One Day in a Coffee Shop

The warm scent of java filled Anita’s nostrils as she walked through the door a young man graciously held open as he exited.

“Thank you,” she softly smiled, her grey strands flying with the gust of the wind behind the door as he said “You’re welcome, ma’am,” and closed it.

She scanned the room, observing the different faces, mostly very young, engaged in their various young-people activities—a few scrolling on their phones, while a few others on their laptops. Most of the remaining few ate or drank as they enjoyed music through their fancy wireless headphones, and one woman had her phone tightly pasted to her ear, as she enthusiastically conversed with what Anita figured was probably a friend or family member.

What a different time this is, she always thought to herself upon taking in such scenes, which was often. She remembered the days when she’d walk into such an establishment, and everyone would only be drinking or eating…maybe reading or talking with a friend or loved one…in person. But that was it. No devices. No electronic distractions.

In those days, she reflected, it seemed like you and the people you cared about..were enough. You didn’t need all these outside…things…to keep you busy.

Although this newer coffee shop was set up differently from the few she usually frequented, its atmosphere felt the same, as they always did. Warm—both in temperature and in energy of the workers and customers—brightly lit, the certain unmistakable aromas of coffee beans and cinnamon, and, besides the one woman on the phone which was fortunately on her way out, mostly quiet.

All just the way she liked it.

She long sought places that were warm and familiar, even if they weren’t familiar. Places where she felt, in a way, at home when she didn’t want to be at home.

Places where she felt safe and comforted—places like coffee shops, which were her favorite. Even those she’d never visited before.

As she approached the counter, the young woman behind it looked at her with an expression of unease.

“Hi,” Anita greeted.

“H—Hi…” the young woman, who Anita guessed was probably a junior or senior in high school, returned. “What can I get for you?”

“Umm, are you okay?”

The teen hesitated for a few moments.

“Actually, umm, I’m so sorry, but—“ She turned to a young man probably a few years younger than her who was several feet behind as he wiped a counter. “Hey, Jake, would you mind taking her order? I have to run to the lady’s room.”

Anita’s eyes briefly widened in realizing the young lady’s dilemma.

“Oh, uhh,” said Jake. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” the girl said. “Jake here will take good care of you.”

“Oh, no worries, go ahead and do what you need to do, please,” Anita assured her.

After Jake set down his rag and washed his hands, he approached Anita to take her order.

“Hi, ma’am,” he said. “Please bear with me—I don’t cover the register too often, so it might take me a second, but we’ll make it happen. What can I get you?”

“Oh okay, no worries. Can I have a small cappuccino?” Anita asked.

“Yes, of course, anything added?” he asked as he began tapping the screen in front of him.

“No, no, just as-is, thank you.”

“Okay, anything else?”

“Umm… No. Actually, yes. Mmmmm, no, never mind, that’s okay,” she said calmly.

Jake smiled, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” answered Anita. “Sorry, yes, I’m sure. If I want anything else, I’ll come back up for it.”

“Okay! Can I get your name?”

“Anita.” she said.

“Alright, it’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

A few minutes later, he called her to her drink.

As she reached out for it and thanked him, his eyes narrowed, slowing her return to her seat.

“You look…familiar,” he said.

Her eyebrows slightly raised, as if unsure of his recognition.

“Like someone I’ve seen on TV or something. Maybe like a celebrity or something?” He looked at her for a cue that he was on to something, but she only shrugged.

“Familiar face, I guess,” she said.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he continued to study her, hoping the answer might suddenly strike.

“Thank you,” she said, lifting the cappuccino towards him and turning to return to her seat by the shop window.

Moments later, as she sat sipping her warm beverage, watching strangers pass by outside, she noticed the young woman behind the counter from before, presumably the usual cashier, was back and now having some kind of exchange with Jake.

Jake looked up with anguish at the clock on the wall and back down at the young woman. She cradled her stomach, and Anita saw her lips mouth “Sorry!”

The girl walked to the back, only to return seconds later with her keys and purse headed for the door.

“Feel better,” Jake called out to her.

She smiled back as best as she could through her clear visual discomfort.

Jake looked up at the clock again.

And Anita went back to her people watching.

Around a half hour later, Anita returned to the counter.

“Hello again,” she said to Jake.

“Oh, hi!” he said.

“I think I’m ready to order again.”

“You sure this time?” he joked.

She smiled and nodded.

“Okay.” He narrowed his eyes again. “You know, you look so familiar. It's really gonna bother me.”

Anita stood quiet.

“Were you in some kind of news story recently or something?” he asked.

