I pulled into the parking lot of the small brick building. The sun was only just coming up over the frosted hills, beams of honey colored light starting to peak in between the heavily wooded outskirts of the town. In the dimly lit morning, neither of the two signs that sat atop the building were too legible, but I'd seen them enough times to know them by heart. The one on the left was for Busy Bee Market, a little grocery store chain that I had only ever seen in towns with fewer than 50 thousand residents. A well dressed bee character carrying a briefcase and waving happily came slowly into view as I sat staring in my rear-view mirror. As a kid, I had always been told his name was "Bizzy Bee", but that always irked me. It was a missed opportunity, he should have been named "Buzzy Bee", because bees buzz. Because of this, seeing the name written as "Bizzy" always caught me off guard for a second, before I remembered my childhood obstinance.
To the right of the grocer's sign was a much more elegant illustration. Winding filigree designs outlined the perimeter of the logo like rose vines wrapping themselves around a garden lattice. In the center of the wooden rectangle, an almost illegible "Cafe Fiorire" was calligraphed beautifully. The shop's sign began to catch the increasing morning light, revealing that the ink used to create it was laced ever so slightly with some metallic substance, giving it a mesmerizing shimmer. The whole atmosphere of the place made it seem so big and grandiose, but really it was anything but. All in all, the place was really not much larger than my living room back home, but every inch just felt so well placed that it felt twice as big easily.
A popping in my knuckles reminded me that I was gripping the steering wheel too hard. I let go, wiggling my fingers and adjusting the glove on each hand. Grabbing my wallet out of the center console, I cracked open the door and unbuckled my seat belt, slowly standing and stretching out my legs. The cold air immediately found its way into every nook and cranny in my wintry outfit and drove away any heat I had left over from the car heater. A shiver racked my body all at once, and a very audible "Ohhh no" escaped my mouth. Still, it did feel a little good to be honest. On the drive over, I'd almost fallen asleep more times than I could count on one hand, so having a little bit of refreshing cool to wake me up was welcome. What was more welcome, however, was the cup of hand-pressed coffee I was about to indulge in.
I shut the car door, clicked the key fob twice to lock it, and started over to the shop. It had been forever since I had been here, probably the better part of a decade. Whatever year senior year was, that was the last year I spent around here. I wasn't much of a math guy back then, and I wasn't now either, especially not this early in the morning. It was a little weird to come back after all this time. In a way, the building felt like a stranger to me, even when I knew it inside and out. So much had changed for everyone since then, how could I approach it like I was the same guy I was back then? I stepped up onto the curb, and reached for the metal bar handle on the twin glass doors. I stopped to scan for just a second, see what was going on inside.
Behind the counter, there was a young 20-something barista having a conversation with some lady in a heavy jacket. She was large, kinda serious looking, probably old enough to be my mom, with large golden-brown curls falling in heaps around her neck and shoulders. She had a large black mug in front of her, and as she was talking to the man behind the counter, she would occasionally go in for these huge swigs, tipping the cup up almost vertical and putting it back down. Without missing a beat, the barista'd pull a pot of black coffee off the heater behind him and pour enough to fill back what she'd just drank. He was familiar in a kind of distant way, with deep tan skin, short neatly brushed black hair, and a polite smile. I couldn't hear him from outside, but I imagined the conversation was very heavily one sided, with the woman leading the conversation and the barista offering and occasional "Mmhmm" or "Oh, for sure".
I shook my head. The realization that I'd been standing at the door, staring at these two strangers conversing inside, with my hand on the door's handle for probably a couple of minutes at this point snapped me back to reality. I coughed nervously, and figured it'd be best to just go in and act like I hadn't been spacing out super hard. I pulled the door open.
*Clunk*
The door moved maybe a quarter of an inch before stopping fast, rattling the double doors. The conversation those two were having stopped, both peering over at me trying to open the now-obviously locked door. My eyes went wide, and I went red in the face. There's people in there, that means it's open, right? Turning my head to the left, I see a small paper posted on the inside of the glass. "Monday - Friday: 7:00 AM - 6:00 PM. Saturday: 8:00 AM - 5:00 PM. Closed on Sundays." I pulled out my phone and clicked the power button. In large white text, the time shined back at me. 6:55 AM.
