Cherry Blossom

Cherry Blossom

Monday, early April. Tip tap tip tap. I sluggishly roll out of bed in my small studio apartment and look out one of the few windows that remind me these walls are not a prison. It’s grey and raining. Gross. This is why I never liked April. It’s always rainy and cold, especially here in Vancouver. It’s harder to get out of bed on rainy days, and today I’m already running late and need to get ready for work. It’s a thirty minute walk to get there, which includes the time it takes for me to get a coffee at Sprouters, my second home. I drag myself over to my closet. Shit, I forgot to get my dry cleaning. There’s one suit left. My wedding suit. It’s been three months since she left, and I still haven't been able to return the suit, even though it’s worth almost as much as one month’s rent. It’s dark grey, with a white button up, a burgundy tie, and a matching burgundy handkerchief in the breast pocket. Without another option, I put it on. The suit had once made me feel invincible, like the most powerful man in the world. Today, I look in the mirror, and instead I see a powerless man looking back at me. 

I quickly comb back my hair, grab my dark brown briefcase, and put on my matching brown loafers. I wince as I shove my feet into them, another reminder of the things in my life that need polishing. I hurry down to the lobby of my building and grab one of the cheap umbrellas piled near the door, left there for fools who forget their own - like me. I check my watch as I scurry outside, 8:21am. I’ve got 29 minutes to get coffee and breakfast, and to get to work early, because showing up on time where I work means you’re already late. It doesn’t  take me long to realize there’s a hole in my umbrella, and that I now have a large wet spot on my back. Perfect. I focus on trying to find the best way to hold the umbrella so as to not let anymore tearful raindrops fall on the suit I lost my love in. A part of me almost wants to let the rain ruin the suit, maybe it would free me. However, my boss won’t see a liberated man, just an unprofessional slob, and then he’ll station me to the legal paperwork that no one likes to do. I try with every muscle in my body to protect this suit, and to keep together the seams in which mine came undone.

Only ten more minutes. Ten more minutes until I reach my safe haven, where I can fuel my body and find a way to fix this umbrella. I wait to cross the street, focusing on holding the umbrella in just the right spot, when a white jeep speeds past. It hits the four inch deep puddle right next to the sidewalk, soaking my right leg in the filth of dirty street water. I know I should be mad, but a little part of me is actually kind of happy. It feels mildly therapeutic to have this burdened memory get damaged. Then I remember who my boss is. That’s when the glimmer of joy goes back into hiding, as if to avoid the storm that is my life. The beeping of the crossing sign pulls me out of my distraction, urging me to cross the street and avoid more splashes. With every step I hear the squish of water in my shoe. Only one shoe. Not sure if that’s worse or better than if both shoes were wet.

I absentmindedly continue on for the next ten minutes, thinking that at the end of these ten minutes I’ll reach the best coffee in town, accompanied by the best muffins. I inch my way up the steps and pull on the door. It doesn’t open. I try again, thinking maybe I’m just weak from this dreadful morning. I quickly become aware of the blaring sign on the door, “Closed for renovations. Be back May 10, see you soon!” Great. Just great. Why didn’t I see this coming? It would’ve been too easy if my favourite cafe was open. I stand there, hopeless, staring at the empty place that was supposed to comfort me. 

“Sorry sir, we’re closed,” a voice behind me says. It’s a new employee, one I haven’t met yet. As she pushes her way around me and unlocks the door to head inside, the diamond band on her left hand seems to mock me.

“Yeah, I see that. Thank you,” I quip back, then walk away. I don’t intend to be mean, but she disappears before I can apologize, so I leave, and continue on my way to work. Even though I’m right downtown, in my mind no other coffee shops exist, so I figure there’s no point in searching for one. After this devastating realization at Sprouters, I have also for a moment forgotten about my impaired umbrella. Now I have a nice big wet spot on my left chest. Right above the pocket that once held a wedding ring for the girl I once did, and always will, love. I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, now a few blocks away from Sprouters, lost in a broken memory.

 I’m brought back by the sound of grinding coffee beans. Music to my ears. I look around and see I’ve accidentally gone a different way than normal. I look to my left and see a white storefront with “Cool Beans” displayed in black above the front door. How cheesy. I never thought I would resort to a different coffee shop, but I’m starving and wet, and figure any coffee, no matter how good or bad, will help make this morning at least a little bit better. I step in the cafe, admiring the fact that the sounds of grinding coffee cover the squishing cry from my shoe. Everyone in the shop looks about my age - mid 20’s - yet I still feel so old. I’m the only person wearing a suit, yet I somehow feel like I look the least presentable. 

“Good morning!” a woman chirps behind the counter. It almost makes me mad how happy she is, but it also makes me feel a bit happier myself.

