Cafe In Sun Driven Rain

Café in Sun Driven Rain

Around the corner from where he eats and two blocks away from his tiny and rather shabby apartment, a little coffee shop plants half a block of city with a warm and tepid brown shade. The floor is tiled in a rich crème that is soft to the touch and swallows people’s feet like marshmallow and lulls them into a somber sleep. The walls are painted a much darker brown then the alluring floor and shine newly polished no matter how dirty the patrons happen to be—and on the rainy torrents that no one calls monsoons, the people are clothed in mud. The ceiling with its matching crème paint and subtle ridges of excess that make its appeal tactile is never seen. A thousand, whirring, spinning, noisy fans circulate the air in loud and sleepy circles that drift downward and settle on the cushy floor. The tables are many, round and accommodating, but merely sit in ordinary shadows of boredom and commonplace. The chairs are a comely companion to the four legged stands, a ragged cushion, color no longer recognizable, adorns each one in barely hanging strands of severed thread. To one corner is the long oak counter where money is traded for the sweet caffeine addiction, in 300 flavors and makeups that never get old. The place smells of mixed coffee beans and it always will. The aroma has discreetly wrapped its way into the entire structure from the crème tiled floor, through the walls, into the furniture, and all around. In its total it is what makes a café, the subtle clouds of caffeine that both wake and exhaust the consumer. It is the small town charm and subtle aroma that brings in so many returning customers, but that is not why he comes. He hates coffee and just the smell has brought him to strong feelings of nausea. He comes because of the brown haired, brown eyed waitress that always serves with a smile. He comes for Stacey.

“Hi Stacey. It’s downright ugly outside today and I don’t think it’ll let up. This rain has got everybody so anxious.”

“Hi Gabe. What can I get for you today?”

“You know me. Just get me the usual cup of coffee with extra sugar, extra cream, and all that stuff that makes coffee bearable.”

“So, one coffee, extra sugar, extra cream? Will that be all for today?”

“That’ll be it and all for today, thank you.”

“It comes out to ----. Will it be for here or to go?’

“For here…to go… I really don’t know. I have a business meeting that I have to rehash, but…give me to go, please.”

“To go, are you sure?”

“Well I brought my umbrella with me so the rain isn’t a problem, but I don’t really want to go to work today… if you would join me I might take it here.”

“It’s fine if you’re too busy to have your coffee at the café. A lot of people are turned off by the earth colored walls. Something about brown just makes some people uneasy. ”

“But if you would consider just one moment at one of the tables. I’m sure your boss wouldn’t mind for just five minutes. Five minutes with the rain begin to fall and the warm steam of coffee and smell of bliss.”

“To go. One coffee, extra cream, extra sugar. Here’s your change, it will be with you shortly.”

“Reconsider before my cup is done and join me at the table by the window with the beautiful view of the palms and the beach. The approaching storm has painted the scene into a marvelous capture.”

He moved through the spacious cafe with a glimmer of hope marking the loud patter of his shoes and a sigh of complacence rumbling in his throat. The table where he sat and waited for his coffee was empty, it was always empty. Today it seemed that the café was also mostly empty and no one was around to hear his sigh or wander of his thoughts.

Outside the palm trees, green with the first weeks of spring, swayed in the strengthening wind. Thirty meters tall their branches arched and bent, tumbled and fell, conducting the heavens. They worked an unbeatable symphony of the beach.

Sand was torn up from the ground into tiny flurries that ran like tempests across the beach. They whistled menacingly and turned the world into a blinding stinging pain. Surfers and extreme beach goers were chased away with towels draped over their heads to protect their eyes, screaming obscenities back at the small devils.

Even when all the people had gone the whirlwinds continued to dance and race, dashing themselves against the trunks of the looming palms. The palms continued to sway mindless of the attempts being made to topple them. Their brilliant green leaves fanned the air with a sweet coconut scent that carried up and tempted the rain.

A smudge of rain dampened and blurred the window pane. He frowned but continued to look on, it was just one drop. Another drop of rain kissed the window and then another. They fell heavy like artillery shells, but it was still nothing more than a sprinkle. Slowly it picked up. With the blinding crash of lightening the clouds erupted and his view was lost to a million hungry droplets.

“Number ----”

As his number was called and he went to get his cup, another brilliant display of light shook the window pane. Outside, with the rain beating down the sandy tornados, and the palms dancing, there came a loud crack. Heavily the largest palm, severing in the middle with a sickly snap, fell into the damp sand.

“Thanks, but are you sure you don’t want to join me for a pleasant cup. Business will probably be slow the way it’s going on outside. And with this weather I think everybody deserves a warm comfort. I’ll even pay for the coffee, or latte, or whatever it is that you like to drink. By the window, with the rain falling gently and the lightening brightening the world like God is painting on his canvass. You can’t say no to the grandness of nature’s weeping.”

“Here is your coffee, extra cream, extra sugar. Thank you and have a nice day.”

Dejected, with his heart beating away crazy, but beating for nothing, he walked to the exit.

“One cup?”

He asked and waited. Nothing.

He walked out of the café shielding his eyes to the harsh glare of the sun and the painful sting of the humid air; in his hands he held a haggard and half empty cup of cold coffee and in his head the thought: “If only I had asked.”

Inside the café was full of activity and noisy with crowded people. The fans went a crazy turn trying to battle the heat from outdoors. Behind the counter, heavy oak and fading with age, a brown haired, brown eyed girl named Stacey was serving people with a half hearted smile and in her head the thought: “Gabe always comes in here and drinks a half a cup of coffee near the window with his thoughts all alone. I wish he would ask me to join him.”

[Author’s Notes: Why not? The only thing that stops most of us from acting is thinking too much. Fear of rejection and all other emotional excuses can be attributed to thinking too much. So what’s stopping you physically (don’t say features, that’s thinking too much about one self). Even if Stacey had thought otherwise, Gabe would have never known either way. So why think. “[T]hought is withering and sensation sweet. Because why is a dangerous word.” Harry Bates Alas, All Thinking]