As soon as he said it, his eyes gradually grew, as hers averted downward.

“Oh, wait,” he said softly. “Were you that…lady whose…daughter went missing…a bunch of years ago?”

Anita remained quiet but looked back up at him.

“I mean, not.. not a bunch of years,” he tried to correct himself as he observed her mostly grey head, “but.. some yea.. a while ag— like, back in th—”

“Yes,” she said softly, hoping to help end his awkward discomfort.

They both stood there for a few moments without exchanging anymore words.

“Yeah, so…you figured it out,” she finally said. “I don’t tend to bring it up if someone else doesn’t first—”

“I understand…” he said and bowed his head, feeling a bit shamed.

Anita continued. “It’s a mixed feeling whenever the local news stations and papers cover the anniversary every now and then. I used to appreciate it, closer to when it happened 35 years ago, back when I still had…hope. But now it’s just like a painful reminder, especially knowing she’s probably…” she trailed off.

“Anyway… I guess I’m determined to continue my own painful reminder. Since the anniversary is this week, I was going to order that chocolate chip cookie you have there, as that was her favorite dessert, and I guess this is my own little way of honoring her and keeping her memory alive.”

She paused.

“I guess sometimes I imagine she’s still here, and enjoying something like this, with me.”

Jake, listening keenly, felt unsure of what to say next.

After a few more awkward moments, Anita’s eyes widened as they landed again on the cookie, reminding him of her request.

“Oh, oh yes, I’m sorry, let me get that for you, and I’ll warm it up,” he said and grabbed a pair of tongs as Anita fumbled through her purse. “Oh, and it’s on the house!”

“Ohh no, it’s okay, just because—you don’t have to—”

“No, no, really. It’s on me.”

“Young man, I don’t want to get you in trouble—“

“You won’t! Besides, today’s actually my mom’s birthday, and I was supposed to be taking her out right now, but instead filling in for my coworker who got sick and had to go home early. So, at least this will make me feel like I’m doing one thing right and that I’d rather do at the moment.”

“Well, thank you,” said Anita. “That’s very sweet. And I hate to hear that, about your coworker being sick and that it’s delaying your celebration plans for your mother.”

“Yeah, tough luck, but it isn’t the end of the world. We’ll just celebrate when we close in an hour and she comes to pick me up.”

Anita smiled, “Yes, that’s nice.”

“By the way,” Jake said, as he placed the cookie in the nearby countertop oven. “I’m umm… I’m sorry… for umm… pushing that about… how you look familiar—"

“Look, son, it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” said Anita. “You didn’t know. And I know a lot of people I’m sure still recognize me, even many, many wrinkles and grey hairs later!”

“Honestly, I’m surprised I even did. I don’t really know much about the story, and my grandma, who we stay with, doesn’t like us to watch the news. Says it’s always bad news and not healthy for our brains.”

“Your grandmother sounds like a smart woman,” said Anita.

“Oh, she definitely is,” he said. “She’s the smartest, the sweetest, and the best.”

“I bet she is,” Anita smiled.

“Well, besides my mom,” he also gently smiled.

They both were silent again for a few moments as the cookie warmed.

“Umm, can I ask what happ—“ he suddenly blurted before catching himself.

Anita gave a kind smile and let it linger for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You want to know what happened…”

“Yes, but I know that’s rude. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it…”

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s been long enough, and I mostly don’t anymore. I don't know… Maybe I should.”

She took a deep breath as Jake listened on.

“Well, my little Alyssa was three at the time,” she began, “And she and I used to walk together…a lot. That actually was one of our favorite things to do. We would walk and talk. Sometimes in our neighborhood, sometimes in others. But always in safe areas, or I thought.” She looked down for a moment before she continued. “Sometimes, we’d walk at the park. And she would just share with me what was on her little mind—like some of the fun things she did at daycare that day, about her many friends, whatever toy, game, or song she she was obsessed with at the time… Whatever. We just…talked.”

Jake set the warm cookie on the plate, only to inadvertently freeze in place with it, entranced by Anita as she went on. “Well, one day, we were walking, and she ran up ahead of me, like she liked to sometimes do. She knew not to run too far, but this time, there was a corner that she turned. I yelled out to her to slow down and come back.” She paused and tried to gather her breath. “And I uhh… I tried to hurry…to catch up. I actually was laughing, thinking she was being silly in not responding to me.”

She shook her head as she recalled.

“And when I turned the corner… She was gone.”

Jake’s mouth hung slightly open, both captured and dismayed by such a recollection.