Oh god. I looked like one of those people now. One of those old folks that stands outside the doors and tries to get you to open the store 10 minutes early. Red creeped from my cheeks up into the rest of my face, and I contemplated just going next door and coming back later. That contemplation came too late, however, since by the time I tried to step away from the door the barista had already come to unlock it. He opened the door on the left, and gave me a very polite smile. My mouth began running before I could even try reining it in.
"I'm really sorry, I didn't realize you--"
"No worries, no worries! Come in, I was just about to open up anyway." He cut me off before I had the chance to finish my sentence. In a swift, probably trained motion, he guides me in and is back behind the counter in a second. The inside of the place is much warmer than outside, the brick oven behind the counter supplying pleasant heat and the scent of fresh bread in equal measure. My boots clack against the stone floor as I make my way over to the counter. As I approach, the woman gave me a quick once-over, and downed her coffee again. The barista went to refill it, and she lifted a thick fingered hand to wave him off.
"Naww, no point. I've gotta get goin' here in a second anyway, I don't wanna have to piss on the way there. I'll take one o' those 'criss-ont' things you're makin' though, they smell frickin' delicious." She turned back to me and gave me a crooked smile. She had a tooth missing in her top row of teeth, and a gap between her two front ones, but other than that it was a really nice smile. "Lookin' for a seat kiddo? Look no further, I'm lookin' to skedaddle here in a second, you can have mine." She stood up, and I saw that beneath her jacket, she was wearing a fluorescent shirt with bright white suspenders holding her black pants up. Beside the strap on the right, a patch was sewn onto the shirt that read "Settson". It took me a second to remember, but as soon as I sat down, the thought popped into my head.
"Settson...like Dana Settson? Like, the bus driver Settson?" I asked, as much to myself as to her. She stopped her journey over to the other end of the counter to give me a look that felt like stones in my stomach. Her brow furrowed, and she squinted at me like she was trying to find the zipper to my costume.
"The same. Former bus driver, at that, I've found that I'm not suited fer bein' around too many folks all the time." She took a step closer to me, the glare she was giving me threatening to poke a hole in my head. "Who's askin'?"
"I, uh, it's not like that. I just--you used to be my bus driver." Her eyebrows raised and the glare disarmed, so I continued. "Yeah, I used to go to school here when I was a kid. You, uh, drove the elementary school bus back then, right?" The look on her face went blank for a second, before the room went loud with raucous laughter. She lifted her hand up and slammed it down on my shoulder, which was (only by the grace of God) just shy of knocking me off my chair.
"Boy, you shoulda lead with that! Hoo, fella I thought you and I were gonna have some trouble." She wiped a fat tear out of her eye. It was only now that I realized how big her hands were, like baseball mitts in black leather fingerless gloves, gripping my shoulder with enough strength to dislocate it if she wanted to. "I had you pegged as one of Jens' boys, I was worried I was gonna have to pay for another round of hospital bills!" Any red that may have been still on my face from before desaturated immediately, fading to a ghostly white. Seeing this, she sent another wave of laughter into the air, giving my shoulder a squeeze and a playful shake before releasing me.
"Oh, God, you look like you're about to faint! I'm sorry, kiddo, I ain't mean anythin' by it, promise." Her laughter subsided into a more manageable chuckling and she pulled out a stuffed wallet, the same black leather as her gloves. "Hey, Rico, get the kid something hot, he looks like he's about to pass out!" She tossed a pair of 20 dollar bills on the counter, and headed off towards the bathroom. As I stared at the money on the counter in confusion, I heard her mumble "Scared shitless" in between fits of giggles. The barista, who I guessed was "Rico", made his way over to my portion of the counter, shaking his head and grabbing the money. He wore the same polite smile he had since I arrived, but the way his fingers darted about the screen in front of him in quick, serious jabs made me think that he might be a little aggravated with his guest this morning.
