"be fearless in the pursuit of
what sets your soul on fire."
_____
Deep in the Olympic forest, the fowl and the children of the moon ruled everything from the overgrown grounds to the majestic gray sky.
Lydia quickly learned that in her small cottage, miles deep into the undergrowth, she was no longer the master of the food chain. A race far greater than her ruled the land, and she was simply a pawn in the game.
This led her to wild thoughts that spread like fire through the Californian landscape.
Man had once believed that magnets were magic rocks, that one could fall off the face of the earth, and that the Americas were Asia. What if humans were wrong? What if they had failed to see the whole picture once again?
Living on the outskirts of Port Angeles, Washington alone had led to these ludicrous thoughts that continued to fill her brain until the wee hours of the morning.
_____
The morning came with a vengeance as the sleepy feeling refused to leave without a lovely cup of steaming coffee. Unfortunately, sleeping on the hard floors promoted wild, eventful dreams that made her far more exhausted than usual.
As she roamed through out her small space, she realized that though she owned few belongings, her little cottage felt like home; especially in her worn out polka dot pajama pants that she'd had since she'd been in high school.
The scorching water left tiny red dots upon Lydia's tan skin, easing the tense muscles in her lower back from a rough night of sleep on the plank floor.
Soon enough, her mass of black curls dried and assumed their position well below her shoulder.
Lydia looked into the mirror to see the little girl, woman now, that had grown up right before her eyes. Her slender face was now adorned in natural makeup that highlighted the eyes that held stories she would never utter aloud.
Looking away from the mirror, she slipped a bright yellow parka over her shoulders, which contrasted deeply with her features that her friends often called 'morena,' and her feet into her worn, black Dr. Marten's.
_____
Lydia had researched the town thoroughly enough that she knew the location of Port Angeles, and she expected there to be a café there to revive her spirit before she began the process of job searching.
Little did she knew that Port Angeles, Washington seemed to be the holy grail for coffee lovers.
Before she knew it, she was stumbling upon a retro dream with the title 'Al Fresco' in blinding red letters.
The walls were adorned with thousands upon thousands of black and white photographs and a Crosley record player had its own nook, cranking out rock from the 70s.
Lydia felt as if she had traveled back in time; a time that had been far simpler and filled with souls that felt.
Although the café was fairly small, there were few people who inhabited the mismatched seats and tables.
Lydia had drifted to the counter and gazed upon the chalkboard menu, yet another thing she appreciated.
"Welcome to Al Fresco, suga! What can I getcha today?"
Her voice contained a rich, southern accent that made Lydia question how she had managed to make it to Washington State.
The older woman had shimmery gray hair with the kindest mocha eyes, similar to her abuela in North Carolina. However, this woman had the kindest tone of voice, which made her heart pinch for the forever motherly friend that had owned a diner back home.
"Hiya! Can I get a...," she paused for a second, still gazing upon the menu, "umm, Hot Coconut Mocha Machiato, please."
"Why sure, suga! You new 'round here?" She flashed Lydia a kind smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle.
Lydia wondered if she was a grandmother because she seemed to be the epitome of her own before she had passed a few years back.
"Just moved into a small lodge a mile or two from here. Actually, you may be able to help me with something! By any chance, do you know of a job opening anywhere?"
Her dark eyes lit up like Christmas lights, gleaming brightly.
"Why, of course, darlin'! I've got just the job for you," she subtly winked at me as if she was the only one that knew the most exciting secret.
Before long, Etta Thatcher she had learned, had her wrapped up in the frilliest apron she could manage to find and was teaching her the ways of the expresso machine.
Lydia had laughed silently to herself, saying that she had never had to pay for a drink that she made herself. Etta had chuckled loudly at the girl, and soon they seemed to mesh like peas and carrots.
What Lydia didn't realize was that Etta was thrilled to have her. She had been working at the café by herself for an extensive amount of time and just as she was tiring, the perfect employee fell directly in her hands.
Etta didn't have a daughter, but if she did, she imagined her to be similar to Lydia Kelley. She would have imaged her with long, inky black curls that bounced when she walked, and the sweetest, joyful smile with a voice so light and airy that it sounded more like whispers of the wind.
Etta already adored Lydia, and she made a promise to herself that she would try her best to keep her around for as long as possible.
YOU ARE READING
Deviant
Werewolf"I could trace the curve of his face with the glance of my eyes. An elongated nose, with a wide base making a staple on his unique face, and his coarse curls gathered together in a flock, falling over his forehead with the tilt of his head. Eyelids...
