I. Martin
There’s something about Simon that I just can’t figure out. It buzzes around at the back of my mind every day when we’re sitting in the usual spot. I don’t have the slightest idea what it is, though it’s not even really the sort of thing that I would waste my free hours on—though I have that kind of time these days. It’s the sort of thought that pops up as I slide into the booth, and rattles my thoughts at unexpected times.
I met him—I don’t know—five, six months ago. He was the nice guy who held the door open for the blind man—you’d be surprised how rarely that happens. But he did, and he was nice enough to guide me to the booth he’d just left, and got the girl behind the counter—Lauren, that day—to set up the table for me. The next day he was already at the same table and called me over, as if he’d been waiting for me to get there. Soon, it was like a daily appointment.
I suppose it was probably the second or third week of our little meetings when something started to rub me the wrong way. I let myself think that it was coincidence that he was always waiting for me in the same corner booth, every day—regulars have their favorite spots, after all. Alright, I could look past a little regularity. Even when my sleep schedule became erratic for some time, I still managed to wake at six every morning, and was usually at the coffee shop at nine. I decided our schedules just overlapped as they sometimes tend to do, and never felt the urge to ask, until one day.
* * *
We had been at the table for a couple of hours and were getting ready to head out. The tab was settled and I could hear the grunt of disapproval from Meredith, the owner of the coffee shop. She has a pleasant voice that always reminds me of Laguna Beach—of sun, sand, small shops, and cool wind off the Pacific. I waited until Simon had walked away from the table, and left a ten dollar tip—they’re all I keep in my wallet because it’s easier to pay for everything that way—because I knew that Simon had stiffed them on the tip again.
“Christ, it’s really starting to storm out there, Marty.” The other man placed his hand on my shoulder, gentle, but firm enough to stop me.
“You’re full of it, old man.” I laughed. “It was hot and dry as a bone when I came in. All I hear is wind.” Then, as if to correct me, an immense roll of thunder boomed too close overhead and I heard the windows rattle and the coffee cups vibrate in their racks. Then I heard the hiss of rain as it fell in hard sheets.
“Now Marty, what would Alice think of me if I let her poor husband wander out into that storm?” He gently moved me away from the door as a couple came rushing through the door to escape the rain. “She’d probably haunt me, and I’m already having enough trouble sleeping. Let me call you a cab.”
I muttered an agreement and used my hands to maneuver to an empty stool at the counter to sit in while I waited for the cab. It was an innocent enough joke, and in her final months Alice had certainly developed her own sort of gallows humor and joked about haunting me to keep me in line. Something nagged at me, lurking in the the darker corners of my mind, but before I could figure it out, I felt Simon’s hands on me—one on my shoulder, the other on my elbow as he helped me up. I was hit by the wave of noise as the front door was opened, heard the unfurling of an umbrella. My shoes became soaked in seconds as Simon guided me out to the cab. He helped me in, handed me my cane and his umbrella, then closed the door.
As the taxi pulled away from the curb I tried to think about what had bothered me so much, but as the taxi slid into traffic, sped along Dearborn, whatever had been troubling me slid from my mind, almost as if a spell had worn off. Listening to the rain pattering the metal roof of the car, I slipped into cozy daydreams.
II. Lauren
Lauren wasn’t sure when she had decided to use her names interchangeably, or why she had started in the first place. It was just one of those quirks in her behavior that had gone on so long that she couldn’t really remember where the beginning was, and if there ever had been a reason for it she couldn’t even come close to remembering it. Her mother had found the quirk endearing in her young daughter, and told her friends of the way her little girl insisted on being called by her first name (Lauren), her last (Riley), or on rare occasions her middle name (Rose) with the sort of certainty that preschoolers use when stating the obvious.
Her father had grown frustrated by this strange name-swapping of hers by the time she had started attending the little Catholic elementary school down the street, and to appease him her mother had hung a chalkboard in the kitchen where she could write her preferred nom du jour.