He opened the register drawer, swapped out the money in hand for change, and stuffed a small wad of bills and coins into a glass vase beside me whose bottom was lined with the same. A loud *ding* rang out from the other side of the counter, prompting Rico to trot over and pull something out of the sizable toaster oven. I watched as one, two, three, four croissant sandwiches were loaded into small paper pouches, all of which were piled into a paper bag and sealed shut. At the counter right next to the door he picked up a marker, scribbled something on the bag, and put it down so that "DANA" faced out in big bold letters. Returning to the register, he gave me a very tired look, and sighed.
"Hey, so, sorry about her. She can be a little...much." He pulls up a chair from behind the counter and takes a seat, leaning his head on one hand. "A good woman, but definitely not what you'd call 'smooth' or 'easy-going'." I laughed nervously, the awkwardness of the situation feeling a little easier to deal with now. At least someone acknowledges how weird that all was, I thought.
"It's no big deal, really." I grinned, and tried to mimic his posture. When I reached my arm up to the counter, there was a twinge of pain from my shoulder. A grimace shot across my face, and a second later a similar one appeared on Rico's face.
"It kinda is. I can't have her comin' in and manhandling all my customers. I already don't have a ton of people stopping by, I don't need her scaring off what few paying folks I get." As I started to rub my shoulder, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, pastry...an ice pack?" That last one caught me off guard, and a short, ugly laugh leapt out of my mouth. His grimace broke into a concerned smile with "Was that a real laugh?" written all over it. I coughed into my fist in an attempt to regain some composure.
"Sure, yeah, I'll take a...caramel macchiato, I guess. Oh, and what's in those croissant sandwiches? They smell really good, I think I want one." He reaches over and grabs a small paper menu, sliding it in front of me and pointing to each option.
"We've got four options right now; Monte Cristo, that's a ham and cheese on french toast, Italian, that one's got salami and tomatoes and some mortadella on it--"
"Mortadella?"
"Yeah, uh, Italian sausage."
"Oh, gotcha. Sorry, continue."
"Sure, right. So yeah, that one's got mortadella and stuff on it. Next up's the BLT, that one's pretty self explanatory, it's got bacon, lettuce, tomato, and little samurai sauce on it--er, sorry, samurai sauce is--"
"No, I know that one, it's basically like spicy mayo."
"Yeah! Yeah, basically. And then the last one's the Vegetarian, it's just fulla sauteed veggies and a slab of fried tofu, if you're into that kinda thing." He looked up at me from the paper, scanning my face for interest. "Any of this makin' you hungry?"
"Yeah, actually, the Monte Cristo sounds amazing! Do you...wait, so this is on a croissant, right? Do you like...do you turn a croissant into french toast?"
"Yep, sure do. Sounds good, right? I'll get one started right away." He got a couple of steps towards the stove top before stopping and spinning back around. "Oh, is 16 ounces good for that drink?"
"That works just fine. 16 ounces, hot please." He shot me a finger gun.
"You got it, man." He gracefully slid over to the stove and I pretty immediately started hearing the sizzle of oil. Over in the corner of the room, the bathroom door squeaked open as Dana crumpled a paper towel in her hands and tossed it in the garbage. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her gloves, pulling them back on her freshly washed hands. Taking a few thudding steps towards me, she gave me a wink before shouting over the growing kitchen noise at Rico.
"Hey, I'm 'bout ta head out! You got my grub ready?" Without looking up from his work, the barista pointed behind him at the door, where Dana's bag lay in the open. She gave a victorious "Aha!" before plodding over and snagging it. Despite the fact I knew there was enough to feed two of me in there, it looked like a snack bag in her hands. Methodically, she pried the bag open and counted one, two, three, four sandwiches, and nodded her head. Her nose scrunched up on her face and she gave a sharp sniff. "I, uh...I'm off to Calgary tonight. Won't be back 'til day after tomorrow, prolly. Wish me luck." Rico stopped what he was doing upon hearing the word 'Calgary'. I tilted my head to peek over the counter at him, and he was just standing stalk still for a second. Then, like nothing happened, he turned around to face her and simply said 'Luck'. That seemed to be enough for her, as after that she tipped her hat and headed for the door, shouting "See ya around, kiddo!" as the double doors drifted closed behind her.