Whispers of Fate

i

Sometimes it's fun living in my mind but more often than not I find myself with a staggering headache.

My most recent obsession is with numbers. There are 4 letters in the word 'four' but only 3 in the word 'six' and 4 in the word 'five', which upsets me greatly and quite frankly plays on my mind far more than it should. I also take issue with the concept of numbers themselves. I mean, how do you describe a number without using another number? If I didn't know what the number 'one' meant then I would never be able to comprehend the rest of the numbers.

Some more of my fixations include but are not limited to the Greek alphabet (fun to draw), Latin grammar (bring back 7th century BC) and poodles (the only acceptable breed of dog).

These are the thoughts that routinely harass me at work like an incredibly loud radio with no 'off' button. Despite their constant irritation, they provide a welcome change of scenery from the cafe which, whilst cute, can sometimes become a tad soul-sucking.

I sulked as I brewed the mocha mixture in the pot, reflecting on my poor life choices. Maybe if I'd listened to my Dad when he told me to get an actual degree instead of a throwaway fashion degree then I wouldn't be stuck in such a place. Maybe I would have spent my uni years actually making connections and searching for a solid boyfriend, not waking up still drunk from the night before in a different bed every morning. Maybe, Maybe, Maybe.

I have spent years mulling over the 'maybes' in my life and yet the harsh reality still stands that I was probably going to be working in the cafe until I die, alone and forgotten by all but my single spoiled poodle and my sister. What a fate indeed.

I yelped as boiling water splashed onto my hand and yanked me out of my thoughts. I had been pouring the drink in an almost trance-like state and it had spilled over the top. Swallowing back the rising embarrassment that comes from being observed by a very impatient-looking teenager, I wiped the coffee off my hand and apologetically smiled at him.

"Mocha for Ollie?" I always hated having to call out over the ambience of the cafe, I never quite mastered the tone. I either sounded obnoxiously loud or barely audible. The teenager skulked forwards, grabbing the coffee and wordlessly leaving to sit down with his friends.

I sighed slightly and glanced at the clock. Two more hours to go, then I could get out of this stupid apron and lock up for the day. Normally I don't work the afternoon shift but my parents were out of town and my sister was busy at university so the Cafe was my responsibility.

I slicked my hair back with my hands and took a deep breath as another customer approached the counter. Back to work.

Once the candles had been blown out and all the oak tables had been wiped down I could finally peel off the maroon apron that had clung to my body since 6 am that morning. The sky outside was a murky dark blue, a clear sign that autumn had finally approached England. A single lamp post lit up the street outside, casting a yellow hue over the restaurant that mirrored our cafe.

The air was nipping at my face as I stepped outside and I pulled the white jacket closer around my arms. It was 7 pm on a Saturday and we didn't open on Sundays so it was my night off. Two years ago I would have already been in the clubs by now, drunk and hanging off the arms of some gorgeous business major. Instead I was catching the fifteen bus into the city so I could go home to my fla, lie on the sofa with a glass of wine and watch Bridget Jones' Diary until I passed out.

I watched various students wobble down the road as the bus drove by the party strip of the city with an emotional cocktail of envy and pity. Twice I saw a girl throwing up into the gutters, hair held back by a stressed-looking friend. An impressive feat given that it was barely evening.