Her teachers had lost their patience even faster, and insisted that, for the good of making friends (and the morning attendance list) she should commit to one name. She was given time to decide and a blank sticker, the sort that had Hello, my name is emblazoned across the top, white letters on a blue stripe. The complete emptiness of the white field beneath it fascinated her. Here, she had been given free range to define herself. With the fat marker she had been given, she wrote out Lauren. But as soon as she had drawn the untidy, inverted-u shape to finish her name, it had immediately felt wrong. She crossed it out, and wrote Riley, which she crossed out just as quickly. Then Rose. No. Lauren again. No.
The white space had become a prison for her, and the idea that she should pick just one name to stick with for the rest of the school year caused her to panic. She had been on the verge of tears, a wail rising in her throat. Sensing the impending threat of a tantrum, the teacher quickly handed her a sheet of the stickers and a bright blue marker. Fortunately, this had done the trick and the little girl wrote a variety of names on each. Hello, my name is Lauren. Hello, my name is Rose, Hello my name is Riley. She wrote those names and a half dozen more and placated with the knowledge she had all of her names—and backups—she peeled off the Lauren sticker and stuck it on the front of her navy blue cardigan.
Perhaps this quirk of hers was why, when she was old enough to work, Lauren (or Rose, or Riley, or whichever name she was in the mood for that day) tended to favor jobs where a name tag was part of the uniform. Let the W-2 have one name—she could be whoever she wanted on the clock. When she moved from the suburbs to downtown Chicago for college, she found herself at the Bughouse Bean in between job interviews. Something about the place spoke to her, and when she met the owner, Meredith, a woman who’d traveled halfway across the country to figure herself out, Lauren knew she’d fit right in.
III. Meredith
Updated (Spring) Menu (in progress)
Coffee Drinks:
Drip coffee (free refill?). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $2.50 (avail. in dark, medium, light, fair trade, unfair trade, parental guilt)
Café au Lait. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $3.50
Cold Brew (yes, only available cold). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $4.00
(nondairy milk: soy, almond, oat, hemp, etc.). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .$.75 add’l
Espresso Drinks:
Affogato (keep on menu; someone always orders). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $3.45
Café Latte. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .$4.50
Café Macchiato. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $3.45
Café Mocha. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $4.25
[Hastily added in pen underneath previous item, in frustrated scrawl] Mocha Valencia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $5.50
Espresso (per shot). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $1.25
Tea:
Green (Jasmine, Mint, Oolong, Matcha). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $2.50
Black (Darjeeling, English Breakfast, Earl Grey, Lapsang Souchong (gathering dust)). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $2.50
Red (Rooibos—has anyone ordered this?). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $2.50 $2.00
Tea Latte (Chai, Matcha, Earl Grey). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $3.25
Pastries:
(Rich neighborhood; change to amuse-bouche, or too bourgeoisie?)
Apple Fritter. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $2.55
Bagel (w/cream cheese). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $2.25
(add schmear; blueberry, cinnamon, strawberry, veggie). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .$1.00
Coffee roll. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .$2.75
Cruller. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .$1.25
Muffin (Blueberry, Chocolate, Pumpkin, Banana nut, Lemon Poppy-seed). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $3.20
Lavender Bread (need new nursery for lavender; plants look sullen). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $3.95
Sandwiches/Lunch Items
(I should probably offer something here before I start losing business to that new bistro at the end of the block)
Other:
Newspaper. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $1.50
(Sunday Edition). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $2.50
MBA, Loyola University ca. 1985. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $80k (not adjusted for inflation or interest paid on loans)
Running café instead of using MBA. . . Disappointed parents and years of therapy
Divorce settlement. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 years alimony (and counting)
Daily small talk with interesting people. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Priceless
Simon. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Fifteen new grey hairs/week
[All coffee, espresso, tea drinks avail. hot or iced (except cold brew); $1.00 surcharge for surly attitudes, use of cellphone while ordering, or being the wrong person at the wrong time. Please remember to smile, Meredith. Unpleasant/unwanted attempts at flirting will be dealt with on a case-by-case basis—yes even you. $5.00 purch. min. on card.)
Cullen Dow Long 