a disinterested voice that belied his perusal of the menu only moments ago. “A medium, if you will. As hot as you can make it.” The boy seemed to struggle with something for an instant before adding on “Please.”
The elderly café owner nodded obligingly and set to work, not bothering to ask for a name when such a gesture was unneeded in a near-empty place like the café. He watched from the corner of his eye as the thin boy slid into one of the older booths with surprising fluidity for someone of his age. Instead of pulling out a mobile phone to play with as the owner’s grandchildren so often did, he looked content to merely follow the ribbons of brown on the walls with his eyes. A comfortable quiet saturated the warm air. The rain outside picked up momentum.
Soon, the coffee found itself being handed from the calloused hands of the old man to the long, cold fingers of the boy. A word of thanks might have been uttered before he returned to tracing the patterns on the walls intently, sipping the bitter coffee given to him. The owner returned to his place behind the counter and began wiping it down with a ragged cloth, biding his time until the boy finished his drink. The chilled redness on his nose and cheeks gradually disappeared, leaving behind only a fair complexion.
When he finished, he simply continued sitting there, as if trying to work up the nerve to call the owner to announce that he was ready to pay. The man finally saved him from his dilemma and hobbled over to his booth to announce the price. The boy nodded. Scrawling a quick note on the receipt, he paid and left.
His son stormed in only moments later in a damp brown business suit. “Dad!” he said indignantly. “What are you still doing here? The doctor said to be home and in bed by eight! Staying up this late is bad for your health, and the café should’ve been closed hours ago-”
“What time is it?” the owner interjected. Last time he’d checked, the weak light able to break through the rain clouds outside had just begun to fade.
His son sighed. “Geez, dad… It’s what, quarter to one in the morning? You’re going to work yourself to death at the rate you’re going…” What was a teenager coming in to drink black coffee at midnight for? And the owner could have sworn on his wife’s grave that it had been four in the afternoon when he’d first gone out to take the boy’s order.
Ignoring his son’s well-intentioned lecture about his health, the old man remembered the receipt with the note the boy had written and brought it up to his nose to read, hoping that it may contain some words of explanation to defuse his worry. Instead, he simply found a short message thanking him for all the coffee. The owner smiled, recalling the way the boy’s eyes slowly followed the various brown patterns on the wall, as if trying to commit them to his memory, or see that which he was drinking. Perhaps the odd lapse in time merely announced the arrival of a kindred spirit, odd as it may have sounded. But, the owner was fancied to be an idealist, and the idea of finding a familiar soul in someone so young did not seem so farfetched to him. Even though he knew that the boy would never read it, the man pulled out a pen and wrote a quick “Any time” on the receipt.
Ten blocks down, the boy continued his trek through the rain. Any warmth the café instilled in him had left rather quickly, though he didn’t mind much. The frigid air made his bones feel so alive- a sensation he hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing for a long time. His only regret, he thought as he looked to the sky, was the lack of clear nights in this particular area. One could not count the stars properly when clouds obscured the whole sky. Still, his first night had not been all that bad. After hours of paperwork necessary for easing into his new life, the bitter black coffee had been a pleasant highlight to end his day with. Tomorrow, the work would begin.
The demon turned a corner onto the next street, thinking carefully of those he might kill.
A light tinkling sound from the bell by the door wafted into the kitchen next to the scent of fresh bread and roasted coffee grinds. Slowly, the aged owner rose from his chair in the back and shuffled out with a smile to greet his customer. ‘Customer’ may have been a little optimistic; the café rarely had any nowadays, but the very least he could do for a person caught in a downpour was offer them warm bread and hot coffee.
A young man was waiting behind the counter patiently. Had the owner’s wife been present, she would have grumbled about the absolute lack of meat on the boy’s bones. Several tufts of dark blonde hair stuck out from under a warm-looking cap pulled down to the boy’s eyebrows, coming to rest upon the high collar of a thin fleece jacket covering a large turtleneck sweater. Dark eyes glittered from a wind-bitten face unnervingly as he watched the man approach. The owner continued smiling, though not quite as welcomingly as before.
“Hello, sir! Anything I can get for you today?” The owner watched as the boy scrutinized the menu behind the counter carefully, as if the man had asked which dog he wanted to save from the pound. A moment of silence passed, only broken up by the raindrops beginning to pound with increasing frequency on the windows.
The disquieting dark eyes flicked back to meet his own. “Black coffee,” he said in a disinterested voice that belied his perusal of the menu only moments ago. “A medium, if you will. As hot as you can make it.” The boy seemed to struggle with something for an instant before adding on “Please.”
The elderly café owner nodded obligingly and set to work, not bothering to ask for a name when such a gesture was unneeded in a near-empty place like the café. He watched from the corner of his eye as the thin boy slid into one of the older booths with surprising fluidity for someone of his age. Instead of pulling out a mobile phone to play with as the owner’s grandchildren so often did, he looked content to merely follow the ribbons of brown on the walls with his eyes. A comfortable quiet saturated the warm air. The rain outside picked up momentum.
Soon, the coffee found itself being handed from the calloused hands of the old man to the long, cold fingers of the boy. A word of thanks might have been uttered before he returned to tracing the patterns on the walls intently, sipping the bitter coffee given to him. The owner returned to his place behind the counter and began wiping it down with a ragged cloth, biding his time until the boy finished his drink. The chilled redness on his nose and cheeks gradually disappeared, leaving behind only a fair complexion.
When he finished, he simply continued sitting there, as if trying to work up the nerve to call the owner to announce that he was ready to pay. The man finally saved him from his dilemma and hobbled over to his booth to announce the price. The boy nodded. Scrawling a quick note on the receipt, he paid and left.
His son stormed in only moments later in a damp brown business suit. “Dad!” he said indignantly. “What are you still doing here? The doctor said to be home and in bed by eight! Staying up this late is bad for your health, and the café should’ve been closed hours ago-”
“What time is it?” the owner interjected. Last time he’d checked, the weak light able to break through the rain clouds outside had just begun to fade.
His son sighed. “Geez, dad… It’s what, quarter to one in the morning? You’re going to work yourself to death at the rate you’re going…” What was a teenager coming in to drink black coffee at midnight for? And the owner could have sworn on his wife’s grave that it had been four in the afternoon when he’d first gone out to take the boy’s order.
Ignoring his son’s well-intentioned lecture about his health, the old man remembered the receipt with the note the boy had written and brought it up to his nose to read, hoping that it may contain some words of explanation to defuse his worry. Instead, he simply found a short message thanking him for all the coffee. The owner smiled, recalling the way the boy’s eyes slowly followed the various brown patterns on the wall, as if trying to commit them to his memory, or see that which he was drinking. Perhaps the odd lapse in time merely announced the arrival of a kindred spirit, odd as it may have sounded. But, the owner was fancied to be an idealist, and the idea of finding a familiar soul in someone so young did not seem so farfetched to him. Even though he knew that the boy would never read it, the man pulled out a pen and wrote a quick “Any time” on the receipt.
Ten blocks down, the boy continued his trek through the rain. Any warmth the café instilled in him had left rather quickly, though he didn’t mind much. The frigid air made his bones feel so alive- a sensation he hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing for a long time. His only regret, he thought as he looked to the sky, was the lack of clear nights in this particular area. One could not count the stars properly when clouds obscured the whole sky. Still, his first night had not been all that bad. After hours of paperwork necessary for easing into his new life, the bitter black coffee had been a pleasant highlight to end his day with. Tomorrow, the work would begin.
The demon turned a corner onto the next street, thinking carefully of those he might kill.