Espresso Love (A Dystopian Japan Novel) #Wattys2014

Rabbit Hole

All of a sudden, Shizuka is doubling over laughing, amidst her gasps for air. I stare at her and then I'm laughing. She's laughing and I'm laughing and the woman watches us curiously. It feels as if something had been released from the bottom of my stomach. It's so sudden it surprises me. But I can't tell if I'm laughing at her or with her or at us. I'm unsure why I'm laughing, but I am laughing heartily nevertheless. I laugh until my lungs burn and ache and my throat feels dry. Her face is red and so is mine.

"A caramel chai tea latte, soy milk, extra whip cream please," she says. Her brow is moist with sweat but she's smiling. I smile at her. Her eyes shine. It's like we've left something heavy behind at the door.

"And you, sir?"

"I'll," I hesitate, "have the same, with a shot of espresso."

We're seated in the far corner of the little cafe. The lights are dim and secretive - muted neutrals, soft orange glows and wood panels swim around us. Along the walls hang a few Christmas garlands and wreaths, neatly strung. The entire shop is empty. There are no patrons. The only sound is the jazz-reggae of Jason Mraz's "The Freedom Song" playing quietly from some indistinct source like from a car radio far away, and the tinkle of cups and plates behind the counter where tall coffee machines and all kinds of laboratory tubes and gadgets stand. The place is filled with the aroma of coffee beans, but it's different than the shop where we met. I begin to remember wisps of my old home, when my mother would make coffee in the morning before sending me off to school. Even when it had been instant powered coffee, it would have this distinguishable taste, of home. It's strange, because I've never remembered much of it at all. Even when I try to recall anything, it would usually be blank. I didn't think much of it, but now, it seems like such memories should have never left; they belong to me in the first place.

Shizuka wipes her forehead with a napkin and leans closer on her elbows. "We're safe for now."

"Why?"

"This place is a little special. I've been here twice before. That woman, the owner," she jerks her head at the counter, "she's an Anomaly."

"I thought I was about the only one."

"No, there are some around, but either they have been caught, and who knows what happened to them, or they are keeping low. It's easier for them, because they don't stand out as much as you do. Nevertheless, it's safe here, they don't know we're here. The owner keeps her curtains down, her phone line is cut, she has no television, no radio, no connection to the outside world. The shop is almost invisible from the outside, almost undetectable by the System. I only accidentally stumbled in here. Incidentally, the specialty store across the street is a famous one, and so, it retains the attention. Anything brighter or louder keeps them distracted. We'll leave as soon as they've gone out of the area."

She checks her appearance in a mirror she retrieved from her bag, though there isn't anything wrong with it.

"So you know her?"

"I wouldn't say I know her, I haven't spoken to her, but she knows that I'm different, and I know she's different."

"You can read her thoughts."

"Yes I can. She's curious right now, more concerned about her own safety, but she's not going to tell us that. We best keep quiet as well. We're just customers."

"We shouldn't have laughed."

"I couldn't help it," she grins. "I haven't ran in a long time; I feel like a child again."