“It was a quiet neighborhood,” Anita continued to share. “With only a few cars passing through, and by the time I realized what was happening, it was too late to notice and remember any of their particular details.”

“I walked and drove around that neighborhood for hours, calling out to her, asking every person I came across. Since we were about a half hour away from home—of course this was before cellphones—I even asked one of the families I came across in that area if I could use their phone to call the police.”

Finally sitting the plate down, Jake briefly scanned the shop to see the remaining customers seemed content and their numbers dwindling as the shop got closer to closing time. He was grateful to not have to interrupt as Anita continued sharing.

“Night came,” she said, “And there still was no word of her. It was the big story around town—the whole state, really—for weeks after that, as many people tried helping look for her and many tips were called into the police, but nothing real turned up.” She paused and then continued. “Honestly, it kind of always felt like the police could've done more, but…I appreciated what they did try to do, especially with it being a bigger city and I know always many other things going on. Of course as even just months went by, the story in the news became smaller and smaller, until it was just a couple of sentences in one of the back pages of the local paper. I tried my damnest…”—emotion choked Anita’s words for a moment—“…to keep it in the media for years after, but it was clear the growing belief was that Alyssa was no longer…” She trailed and sighed. “And that it made less and less sense to hope.”

Her eyes, growing increasingly moist, sank as she finished. “Alyssa was my husband’s and my only child, so things became especially rough with us for a while, but we hung in there. And in the end... he passed away some years ago, heartbroken that he never got to learn what happened to her. I’m honestly surprised I wasn’t far behind him. Still always feels like it won’t be long...."

Much like her cookie that no longer emitted the light steam it had just a few minutes before, the air in the shop suddenly felt like the warmth had been sucked out.

It also felt like they were the only ones in the room, even though there were still a few other customers—purposefully finishing up the last of their respective drink, snack, or personal activity, and aside from a few occasional glances, mostly oblivious to what was happening over near the cash register.

“Wow,” Jake finally muttered, bewildered and unable to find any other words.

Anita had been able to hold off the tears for as long as she could but found that she could no longer. Jake grabbed a few napkins from a nearby dispenser and handed them to her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she snickered and thanked him through the tears and sniffles, suddenly jolted back to present day. “I’m telling you all of this, and you’re just a kid.”

“No, no,” he said, “Don’t be. I asked. I’m so, so sorry for your loss and also for making you rehash what I know must be really painful all these years later. I should’ve never—“

“No, no, it’s okay. I didn’t have to tell you. Maybe part of me wanted to talk about it. Like I said, it’s been a while. And this week…”

She paused for a moment.

“Would you like to see a picture of her?” she asked.

“Oh yes, yes, please,” said Jake as Anita began shuffling through her purse.

Anita pulled out an old, tattered photo, taped together after years of pulling it out and showing it to strangers, long ago in an effort to see if anyone recognized her, but more recently mainly just to share about her, like she was with Jake now.

“I took that during one of our many walks,” she said, “In a neighborhood actually not far from here. I’m forever grateful I did, since I don’t have many of her—like I said, that was long before cellphones.”

Jake gently grabbed the picture by its edge, trying not to add anymore wear and tear, and his eyes widened as he pulled it closer.

On the ragged print was a little girl in a pink-and-yellow dress and pink-ribboned pigtails. She cheesed bright for the camera, her hands proudly on her hips, and a little purple toy purse hanging from her little wrist.

But what really struck Jake was a few other details.

The little girl’s striking green eyes that looked eerily familiar.

Her red hair that looked like just the kind of red his hair was as a kid, before nature began shading it to more of a mousy brown. The kind of red his mother never lost.

Her tiny red freckles, very similar to those he once had that also faded, until they were mostly invisible, with time.

Jake observed this little girl in the photo looked exactly as he did as a kid, except for his shorter hair and his eyes which were brown. Which he got from his dad.

He’d never seen pictures of his mom as a kid—his grandmother always said, just like Anita had just mentioned, it was because it was the time long before cellphones, and they couldn’t afford a camera back then.

But even more haunting, standing tall behind the little girl as she paused for this picture during one of her and her mom’s routine walks in this residential neighborhood that bright spring day…was a house he would recognize anywhere.

It might look like any other pale-yellow, ranch-style house built probably just a few decades prior, if it weren’t for those goats—those two stone goats painted a rusted green that he always hated as they sat like guards out front.

Jake looked up with wide eyes at the old woman standing before him, for the first time noticing, among the sea of silver that topped her, faint streams of that same distinct red, and then over out at the window at his mom who was walking up outside.

"What?" asked Anita.