Short Stories

Hazel - Part 1

James

“What’s the deal, man? It’s still early,” I groaned, rolling away from Caleb’s tickly fingers, “You don’t need to whack me that hard. I'm going to wake up. Gimme a minute.”

Something soft and fluffy slammed into my face.

“Fuck you! What?!” I roared, jumping off the bed and glared at hi. He just grinned, “Never gets old, man. Come on, everybody knows when you say a minute, it means an hour.”

That was probably true.

I smiled to myself as I went through the daily routine of emptying my bowels. I winced when the shaving cream hit the little nick I made yesterday while shaving. It wasn’t that bad compared to what I felt last time, but Caleb was like: “OH MY GOODNESS WHAT IS THAT? GO PUT A PLASTER ON IT.”

Some days I swear he’s gone soft like the others.

I put on my apron and walked to behind the cash register. Just another day of serving grumpy businessmen and pretty girls who don’t give the homeless man outside their spare change.

*

By midday I was completely pooped. Even two cups of James’ signature coffee that he only made for me and the old cook behind couldn’t cheer me up. I've been here for four days and I'm pretty sure every single person who came through those damn doors were in some kind of conspiracy to be grumpy and angry and stuff. And it must have rubbed off on me. I never knew that anyone could be more messed up that I was, but those people were coming in here by the dozens.

Suddenly, the bell jingled. I didn’t care to look up, but James yelled so loud behind me my eardrums split for a second.

“CAAAAALLLLLL!!!!!”

A blur shape vaulted the counter like it was nothing and collided with the lady walking into the café.

“Oof.” “Unh.” Paper bags with fresh produce spilled all over the floor.

I finally looked up and saw an elderly couple looking surprised but went back to being engrossed in the daily news. James was sprawled over a young woman in a sweater and jeans.

Did James call her Cal? As in Calvin?

I hopped over the counter in what I hoped was a cool manner and shuffled towards them, wiping damp hands on my ‘Hey dudes and dudettes’ apron. I had time to spare, since there weren’t many customers. Funny how we had the smallest crowd during lunchtime.

The woman was fairly dark skinned, not brown like olive, but slightly tanned. She had that Middle Eastern look, however, with almond-shaped eyes and long brown tresses. Even had a bottle-green scarf wrapped around her neck. The only thing startling were her eyes: electric blue, bright among her brown features and clothing.

“Hey! And it’s just one week.” She ruffled Caleb’s hair, smiling. “I brought you these. The whole list.”