The Langley Story v0.2

"Add lots of Cream." she told me as she tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. She had a smiling face, one you wanted to protect. Her hair was mostly brown, but strands of red and blonde dangled lost in the fray of her scalp. "Sure," I tried to smile back as I wrote the sloppy COJ/Crmx2 on the side of her cup. "What's your name?" "Sarah, but no "H"" I gave her an over the top wink and scribbled "Sara-No H-" and passed it back to Daniel. He'd been my trainer and sported a gentle dust of hair on his upper lip, and a pair of thin grey eyebrows and that was all. He was bald as a baby's rear and those are his words, not mine. He gave me a look as he took the cup, I could read his "Cheesy hasn't worked since the 70's" look but so what? It was cheesy sure, but a grin or laugh from her. it'd be heaven. she paid and walked down the counter, and that'd be the last time I'd see 'Sara no H', or so I should have hoped perhaps. When I look back on the day, the crowd was large for a Sunday morning in Langley Perhaps one of the churches had let out early or maybe most didn't chose to go this morning? I'd only been living in Washington for a few months, and barely holding a job at the local coffee house had been my only achievement. As I turned to the next customer a burly man I'd never expected in a coffee house, hell I'd never expected to see a man of his cloth outside a Canadian joke his flannel hide stretched over grown muscle from working a fishing boat or the cliche lumberjack equipment. "What can I get ya?" I smiled at the Paul Bunyan cosplay. He snarled down at me, maybe, I honestly couldn't see a face save his eyes, which were two vibrant balls of hate. "Small Kaffee. Blach." I stared at him a moment, his thick accent completely alien to the flat voices of the standard Washington Islander. "Was that a coffee, and you wanted it black? sure sure, what's your name?" his leering eyes met with mine as he breathed deeply. "Tom." well that was easy, I scribbled his order on the side of the cup and passed it along to the brewer. "That'll be $1.87, sir" he reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of wood, like tree bark, and set it on the counter. "Sir?" His black eyes never left mine as he began to jumble together words. He's nuts! Fucking insane! I looked back to the brewer, who was staring at me and the man, who upon my looking back seems had never averted his eyes. "s-sir?" his jibberish kept going the entire shop stared at him, but he paid them no mind never taking his eyes off me. I felt my legs go numb, my knees buckled as a sickness rolled over me and I grasped at the counter, when I saw the wood he'd pulled from his pocket. It was glowing, by Christ it was shining an aura of yellow-red dance, not becoming orange or fully any color, like a kaleidoscope of shapes and hues beyond imagination. I felt a pain in my throat and began to cough, the violent force erupting from inside me jolted me back to reality. I turned to limp away to see Daniel was gone, I heaved a cough again, my throat dry and painful. I suddenly heard a scream, and as quickly as I'd grown sick, I was healed. Jumping to my feet I turned to the hulk of a lumberjack only to see Daniel. Seems he figured out fast the large man was working some kind of, well, whatever and was causing my ails. He'd walked past me and poured the cup of hot liquid he'd brewed onto the man. Lumberjack was on the floor screaming a string of slanders that were far more comprehensible than his order of coffee. The police were fastly on the scene, and lumberjack escorted out. Daniel kept an old hand on my should asking me at least eight times if I was alright and sent me home early. Truth is, I don't know if I was or not. I walked out onto the small street and stared out over Whidbey Harbor towards Washington state. I wondered at the man, the wood he'd carried, and the strange sickness that had washed over me. "You know," came a voice from behind me "You owe me a coffee." I turned to see Sara her natural smile and bright eyes "and don't forget to add lots of cream."



         The sound of rain fell upon my ears like the crash of surf along the northwestern rocks. The sound of Bob Dylan's voice mixed with the gale and filled me with some strange nostalgia that couldn't have been my own. I was sharing a dream, a memory, with a stranger their senses replacing my own. I followed the sound of Dylan's voice the house was almost modern, with it's tight halls and aged carpet wrinkles and lines on her once youthful features. The rain slapped a small round window in the back area, a small breakfast nook aside the small kitchen and back door. I was being guided around the dining area towards a stairwell and up, the sound of "Blowing in the Wind" growing stronger and stronger with each passing moment. The second floor landing was small with a small wash room to the left, and to the right was source of the music, a large window showed me the grey landscape of some nameless waters. I wondered for a moment if I was looking on the bay of Port Susan, or some other restless waters. I was led into a room with a small desk an old radio faded out Dylan as the beat was picked up by some unknown sound from the same era. I hadn't noticed before, but there was a man sitting at the desk. Old hands tapped along with the music while his eyes, a light and almost youthful green smiled up at me. "I hadn't noticed you were home." he smiled turning down the radio. I felt a tinge of cold as the music slipped away leaving me alone with this man and the rain. "I'm sorry I didn't call sooner" came a whisper. I turned to look behind me, but no one was there. "It's alright, Baby, you must be cold wondering around the house so late." He made to lift himself from his chair, but it was apparent he wasn't going to stand without great challenge. I wondered how he'd made it up the stairs in the first place, a mild fantasy entered my mind of him living in the small room. "No, Daddy, I'm fine, I'll go make us some coffee but I've got to go downstairs anyway, I just heard the music and wanted to see you." I smiled, but it was fake, more than fake, It wasn't my smile, and it felt that whoever was smiling didn't want to. The whisper cooed as I rested my hand on the old man's back easing him into his chair. It was a swift return to the kitchen, the quiet gloom and grey evaporated as I pressed a small switch on the wall and filled the room with light. I was too familiar with the room to be comfortable, in an instant the smell of coffee filled the lower floor and dark thick liquid poured into the pot. A loud clap of thunder shook the building, I could hear the clinks of glasses and silverware unseen in their places. I poured a drink in an aged and well used coffee mug, the old man's, and then mine, which needed mild doctoring. half a mug of coffee soon was to the brim having used far too much cream and rendering the drink no longer anything near what you'd call 'coffee'. I placed the mugs on a tray and guided them upstairs past the windowed landing and into the old man's office. He smiled his radio now completely silent and a small box sitting in the middle of the desk where he'd been fidgeting his hands earlier. I passed him the coffee and sat in a small chair facing the desk. "I assumed you'd come for this." he said his voice holding a caring but his eyes were focused, but somewhat heavy. "I'd not like to burden you anymore. You've been too kind keeping it for me this long." He smiled at me, a glimmer in his eyes as he sipped his coffee. "I've only need to take it to Langley, I can bury it there now that Jacob's died." the whisper said, it was reluctant, as if the words were being forced, I felt my lips taste the creamy mixture. "I'm sure, I'm sure." He pushed the box towards me "Just remember to visit. Once we're done here I think we can finally rest." I grabbed the case feeling the familiar weight. "One more thing," he suddenly said staring at me, his eyes looking deep into mine. "You've got something in your hair." I saw his had cover my vision and awoke suddenly. A dim light from my night stand filled my room and the quiet platter of rain on the window assured me I was still in Washington. I looked around the strange dream having left me disoriented. My room, My electric alarm clock, and my window that faced into town. It was cold and the dream clung to me hard, more an important memory than a dream, I could still feel the box in my empty hands. The rain began to beat at my window, a chaotic rhythm I could almost hear the sound of Bob Dylan in the sound of the rain.