chapter 4

coffee

I don’t want to focus on the worst portions of my life, so I’ll give you a brief good one. Once I actually got around to my old town again - I found a diamond in the rut, that being the coffee shop. The place was old and antique in a charming way. Creaky floorboards, wide windows. I wasn’t too big of a coffee person - but I figured I would give it a shot. I was a lot bigger around this time. Man, I looked fuckin’ huge - intimidating guy with burn scars - I laughed a little when the barista raised her eyebrows.

She laughs back, and asks me -

"Hello, welcome to Babe & Al, how can I help you?"

I scratch the side of my face. I’m itchy again.

"Just a, uhh.."

"What would you recommend me?"

She tilts her head, fingers drumming the countertop. I read the name “Cassidy” on her nametag. Her hair is tied a little above her lambdoid suture. I think that from here, if I wanted to, I could jump the counter and kick her down, take the pen behind the counter and crash it into the side of her neck. I could choke her out until she stops breathing, and then I could actually try to take a look at the back of her head.

Sutures start closing in on themselves around when you’re 24 for women. A lot later for men. I know this because - well, to identify how old a victim of a murder might be, they’ll cut your head open and see the status of your sutures. Depending on how closed they are, you could be 20, you could be 30. Your lambdoid closes when you’re 30-40. Your sagittal closes around the time you’re 26, but it could stay open until you’re 50.

To find out more about you, they might use your teeth, or your dental records - if you have any.

They could even use your hair.

I blink.

"…Though, personally, I’ve always liked sweeter things. Hazelnut - or French Vanilla sweetener."

Tick.

"Then I’ll take that with just, uhh… like a sandwich. Or a…" I clear my throat. "You guys got somethin’ with eggs?"

She purses her lips. "We got quiches."

"I’ll try that."

I decided to sit outside because I can actually smoke out there. I put a few sugars and minimal milk in my cup, mixed them with the little red stick, then threw it out. I’m watching the sky like I think he would have, taking bites of quiche. It’s not too bad. Just new. Up above, the sky is covered with clouds - but the blue still peeks through the cracks. Halfway through my meal I realize - hey man, I’ve gotta take a leak. So I do.

The trail to the bathroom is easy to find once I ask Cassidy for the directions. She points down a little hallway and says that I’m a lucky man for coming so early because they were just cleaned. I laugh at her, and I feel my face grow warmer at that. I don’t know why it got me. Maybe it was the gratitude.

And that’s when I meet the other him - the one in the bathroom, washing his hands.

His skin is tanner than my own. His hair is in frizzy clumps, like he just woke up - and despite the weather, he’s in a big overcoat with his nose running. He’s a little more on the wider side, but his facial hair matches mine, though it’s a little fuzzier and seems like it decorates his cheeks more than it does accent it. When he looks at me, his caterpillar-like eyebrows raise, and his lips quirk to the side of his face.

"Geez," he says. I put my hands in my pocket, and eye him up and down with the only one I have left.

"Geez..what?"

"Your burns look like they’re raw." He points out.

"I don’t take care of ‘em."

"Why? Won’t they get infected?" He looks puzzled. "Haven’t you considered surgery?"

"No, not really. Unless I plan on lookin’ in a mirror and whacking off for looking like a fuckin’ drag queen." I let out a low chuckle, leaning against the sink next to him. "Not my type of gig. What, do I scare you?"

"No. Just confusing."

"How come?"

"I don’t know what to think of you."

"Then don’t think of me at all." I raise my brow.

"That’s the problem, here." He turns the sink off and swipes his hands around to air dry them as he moves past me to grab paper towels. "I want to know you."

I’m not the type to drink too much. The whole liver thing is a big lie, I’ve got organs that are alarmingly too healthy for someone that’s endured the trials and tribulations of burning twice. Took a while to recover, but it wasn’t long term damage like it should’ve been. The most that brought me down was the chronic pain - which came in waves on certain days, and my heart. My heart is prone to beating a little too much, pumping a little too much blood. I’m a beast (I’d like to say) for anything physical - but chest pains and joint pains are where I’ve got to lie down for. However, tonight, I put that aside while I sit down on a bar stool with this bathroom stranger. Only on a day like this would I ever entertain it.

I ordered a piña colada. He ordered a beer.

"What’s your name again?" I ask him. "Funny how we got all the way here and I got no clue who the fuck you are."

"Oh, me?" He laughs.

"I’m just ▇▇▇▇. I come and go around the area. Decided to visit my mom this weekend for her birthday. Cousins are over. It’s an obligation."

"Ah. You plan on coming back afterwards?" I take a sip.

"No. Moving takes too much out of me."

"You live far?"

"It’s about an hour drive."

"Huh. That’s interesting." And the only thing I can think about is how I could just smash the beer bottle over his head. All I had to do was just beat his skull into the wooden counter. Beat his nose to smithereens. Choke him from behind. Drag him to the back of the place - and force him to feel concrete. I could kill him in his house and the only cause for concern would be his mother, asking about the birthday. I could beat him here, soften him up, and follow him to his mother’s. I could sit in a home full of normal people with normal names, with a big cake in the center of a perfectly oval table, and I could massacre the whole room without a 911 call.

I blink again.

I’m watching him fumble for the door, hovering over his shoulder while he jingles with keys. I’ve got a boxcutter in my back pocket. He doesn’t know that, but I do. The smell of alcohol rubs off of his overcoat, and his laugh carries a weird softness to it that makes me bite the inside of my cheek.

I blink again.

He says not to mind the messy room. He knows the bottles are a problem, as well as the books. There’s a few he has to turn in until they start billing him extra, or suspend his library card. Did you know libraries had VHS tapes with obscure movies on them? Check it out.

I blink again.

I’m lighting a cigarette on a bench, outside of Babe & Al’s for their early bird special.