Coffee on the Corner (short and unedited)

I hadn't lived in town long when I picked out the little coffee shop on the corner. It was nothing impressive - not some stock-built link in a chain of shops, nor a well-known indie hideaway frequented by hipsters - but the staff was nice and they made excellent coffee. That's all that mattered. The name didn't hurt, either: Mocha Breakin' My Heart. I don't know, I'm a sucker for cute not-quite puns.

I was enough of a regular that the two women behind the counter recognized me, but not enough that they knew my name...it was the level of anonymity I preferred. I hadn't moved here to make friends. I needed time.

It wasn't until my fourth or fifth visit that I noticed him. He wasn't a spectacular man, more of a fixture in the corner of the shop, angled toward the counter. He was older than any of the other patrons I'd seen there, with thin white hair and wrinkles that told of years gone by. He looked as if he'd dressed in the dark.

"Who's that guy?" I asked breezily as I ordered a caramel latte to go. I could feel his eyes turn toward me before the barista had even responded.

"Oh, just another regular. Orders a black coffee every time without fail. Have to admire that kind of consistency." I nodded curtly as she handed me my drink and didn't give it another thought.

When I visited a week later there he was, sitting at the same table, eyes leaving the counter to greet me. The scene was the same when I came back the next day, and the week after that, and on a dreary Wednesday morning, and every other time I set foot in the shop. The same man, in the same place, with the same reaction to my presence. Every time I saw him I grew more and more disquiet.

"What's your deal with me?" I finally demanded on some arbitrary day that had tested my patience more than usual, sliding into the seat across from him with a sense of purpose.

He simply blinked, seemingly puzzled. "Pardon me?"

"What, are you going to tell me it's a big coincidence that you're here watching me every time I come in here?"

"Oh!" He laughed heartily, and his dismissive attitude to my discomfort annoyed me to no end. "No, I suppose it's not."

"I'm glad you find stalking me so hilarious, creep," I snapped, getting to my feet angrily. "I hope you're still laughing when I report you to the police."

"I'm ninety years old, miss. What are they going to do, take away my birthday?" He shook his head with an unperturbed grin. "I only mean that it is not a coincidence because I am here every day."

"Every day?"

"Except once last month for my granddaughter's second wedding."

"Oh." Unsure of what else to do in my embarrassment I sat back down, nervously fidgeting with my coffee cup. "Sorry."

"Quite all right. Her first husband was a dolt anyhow."

"No, I mean -"

"I know what you mean. I am sorry that I frightened you. The thought never occurred to me. I only noticed you at all because you were the first person to wonder what I am doing here. Made you interesting."

"Oh...actually, what are you doing here? If you want black coffee it's so much cheaper to make at home."

He stared through me with a wistful smile for a long moment before he finally spoke again. "What do you think happens after death?"

"What?"

"After death."

The question hit too close to home, and I shook my head to force the accident from my mind. "Nothing. You die. The end."

"I used to think that too. Never gave it more thought than that my whole life. Not until my wife died twenty years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing for things that aren't your fault. You'll be a lot happier."

"Sorry."

He sighed. "Her name was Marilyn Esther. She died of cancer. But oh, if you could have seen her. She was a classic beauty, with big brown eyes and golden hair that shined like the sun. When I got with her in '48, all the other men would have killed to be me."

He pulled a photo from his wallet, and though it was in black and white it was clear how little he was exaggerating. "She's gorgeous," I agreed. "Like an old movie star."

"She would have hated hearing that. Always thought herself a plain Jane. But you are right. I swear I never saw a woman more beautiful than her. When she died, I was devastated," he continued, a pang of sorrow surfacing in his words. "She was my anchor, and I spent the next eighteen years drifting through life. If she was gone forever, what was the point of going on? Photos and memories fade."

And suddenly he was laughing as he'd been at the beginning of our conversation, with a joy I couldn't begin to understand. "Then one day I came in here and realized I'd been wrong. It wasn't the end. Even after all these years, she was still taking care of me!"

I frowned as he got to his feet shakily. "Wait, what do you mean? I don't get it."

"You see, it was Marilyn who made the coffee, each and every morning." He winked at me, and with that he was off.

His words puzzled me even as I gathered the two mugs at the table and brought them back to the counter. "Have a nice day," the barista cooed pleasantly.

"You too," I replied mechanically, but then it hit me. I glanced back as she returned to work. The golden hair, the deep brown eyes, a face that could have belonged to an old movie star...

After all these years, it was still Marilyn who made his coffee.

When I stepped outside the world had changed even as everyone else went about their day as usual. Suddenly I found myself missing home, and not just how it was in pictures. I thought about the accident.

As I began the walk to my apartment, deep in my own thoughts, a toddler with a mischievous grin ran ahead of his mother along the sidewalk. He caught my eye and giggled as he ran past me, and his mother's apology for his behavior was lost behind the clicking of her heels as she rushed after him. I stopped to watch. Somehow...he reminded me of you.