Next: Part 2: Calling Holly
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When I rolled out of bed at noon on one early spring day, beard unkempt and shaggy, I loathed the idea of meeting my best friend Mahli at my old favorite café. My life was messier than the apartment I somehow called home. I dragged myself into the shower for the first time in a week. I burned myself on the water, but it felt cathartic, like I was searing my misery off of my skin. As nice as the shower felt though, there has never been a simple solution to heartbreak.
When it happened, my world came crashing down around me in a cacophony of screams and tears. I would have never admitted it, but I thought my future was with her, with Solenne. I put so much importance on our relationship that for months later, it haunted me and tormented me. So much time was spent in front of the mirror, staring at the dying stars of my eyes, searching for something worth saving. I missed her, but most of all, I missed the way she looked at me.
That particular afternoon as I stared at my clean but wet rat self in the mirror, I wouldn’t have guessed that I was so wrong about everything, that a couple hours later I would meet someone that would upset the very fabric of my reality. If I had known in advance, maybe I would have cut my long pale brown hair that looked like it belonged to an anime protagonist, or found a razer and got my beard off of my neck. But I guess there is a beauty in not knowing when your life is about to turn around. It could happen in any moment, at any place. There could be a moment of clarity, or a familiar stranger at a café.
Winter was only just passing then. Piles of snow rested on every lawn, only roads and roofs were cleared, water running down the hills and down the drains, a constant babbling brook wherever you went. The buds had yet to brave the cold and appear on the trees, and only little patches of brown grass could be seen in places where the snow had been thin. The birds had returned, though mostly crows and seagulls could be heard in the city.
It was sunny that day, and warm compared to what we had gotten used to. People were out on every street, whether it meant kids biking around on the wet roads, or older couples going for walks now that they can. Some smaller children were bundled up in winter jackets by their cautious and caring parents, which they promptly abandoned the moment they were out of sight. The air was fresh, rejuvenating, and welcoming. It was a reminder that every winter comes to an end, a herald of the summer to come.
The café I was meeting Mahli at was in the heart of downtown, but in an older district. The building itself dated back a couple hundred years or so, built of brick, stone, and now-degrading wood. Most of the other ones nearby had been demolished to build office buildings or parking lots, but this one was declared a historic site before that could happen, making it this little two story brick home surrounded by a world its builders would have never imagined possible. Mahli called it poetic, a sanctuary amongst the rush and panic of the modern day. I just thought it was cozy with good coffee.
As I approached, I spotted Mahli reading away through the window. He stopped for a moment to push up his big round hipster glasses. I couldn’t see what he was reading, but I guessed it was probably some romantic poetry. He’s a sucker for it, and when he’s unsure about things, he reads it for inspiration or clarity.
I slipped in and went straight to his table by the front window, my favorite spot. He didn’t notice me right away, so I casually placed my hand on the page he was reading. Initially surprised, he looked up at me and then shook his head.
“Glad to see you,” he said sincerely, but the phrase made me uneasy. We never spoke like that when we were younger, but once we became adults those cookie-cutter polite phrases suddenly were everywhere.
“You too, been a while,” I answered before glancing over my shoulder at the counter. “I’m going to go order something. I’ll be right back.”
“Sure thing."
“Well look who it is,” a familiar voice called out to me from behind the barista counter. I peered over and saw the always friend Farah. She made her way to the cash and smiled at me. “And here I thought you found yourself a new café and we’d never see you again.”
“Actually it was Mahli’s idea to come here,” I joked playfully. “I just haven’t been out much in a while. It’s basically just work and groceries.”
“Well, welcome back to the world of writers and students hanging out for hours, what can I get you? The usual strongest coffee we have?”
“You know me so well.” I chuckled and nodded.
“It’s the only thing I’ve ever seen you order. Maybe I don’t know you at all, and you’re just boring.”
“Ouch,” I said, clutching my heart in feigned pain.
She laughed and rolled her eyes at me as she often did. She handed me the coffee, I handed her exact change (plus tip), and headed back to Mahli’s table. I walked over, my eyes locked on my mug, careful not to spill a drop. As I placed the mug down next to one of his books, I noticed it was a book of poetry by William Blake.
“I thought Blake wasn’t really a romantic poet?” I asked, wondering why Mahli’s even reading it.
“He’s not, but I thought some change of pace might help with the writing,” he explained with his usual quiet tone. The first time we met, it took me three tries to hear what his name was because he was so hushed about it. “Haven’t written a line in weeks.”
“At least your life doesn’t depend on your poetry,” I reminded him, hopeful that it would relieve some of the pressure off of him.
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you’re right…” He shuffled his papers together, shut and stacked his books. “So how have you been?”
Our conversation continued on like that for a little while. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, the truth was that the dreams of Solenne had stopped but I found myself missing them. Mahli tried to be comforting, to give me some hope, but sometimes words can never be enough.
As I sipped the last drops of my coffee, my eyes were drawn to a figure that suddenly appeared through the door. It was a woman of about my age with a messy pale brown ponytail. I don’t know exactly what caught my eye about her, but it was enough that I wasn’t paying attention when putting my mug down. Distracted, I let go of the mug and it fell to the ground, shattering with a loud crash.
Everyone’s eyes suddenly shifted to me, including hers. That was the first time I saw Holly’s all-too-familiar eyes. Like mine, they were a dark mahogany with a ring of orange around the pupil like some sort of solar eclipse. It was like looking in the mirror, like all of a sudden my reflection had come to life and left to get coffee.
“Is everything okay?” Farah asked in a concerned tone as she ran over with the broom, pulling my attention off of the familiar stranger.
“Sorry, I thought my hand was over the table,” I apologized, getting to my feet and sweeping up some of the ceramic pieces with my foot.
“It’s alright! Accidents happen,” she assured me as she gently pushed me to the side so she could properly sweep up the mess.
Once that was all sorted out, I looked around for the stranger with my eyes, but she was nowhere to be found. It was like she just popped into existence and right back out of it. Or maybe that was just my imagination acting up.
“Are you alright? You’ve been somewhere else for a while,” Mahli questioned after a while of me clearly not paying attention to anything.
“There was a woman here just as I dropped my mug who had eyes just like mine,” I told him with that tone in my voice that implied some greater purpose.
“Do you have any lost siblings?”
I shrugged. “I guess it’s possible. It’s not like I knew my parents or anything. Maybe my mom knows about it.”
“Worth asking. Who knows? Maybe you just spotted your long lost sister.” A look of excitement crossed his face, a flash of inspiration. “I hope if it’s okay if I write a poem about that.”
“Of course, poetic license and all that,” I answered with a smile as I quietly planned a visit to my parents’ house. It had been a while since I last saw them, mostly just because I didn’t want them to see what a mess I had become.
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Part 2: Calling Holly
-Zero
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