ouse
Copyright 2014 Niemalie Arnold
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I sat at the coffee house with my double-smoked-chai-mocha-latte-iced-chocolate-coffee-tea and stared at the screen of my laptop, which was sitting just out of arm’s reach. I puffed my cheeks and pondered what to write. Lately I’d been lacking inspiration, and it felt like the world around me was progressively draining to a greyscale hue. I tried to push ideas through my head. I thought really hard, running through the same ideas over and over again, wracking my brains for something to write about. Then, like a bolt of pure genius, it hit me. I straightened my barrette, pushed up my glasses, rolled up my sleeves and moved my hands to the keyboard like lightning. The words flowed from me like a river, like I’d hit a well of inspiration.
The sound of clacking keys echoed through the mostly empty coffee shop. I felt so proud and productive, but suddenly I stopped and stared blankly at my screen. It had been weeks since I wrote anything and I couldn’t even get further than three sentences without hitting a block. I thought about my writing for a moment while the waitress placed my super low-fat sugar-replacement chocolate-cream muffin bun, with raspberry jam and choc-mint sauce, on the table. I retracted my hands and looked around the little café as I took a break to eat. The café was decorated with coffee paintings and cup lampshades. It was one of those places that you wouldn’t quite feel mature enough to be in if you were under 21, and that you would feel too old to be in if you were over 22. The place had an atmosphere that made me feel right at home. I scanned my eyes over the rest of the store. A small water feature adorned the opposite corner to me; a rather lush looking red velvet couch sat before it. Every time I visited I wondered why they would have put such a nice couch in front of a water feature. Clearly, the staff weren’t as concerned about mould growth as I was. I heard the bells on the front door jingle as, what I assumed to be, another depressed artist stumbled in. I paid them no attention, sure that they would distract me from my writing. I took a sip of my coffee-tea and stared at the words on my screen. I was absolutely, one-hundred-and-ten-percent focused on it, until I heard the most heavenly voice from the counter.
“I’ll have a raspberry-sundae-shake, thanks.”
“Tall or regular?”
“Tall.”
“That’ll be $6.70, thanks.”
“Thank you.”
His voice sounded as if God himself had fallen from the heavens and landed in my favourite coffee house. I could only see him from behind, but his shoulder-length blonde hair and sharp fashion sense had won me over in a flash. His black pin-stripe shirt and tight fitting jeans were like pure ecstasy. He half turned around as he waited for his order, and in that moment I swore that I had died and gone to heaven. His black, box-frame glasses were barely visible under his shaggy fringe, and I couldn’t see his eyes for the life of me, but I was sure they were beautiful, too. To top things off, he seated himself on the rich red velvet couch I had been admiring just seconds earlier. The image of him sitting there was awe inspiring, as if a heavenly light shone down upon him. I groped at my laptop and started writing afresh.
After striking out several fantastic, over the top wonderful sentences, I went to take a triumphant sip of my latte-chai while thinking of how to continue what was sure to be my next masterpiece. However, to my horror, the drink had gone cold. Truly shaken by this, I looked over to the red couch. I was mortified to not only discover that my love had since left the café, but to witness a couple now desecrating the sacred corner in which he once sat. I snapped my laptop shut, forgetting all about the story, and ran from the café. With tears welling in my eyes, I looked around the street frantically for him. There were people in drab suits lining both sidewalks, and cars busily honking their way down the road. My love was nowhere to be seen. Crestfallen, I meandered down the street. Aimless and distraught, I somehow stumbled into a nearby cake shop. It wasn’t my favourite but, that said, I’d never actually been there before. I immediately headed to the display counter and gazed lovingly at the sugar-glazed army of cakes and pastries before me. My eyes landed on one particularly nice looking cream bun, but before I could weigh up if the lathers of sugar and fat would ruin my diet or not, the cake was stolen away from me. Suddenly very emotionally attached to the cake, I spun my head around the room to find the fiend who had stolen away from me my sugary friend. My heart skipped a beat when my eyes landed on my sharp, blonde love handing over a five dollar note to the cashier. ‘My cake!’ My mind whimpered, but my heart was calling out something else. Images of how to grab his attention flashed through my mind, but before I could put any into action, my love left the store with my delectable lump of sugar in his hand. Defeated, I picked up a cinnamon-raspberry-banana-bread-bun-cake-croissant, flung one of my brightly coloured notes at the counter and left.
I once again began the frantic search for my love, cake-croissant in hand. The streets were over-crowded by fancy executives and clerks in suits, and my love had, again, vanished. With a feeling of utter hopelessness, I paused to sit on a bench. I pulled out my purchase and began munching away. I was so pre-occupied with my pastry that I barely felt my phone buzz. I pulled the device out of my pocket and flipped open the case to discover one missed call and a text that said only ‘You’re late. Again.’ I sighed and leaned fully against the bench. What was the time, anyway? I couldn’t be more than fifteen or so minutes late. They were always fussing over small details like that. I relaxed a bit more and finished my brunch before I casually walked towards my office building about three blocks away. It took about twenty minutes, but eventually I had reached the large glass sliding doors of the building. I entered and passed the fake marble staircase to the elevator hidden at the end of the pristine hall. My office was on the 27th floor and the lift stopped at most of the floors on the way up. As I opened the thick, frosted doors that led to my office I noticed that some customers were waiting at the reception desk. The receptionist glared at me as if I were a demon as I snuck past her desk, hoping to avoid her clients. She was always in a bad mood, but I could never figure out why I seemed to be the only one to notice. Everyone else always commented on how sweet and kind she was. I never saw any of that. Escaping any potential extra work, I strolled into my beautifully decorated cubicle and flopped onto my large, leather chair. My cubicle was lined with images of my designs and artwork that I had completed for the company. At least, it was. My heart stopped and I gasped to myself. Oh. My. GOD! The walls were bare, save for the tacks that had once held up my sketches. Where has my beautiful artwork gone? I spun around in my seat to face my computer and typed my username and password hastily into the dialogue box on my computer.
