The Coffee Shop On Wednesday Street

1

There is a little coffee shop, in a small town, and it lies on the cross roads of Wednesday and Monday street. It has a small tinkering bell that dings every time the door opens, it smells of bacon and weak coffee. A woman will greet you at the front, with her salt and pepper hair and warm smile. A smile that is for every man, woman, and child. She'll seat you in a booth or stool and hand you a laminated menu.

She always gives free pancakes to the children even though, the boss takes it out of her paycheck. A paycheck that comes every month. A paycheck that is barely enough to take care of her little boy.

In the corner there sits a old man reading a book, he recently took out of the public library. Ever so often he takes a sip of his coffee, his hand shaking with the tremors of age. He likes to tell you of the "good old days" but keeps out his service in the war. Partly because he's ashamed and partly because he can still hear the sound of bullets flying by. He never settled down and had any children. Instead, he likes to feed the little critters in his back yard bits of bread.

And in the other corner, perched on the edge of the seat sits a girl. A girl, with bright green hair and nervous eyes. Eyes that stair at the screen of a laptop. She waits for an acceptance or rejection letter from a small liberal arts college. Her mind runs wild with possibilities. She refreshes, and refreshes her email. Only peeling her eyes away to look at her watch or to take the occasional sip of orange juice.

Sitting on the stool facing the kitchen is a hunched girl with smeared mascara. She is holding a cup of hot coco with both hands, almost hugging it. Melancholy is etched over her features. She broke up with her boyfriend last night and hasn't slept a wink. Because it hurts, and because it doesn't. She smiles at the rosy memories and frowns at the others. She is a big bag of mixed emotions, and one of them is hope.

There also sits a newly engaged couple. They sit on the same side of the booth, holding hands and whispering sweet nothings in each others ears. The man setts his hand on the girlfriends rounded stomach. She's due in 3 months, and they are planning a gender reveal party. All of their family and friends will be there. They are utterly and completely in love.

Across rom the loving couple, sits a tired single mother, her two children coloring with crayons. Her hair is frizzy and her shirt stained. Her under-eyes a dark purple. She is so, so very tired but she continues to smile. Because they need her, because she needs them.

The waitress brings out two orders of pancakes. She decorated them with a smile made of wipe cream and eyes made of chocolate chips, just like her little boy likes.

'On the house.' She tells the mother. The waitress wouldn't know how much those measly pancakes meant to her. The lady is working two jobs just to pay the rent. Gratitude radiates from her smile and she whispers a quiet thank you.

The ding, ding, of the little bell announces the presence of another customer. This time its a man. A man with a baseball cap, cameo pants, and a gun. Automatic and fully loaded. He's at the tender age of 18 and he's had a very, very bad day. He got an F in his chemistry class and his girlfriend left him. So, he shoots.
His finger not trembling on the trigger.
His eyes not nervous.
His heart not pounding.
Nothing.
And just like that, the once quant and quit coffee shop erupts in screams.
Boom! The waitress will never see her boy ever again.
Boom! The old man will never tell a story again.
Boom! The green haired girl will never know the contents of her Admissions letter.
Boom! The girl on the stool will never move on.
Boom! The couple will never have there child.
Boom! The single mother will never get to relax.

The shots quiet

Then the man, the man turned monster, turns the gun on himself and fires.

It is eerily silent, the only sound left is the heavy breaths from the forgotten girl.

Crouched on the floor of the bathroom sits a scared girl. Eyes wide, staring at the carnage through the crack in the door. Tears streaming down her face.

She was a writer, an English major who just applied for her first job. A girl, who will never be the same. Forever marked by an invisible shot, an injury thats almost worse then the bullets themselves. Because a gun not only shoots the intended target, but everything and everyone around it.

Gun control matters.