New Year, New Story
“What the fuck!”
“Sorry!”
“Yeah, you are sorry. A sorry excuse for a person!”
What a lame thing to say to a stranger, I thought, wiping mud off my purse, glaring purposefully down the sidewalk at the back of the man who ran into me on accident, knocking my coffee and my purse out of my hands mere seconds after I stepped out the coffee shop door. It was 2 pm, and my second coffee was sorely needed. With fifteen minutes to go until my meeting, I stepped back inside the coffee shop to get another coffee to haul back with me to the office.
“Hey, you! You took my coffee!”
“Wait, me?”
“Yes, you. You took my double pump extra shot soy latte. And I just watched that dude knock it out of your hands, which means you’re paying for another one.”
“Look dude, I didn’t do that on purpose, and I don’t have enough cash to buy your latte.”
“Fine, then I’ll take your coffee.” He took a big swig of my coffee. Made a face, and said, “Swill!” And threw it in the garbage can, stalking out.
I approached the counter and the barista handed me a drip coffee. “On us. Sorry, we were gonna give you a new free one anyway when we saw what happened, but the guy wouldn’t listen. It’s like he’d rather yell. I even have his soy whatever-the-fuck back here if you want it.”
“Somebody at the office might. Thanks.”
As I’m rushing back to the office, I see Mr. Scream-at-Strangers screaming into his phone outside his BMW, a ticket flapping in the wind under his windshield wipers. The meter maid is nowhere in sight, so likely this happened before he came into get coffee. Probably why he’s so salty, I think, crossing over to his car. I place the latte down in front of him, force my biggest smile, and walk away. I hear a temporary lull in the conversation as he sips his latte, then hear a slightly lowered voice come out. I hear a mumbled, “Hold on,” followed by a gruff, “Thank you!” I turn around to acknowledge by raising my cup and see the man differently.
His eyes are rimmed with tears, his shoulders slumped. All of his previous swagger is gone, like the air let out of a balloon. I look harder. The Beamer is old, probably 10 years. The bumper is dented. There is a scratch above on of the headlights, which is slightly popped out of the space in the car where it is supposed to live. Looking directly through his car, I see piles of clothes on his front seat, and a stick figure family on the back right. Two small sticks. A stick dog, and a piece where the wife used to stick safely to the car next to him is sticking up, only a hand, the rest gone forever. His voice on the phone, while no longer angry, is steady, revealing none of what I see.
By the time my quick look into this stranger’s life is done, he’s back to talking strongly, shoulders square, latte clutched in one hand. The tears never fell, like his eye sockets sucked them back in. The ticket is flapping in his non-latte hand, and he looks at it, somewhat relieved. He must not be from this town, the tickets here are much less expensive than the larger town a few hours away. His jaw is set, his mouth as strong as the voice coming out. The break in his facade that my small act of kindness caused has been repaired. He’ll probably go back to being an asshole, yelling at the next person that cuts him off.
I walk into my office building, up the stairs, and wave my card at the sensor on the door. It beeps, and lets me in. I take my coffee to my cubicle and notice the meeting is gathering in the conference room, and I snag my notes, stuff a pencil in my hair, and grab my coffee off my desk. I’m settled in my chair, firmly in front of the snacks, as I prefer, and someone silently offers to pour me water, to which I nod, and they fill the cup in front of me. As they move their arm back to put the water down, they catch my coffee, which knocks over onto the table, lid popping off, allowing the coffee to spill onto the floor and just barely missing someone’s notes.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Let me help you clean it up!” They run to grab the napkins under the snacks, and I reach over to grab my own stack, laughing at how badly the universe did not want me to have that coffee today.
“As you guys clean up,” says my boss as he stares disapprovingly at our mess, “ I want you to meet a new reporter we’re bringing on. He’s covering business, and has a lot of experience in that field, as well as connections, that he brings to table. Formerly of BigCorp, Inc, he’s ready for something new.” A hand appears from behind my head, a ratty old band of a formerly fancy watch visible as it places coffee down in front of me. Corporate coffee. Swill. I turn around to say “No thanks,” and catch a glimpse of the new reporter. I know the face, but with less anger. The strong shoulders and swagger seem to have made it up the stairs, however, and he says, “Not your day for coffee, I guess.”
“Guess not,” I say, thankful I wasn’t more of an asshole on the street.
“Hank, I see you must have already met one of our reporters. Let’s introduce you to everyone else, after you say a bit about yourself.”
“Hi, my name’s Hank. I used to be a bigwig at BigCorp, Inc, until they laid people off. I wasn’t playing minion well, and I was trying to prioritize family over business after years of doing the opposite, so I was one of the first to go. But I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?” I surprise myself by saying.Was that out loud? Everyone is looking at me, then back at him. I catch his eyes, in which the confidence waivers slightly, and his voice, betraying none of that waiver, says firmly:
“New year, new story.”
© Ashley Jamele 2019
