The Bright Lady

The big modern baroque glass doors with tall parallel handles swing open. Immediately my nose is filled with the dense scent of roast. The tiles inside appear as if they are flickering, reflecting light at various angles as I move my head around the door and walk inside. The ambience within the room is much more peaceful than outside. The door shuts behind me and suddenly my ears are almost silent in comparison to before I had walked in. Calm jazz is playing, or is it lo-fi? I can't even tell, but it fits the atmosphere perfectly. Low but noticeable, the music blends nicely with the environment inside. People sitting at tiny square tables, sipping and smiling, conversing respectably, laughing quietly, working intently.

A bright haired lady behind a counter wearing an even brighter apron spoke to me, still standing at the door in a near trance, as if she felt obligated to snap me out of it, my eyes scanning the serene landscape trying to take it all in, as if this peace and quiet means everything to me at this moment, because it does. Has she been looking at me since I stepped in? Does she know? Can she tell?

"Hiya" she said relaxedly "Would you like to order anything?".

"No thanks, just looking" I said awkwardly, as if I was wandering through an expensive clothing store where only I knew I couldn't afford anything. If she had been watching me since I walked in, she can clearly see that I'm 'just looking', probably an abnormal behavior for a customer in this type of environment, but oh well. Forgive me for the time I've spent absorbing the essence of this little quiet nook on busy Main Street. I'm sure she could understand, she seems nice. I must look like a nut, still standing here speaking internally.  

I often thought in a perspective apart from first-person, serving as a type of suffocating awareness at times, it’s exhausting always seeing myself judgmentally from the outside; but it has its benefits, such as in my line of work, such over-awareness of oneself was crucial to doing my job effectively. It’s a shame this pervasive habitual pattern of thought permeates beyond my work, though. 

I laugh to myself forgivingly as I walk toward a windowed corner of the room and take a seat at one of the little tables just wide enough for a laptop and a beverage.

She seems nice, calm, no way she knows. She has no clue. The essence of relief washes through me and out in the form of a sigh, I blow air through my pursed lips.

Watching the bright lady behind the counter work, her back turned toward me and the rest of the customers, was soothing. The slow croak of roasting, the cathartic sound of pressurized steam releasing, the visual of vapor rising, all adding new facets of pleasant smell to the atmosphere. The smoothness and presence of the lady as she worked was mesmerizing, her style and finesse which she must have spent years developing. She was smooth, quick, adroit and coordinated. She could open a carton of milk with one hand while mixing a beverage with the other, I lost track of time as I watched and admired her work.

I look at that clock; It's already been a half an hour. I must look like a serial killer watching her so intently, I thought, once again laughing to myself forgivingly. I reached to take out my phone.

Feeling both pockets simultaneously in search, as I always change which pocket I place my phone into depending on the pair of pants I’m wearing. I find nothing, empty. Hm, well that’s extremely unfortunate, I think to myself as a surge of panic sets into my heart, across my chest and up my throat. That feeling of panic always reminds me of being a kid in class, tipping my chair backward as far as possible as I attempted to balance, only to lean too far and suddenly have to lurch my upper body forward as a means of shifting my center of gravity back to what is safe. That mini instant of panic rings through my head, out of my oldest core memories of a child in school, every time I reach for my phone or wallet and it isn’t there. It’s frightening, and so odd, the way the mind works. The way the mind feels an instant shock of near-death just because what I’m used to feeling is not felt when it’s expected to be felt- the phone in my pocket.

I have no idea where my phone is. I’ve thought of every possible place I could have dropped it since waking up, and considered possibly leaving it at home to begin with- nothing. I couldn’t think of a single spot to check, I don’t even know the last time I had it.  

Oh well. It sucks. But it’s time to surrender- if I obsess over this worry any longer, I’ll only stress myself out more. I have to surrender, accept that I’m going to need a new phone or at least to try locating it with my computer at home- either way, I choose to do nothing about it right now, I need a break. I do not want to rush home right now, I just got here. And it’s really nice here, I need this moment, I want to stay here. I want to stop worrying about my phone. I’m sick of worrying about my phone… Even if my boss calls to assign me a new and urgent task... Even if I get fired for missing it. This, right now, is what I need. I’m sick of worrying. I’ll worry about it later, that sounds like a good idea. That sounds peaceful. This is what I need, I accept all possible outcomes warranted by my decision to relax.

