The Recurring Boy

Chapter 6

My pulse leapt into my throat and I momentarily stopped breathing. It had all happened. It had all happened and now I needed to meet this person.

The paper slipped out of my shaking fingers and floated to the ground. I immediately snatched it back up and crumpled it into a ball within my fist. Friday was tomorrow. One dream away.

After my breathing had resumed, I threw the wad of paper into my backpack and tried to forget about it. And in a way, I succeeded. Through the passing hours of the day the situation became less and less real. It all seemed to blend into one seamless dream. That's what it was, right? Dreams within dreams within dreams? Although I knew I was awake, my mind decided otherwise. Denial is the most powerful thing in the universe.

It obviously wasn't normal. I must have been going crazy. Insanity was a thing that happened to people, sure, but it couldn't happen to me. Not to me, it definitely couldn't, of course not. Of course not!

My mind was at war with itself. So that's how I found myself taking the bus to Cheshire Café that Friday without even thinking about it.

The low grumble of the bus continued to purr as the doors were flung open. I stood up, my legs tingling at the mere thought of motion, but they relaxed after I took a few steps down the cramped bus isle. I brushed past those unlucky people who were sitting by the isle of a three-person seat. Muttering half-hearted apologies, I made my way to the front and out the doors of the bus. I watched as it sped away, a yellow blur disappearing behind rows and rows of cars and buildings.

I was here.

I entered the café, the bell on the door jingling, and a strong aroma of coffee beans rolled over my senses. The quaint place was draped in green silk curtains, and its dark wood walls were worn and homely. A small yet steep staircase led to a balcony perched above the seating in the back, home to more chairs and tables for when the place was more crowded. Right now, the café was almost completely empty except for the barista, who was quietly wiping off the counters with an old rag.

I approached the counter, ordered my coffee politely, and took my drink to a table in the far corner. Pulling a small, rickety chair out from under the small wooden ensemble, I took a seat on its velvety cushion and looked at the shop around me. I tapped my nails on the table, impatient, as I studied the framed photograph of coffee beans on the wall opposite me. Time ticked by, and every minute that passed after 4:00 seemed like an hour.

"Hi?" I heard a timid voice say to my right, and I nearly jumped out of my chair. I snapped my head to the side to see Sean making his way through the coffee shop, dodging all of the chairs and tables in an attempt to get to where I was.

"Hi," I said, my voice shaking as Sean rounded the final table.

Silently, he sat in the chair opposite me, and we studied each other for a moment.

It was my first good look at him in real life, a time when my vision wasn't distorted by adrenaline or the misty feeling of a dream. His eyes were small and his forehead was large, and his hairline arced across his face and extended upwards into a mat of thick and messy brown hair. He was both scrawny and tall, yet graceful and skittish like a deer. His face was brushed with constellations of freckles over his large forehead, as well as his cheeks, nose, and chin. It was difficult to look at him, because the softness of his face contrasted with the sharp blueness of his eyes that seemed almost like shards of ice.

He matched up perfectly with the images I'd seen before.

"So. This is awkward," Sean said after a few seconds of silence, obviously choosing his next words carefully. He took a deep breath and continued to talk.