“Error: Username and/or Password INVALID? What’s going ON?” I shouted aloud, just as my boss walked up to my desk.
“Ah, so you came in after all?” He paused just outside the opening to my cubicle and leaned on top of the partition wall, peering over at me with a satisfied looking grin. “I’m sorry to have to say it,” he said, with not an ounce of remorse, “I suppose you’ve already noticed, though.” My mind raced, desperate to find an answer.
“Noticed… what?” I asked, cautiously, coming up blank. He chuckled and grinned as another woman stepped out from behind him. She averted her eyes, looking half pleased, half guilty. She was holding a box full of office supplies and a sizeable art-folio was sticking out from underneath her arm. I looked frantically between the two of them hoping on
e of them could provide an answer. My boss looked agitated and after a few moments of silence he threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.
“You’re fired.” That was all he said. He walked away from my cubicle, leaving the new girl to deal with me alone. She gave me an apologetic half grin and shrugged her shoulders.
“I’m sorry. I would have thought they’d give you more warning than this.” The woman half apologised. I stared right at her, unable to move, or to even think, and she hunched her shoulders and looked away. I had no idea what to do, my mind had gone blank and my body was numb. Without arguing or even saying a word, I picked up my things and quickly left the office.
I sat, defeated, on a bench in the city park not far from my former office building. My favourite part of the park was a water feature of a mermaid; I always picked the bench right in front of it. I thought back to the first time I ever visited the park and saw that mermaid. It was my first day of work, one week after I’d moved to the city. It had been such an overwhelming change, but I had thought to myself that I had finally made it. Living in the big city; that was what everyone wanted, wasn’t it? The beauty of concrete walls, the convenience of all-night shopping, and the list goes on. I thought I had it all, living here. But now, without a job, I feared that everything I had finally grown accustomed to was about to be torn away from me. It was a crushing realisation, too, that I had also loved that job, and now it had been unceremoniously torn from me. Granted, I’m not the most talented person on the planet, but that’s what made it such a fantastic position. They all loved my work and supported my contributions. Maybe they just didn’t appreciate my new direction. That had to be it; I was too radical for them. I decided that was the only logical conclusion. I pulled out a plain protein bar I’d found amongst the things from my office and nibbled away at the corners, trying to hide my tears.
I was so caught up in self-pity that I nearly jumped out of my skin when the hand of a stranger reached out and tapped me on the shoulder. A tall man with shoulder length blonde hair in a pinstriped shirt jumped back in shock. It was my love! My chest tightened, my stomach flipped and I felt my cheeks grow hot. I’m sure, too, that my eyes were about to bulge right out of their sockets.
“Oh, um,” he stuttered, “I saw your box of supplies and… And I thought you looked a little bit blue.” I was speechless. My mouth fell open, but no sound came from it. He continued, “I recognised you from the coffee house this morning. I wanted to talk to you then, but I didn’t know what to say.” He chuckled, running his hand through his hair. “Maybe you didn’t notice me, though.” There was a long pause, and an awkward silence hung around us. His shy smile faded into a straight line and his cheeks brightened. “I’m sorry. I should probably go, then.” He turned around and took a step forward before I finally found my voice.
“No, wait!” I called, perhaps a little too loud. He spun around to face me, and pigeons flew into the sky behind him; the mermaid feature sat just behind him, with rainbows through the water. He stared at me, eyes fluttering, and again silence fell over us. I couldn’t understand it. I’d searched all around hoping to just bump into him again and now that he was right in front of me, fully focused on just me, I couldn’t muster any kind of sound. I wanted to shout, or scream, or make any noise at all, but I just stood there frozen with my mouth agape. He arched an eyebrow at me, and I knew he must have been feeling just as much regret about our encounter as I was. Just as I thought things couldn’t get worse, I felt little trickles of water slide down my cheeks and form pools in the corners of my mouth. I scrunched my eyes tight, hoping that through sheer willpower I could stop myself from bawling in front of the man of my dreams.
After a few moments I heard his footsteps, and I knew he was walking away from me. I’d blown it. I’d spent my entire morning looking for him and I messed it up. Tears burst out of my eyes when I opened them and I expected to see his blurry back already half the park away from me, but instead I found his face on level with mine, his hand extended to me with a tissue. It wasn’t until I took the tissue and brought it to my eyes to wipe my face that I realised I was shaking. Not a small tremble, either. My shoulders were heaving and I was gulping large breaths between sobs. His expression was a mix of concern and horror. My face felt like it was on fire; I knew my entire head must have been bright red and tear-streaked. This was not the first impression I’d wanted to make, and I felt my heart shrivel up.
“You know” he said suddenly, “I know a place that makes a great chocolate-banana espresso frozen pie-bar. I mean, if you’re interested. I, uh, um.” He went quiet and looked at the ground. His face had flushed and he ran his hand through his hair again. I was so amazed that after such a tragic meeting, after seeing me cry just from being talked to, knowing that I was probably the biggest loser he could have hoped to encounter that day, he was really actually inviting me somewhere. My heart beat settled and I felt my face cooling down and the tears started to dry.
“That sounds wonderful.”
About the Author
Niemalie Arnold is a university student from Perth, Western Australia. She is studying a double degree in English Literature and Japanese. While she is working towards a career in translation and interpretation, she also aspires to be an author and a fashion designer.