“Morning,” I respond, forcing a smile onto my face.

“Looks like the rain got you good this morning,” she chuckles. I guess it was a little funny.

“Yeah, I’m hoping some coffee will help me forget about all of this,” I say, and motion to the numerous wet spots on my suit.

“Well let’s make that happen! Might I suggest our hazelnut mocha? I would say it’s the best drink on our menu.” I always order a plain latte. Trying new things is never something I’ve been fond of, especially with something as important to me as coffee. But I figure if I’m going to try something new and hate it, it might as well be today. 

“Okay sure, I’ll take one of those, and the best muffin you got,” I feel like I’m betraying Sprouters, but these muffins look damn good. 

The cheerful woman behind the counter passes me my mystery muffin and coffee. There’s a smiley face made out of foam in the cup. I want to hate it, but I actually kind of love it. I stare at the smiley face, then slowly sip this new drink. Shit, that’s good. It’s like there’s an explosion in my mouth, but a good explosion, if that’s possible. 

“How is it?” the woman asks as she wipes the counters. I realize I’m still standing where I picked up my drink.

“Phenomenal, thank you,” I’m about to walk away when I remember about my dysfunctional umbrella. “Do you have some tape? My umbrella is ripped.”

“I see that,” she chuckles again, “I’ll do you one better, take my umbrella.” She reaches behind the counter and passes me a forest green umbrella, rip free.

“Oh no, I can’t do that. Then you’ll get all wet,” I‘m caught off guard, I haven’t had such a generous offer in a long time.

“I insist. I like the rain. Besides, I’ve been looking for an excuse to get a new umbrella for a while.” She holds the umbrella out for me to take, nodding as an extra reassurance that it’s okay. 

“Tha-, thank you.” I slowly take the umbrella from her, just in case she changes her mind and wants to pull it back. She doesn’t 

She smiles, with a genuine smile, and says, “Have a fantastic day.”

I smile too, this one unforced. It feels like my first real smile in ages.

 “You too,” I reply, wondering how one person could have made such a positive difference. But then I remember how my once soon-to-be wife did, and I feel grateful to be reminded of such power. 

I walk out of the cafe and open my new umbrella that is useful and whole, and throw the old one in the garbage. The thought of my lost love still lingers in my mind. But for the first time, I don’t feel like my heart has been stolen from me. It almost feels like it’s been given back. I remain standing outside of Cool Beans, no farther than seven feet from the front door. I feel like everything, even the rain, has taken a pause. But as reality returns, I remember about the funny thing called time. My watch reads 8:40am, I have ten minutes to finish this delicious meal and get to work. But this time I don’t want to go. I mean, I never want to go, but I normally feel like I have to. And today I don’t. So I do what my boss hates most. I call in sick at the last minute. I can hear my boss's angry voice in the ringing of the phone. Except this time it doesn’t send fear down my spine.

“Adam, can’t this wait ten minutes for when you’re in the office,” he says with the angry tone I predicted.

“Hi Mr. Pillin, I actually won’t be able to come in today, I got a horrible flu yesterday and can barely stand up,” I fake cough, which sounds more fake than I thought it would.

“Fine. I’m giving this to you only because you haven’t had one sick day since you’ve started working. Even when Anna passed you came in every day. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hangs up the phone, not waiting for a response. I’m surprised he remembers that much about me. Maybe he’s not the heartless monster I thought he was. 

After getting off the phone, I notice there is a park across the street. It was our park. Where I took her on our first date, where I proposed, and where we spent countless hours together. Building a bond I thought was impossible to have. Gifted to us by powers unknown. This place, once so beautiful, quickly turned so dark for me. It was the place she told me she was given two months left to live. The place where I cried for hours on our wedding day because those two months turned into one. I remembered that’s why I normally don’t go this way. Every reminder of her was a reminder of the hole left in my heart. But this time it was just a reminder of her. Of us. And a beautiful memory it was. So with my magnificent coffee, muffin, and new umbrella in hand, I walk over to the park, and sit under the tree where we shared our first kiss. A cherry blossom. Which will always be my favourite kind of tree. Because it was ours. 

I find the perfect dry spot on the bench, protected by the tree, and put my muffin on my lap, the flavour of which is still unknown to me. The muffin is beautifully golden brown and bigger than my hand. I slowly bite into it, excited to try and decipher the flavour. Banana chocolate chip. My favourite kind, made so by her. She loved banana chocolate chip muffins more than most things. A drip falls down my cheek. This time it’s not the rain, but a happy tear. A tear of rejoice for getting to know and love such a magnificent human being. And so I eat this muffin and cry happy tears under a cherry blossom tree in downtown Vancouver at 8:44 on a Monday morning, and I can’t think of a better way to start off not only this week, but a new life filled with gratitude, not regret.