The Brewing Storm

The Calm Before the Storm

I take a deep breath of the crisp mountain air before swallowing my pride and walking inside the deplorable coffee shop that gives me my paycheck.

"You're late" My boss, Jared, comments without looking up at me. He is busy counting bills, he is always doing something with money. It is ridiculous. I don't think he even has a personal life to speak of. It is my theory that he lives here, because he always is here, even when it isn't his shift. Ella, a.k.a. the only colleague I can stand, agrees with me. But she takes it even a step further, suggesting he pretends he is married to the building itself. I laugh at it, but sometimes I think she is serious when she says this. It is unrealistic, but not entirely impossible.

Ella is a creative person, always making some new painting or thinking up amazing things. She is the one bright spot in the hell hole I work in. We imagine things that will happen that can take us away from this job, from this life.

It seems really simple, if we don't like it, why don't we just leave? Ella is stuck here because Jared is a family friend of her father, and that is an entire other can of worms to open. She and her father do not have a good relationship, and it saddens me because I lost my family, so I wish that at least one of us wasn't messed up in the head.

As for me, I live in the apartment complex the coffee shop resides in. It is the only affordable housing in our small town, and my agreement with the landlord (who happens to be Jared's brother) was that my rent can come in the form of working at the coffee shop. I've tried finding other places to work and live, but in a town as small as ours, there aren't many options.

So we work, and we dream, and that is just the reality we have given to ourselves. It isn't too bad, but we can't help but dream of something bigger. Something better. They are all fantasies, and nothing more. We know that, it is just a way of coping.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Jared. I promise it was because my alarm didn't go off, I swear I set it though." I say, finally answering him. I wish I had the luxury to blame the public buss system, but he probably wouldn't buy that either.

He scoffs, "Do you think I care Linton? Or do you expect me to manage your personal life as well? Just get to work," He laughs at his own joke. It isn't as if I expected anything different, but I tried anyway.

I sulk away and put on my ugly green apron. I know it is childish, and usually I wouldn't behave in such a way, but I just despised him so much that I didn't care. But I didn't let it last long, because I really did have to get to work.

I actually do know the value of work, and I do work hard, I just don't care for this job much. I don't even get a discount on the coffee. Jared says I am working to live here, and I shouldn't ask for anything else. But I digress.

I finally get through my opening chores, and flip the closed sign around, letting the world know we are open. It doesn't take too long for the first customers to come in. We may be just a hole in the wall, but we are on a pretty busy street. There are hotels and conference buildings around here, and they are used very often.

So we have a pretty constant stream of customers throughout the day. I'm relieved when Ella comes to help me out half way through the day. We can manage it because it is a small coffee shop, but it is nice to have that reassurance for help.

I find my own ways to manage my time. I daydream a lot. I think about what it would be like to travel the world, or come across some actual work. I also like to eat little bits of chocolate throughout the day. I don't eat a lot, but it brings me some sweetness during my day. Chocolate has always been a soft spot for me.

I'm getting near the end of my shift when one more customer walks in. I can immediately tell that he is one of the business men staying here. Despite the large conference places and such, we really do live in a small town.

It is obvious to me then, that he is one of these visitors. He is what some would describe as "tall, dark, and handsome." He has dark hair and his eyes are almost shadowed. He has an allure to him, but a danger as well. And I can't help thinking to myself that he looks very good in a suit.

But any optimistic thoughts of him disappear as soon as he looks at me. He has a look in his eyes, one that says he would rather do anything than be in this coffee shop at this moment. He looks at me like I'm the scum of the earth, and I wonder why he came in here in the first place. He doesn't look like a man who would get coffee from a place like this.

He doesn't approach at first, and when he finally does it is almost reluctant. I try my best to ignore him until he is right up at the counter, but I settle with just doing it subtly. He is almost intriguing, despite his sour expression, and I can't stop all of the random theories that pop up about his life.

Maybe he is a pirate. No, no, he isn't a pirate. He is too clean. Mafia, that must be it. But then wouldn't he get a lackey to get coffee? Do mafia members even drink coffee? The probably only drink wine and hard liquor. What about milk? Surely the kids drink milk, don't they?

I become so lost in my thoughts that I don't notice when he finally reaches the front counter. Instead I wipe the same circle into the counter with a rag, over and over again.

It is his voice that clears me from my thoughts, sudden and sharp. "If you're done torturing the marble, there is a very important man here who requires attendance." It is deep and almost alluring, but just almost.

I'm so surprised, and perhaps the timbre of his voice added to that shock, that I look him straight in the chin and ask, "Where?" I immediately want to smack my hand over my mouth for saying that. "I'm so sorry! I was incredibly rude, you are the man, of course. Right? Or do you actually have a boss waiting behind you that I need to help?" I stop myself before I continue blabbering, knowing it will just become worse.

He fiercely raps his cane against the floor. A cane? I think to myself, He certainly cannot be mafia then. Why a cane disproved him being a mafia member, I wasn't sure. But it only made sense. "Silence. This infernal device has ceased to work, and I am missing a very important meeting. So if you will, get me a phone that works!"

He throws an old blackberry onto the table, and I wonder just how ancient it is. But I can't wonder for too long, because his commanding tone sets me straight to work, giving him the first phone that my hands find.

But instead of just calling whoever he had to call and giving it back, he simply turns on his heel and walks out the door, phone in hand. It takes me a moment to recover from the strange man's intrusion, and it isn't until he is far far away that I realize it was my phone I had given him.