My mind attempted to produce the thought of "Well, now I have nothing to do, I guess I just have to sit here now" when I realized- wait, that's what I was already doing, just sitting here and doing "nothing". I was enjoying it, too, which is very unlike me. I just spent thirty minutes without thinking about a single want, desire, or need- that's peaceful. For a moment, I wasn't judging myself. For a moment, I wasn't observing myself from the third person perspective and anxious for no reason. For a moment, I had everything I needed to feel comfortable, and I had nothing at all but the environment in which I was in. Surely there has to be something of value, of great significance, in this moment. Surely, there has to be, because I felt it. Does everyone in here feel it too? How could they not? Have I ruined the magic by becoming aware of it? Hm.

I walked up the counter and spoke to the lady about their selection, she was finishing up another two orders for a couple that just walked in. They ordered hot drinks. I could smell a faint scent of blueberry and pumpkin spice from the machine the bright lady was now cleaning.

"That must be nice on a cold day like today." I said aloud, generally, toward the couple.

They turned toward me, they were bundled up with jackets over their hoodies on top of their thick tapered sweatpants and boots.

"It's the best." They said at the same time, over their scarves and through the vapor of their drinks, clutching their hot caramel scented and colored cups close to their face, as if to not let any of the hot vapor rising from it go to waste, as if they were attempting to absorb every wave of warmth the beverage was emanating.

The couple left together, huddling close as they braced to walk back outside, their drinks clutched against their chest.

"What's your favorite drink to order?" I asked the bright smiling lady, I hadn't realized how pretty she was when I first walked in. I hadn't realized how beautiful all of the people in here are, initially. Everyone, they're all different from one another, that's beautiful.

"Hmm. Probably the hot caramel pumpkin drink that I just made the last customer. It's cinnamon-y." Her reply was soothing.

"It smelled really good. Hm. What's your favorite drink to make?" I asked.

"Hm. Nobody's ever asked me that before. I'll have to think about it. Ask me again another time, because right now, I have cinnamon-y pumpkin caramel on my mind, so I'm tempted to say it again." Her lip curled into an innocent smirk and her bright green eyes glinted as she looked down to open a new carton of milk.

"That's what I want to order, then. Could you make me one, please? And, could you make it how you like it?" I asked, looking up from my hands and toward her eyes.

"Sure"

"Can you feel it?" I asked.

She looked at me for a time before responding.

"Hm. Depends. Feel what?" she said.

"I... don't know... the..."

"The essence? The way this place is? Yes, I feel it. It's nice, isn't it? The way this place is, the way the people are, it's nice. Everyone here feels it, some feel it more, some less, but everyone's feeling it right now- experiencing the moment and all that it comes with, right here right now. Whether or not they're aware of it, they're still feeling it, always- oh here you go, I hope you like it, I made it exactly how I like it best." She said, handing me my drink.

The first sip was heavenly, for some reason. For the first time in what feels like forever, I can taste it. I can feel the warmth of it passing over my lips, across my tongue, down my throat, through my chest and belly. Something's different, I'm intently aware of all that I'm feeling, all that is happening around me. Is it really the room, was that what the lady meant by 'right here right now'? Is it the people? Is it me? Is it all of those factors complimenting one another harmonically that is responsible for this mental clarity I feel? I'm certain it isn't the caffeine.

Finishing my drink, I wholeheartedly thanked the brightly colored lady and left.

Walking home, I tried not to think about work. I hate thinking about work, I ruin every peaceful moment of my free time thinking about work. While I don't have to be thinking about work. I decide I won't think about work until my next shift starts.

Arriving home, I found my phone. I had left it on my bed, huh. I'm surprised I didn't remember to bring it, but at the same time, I credit a chunk of the peace I felt to the leaving of my phone at home. Part of me is glad I forgot it.

No messages or calls from anyone, just some social media notifications that I don't feel a need to check or invest myself in. I sigh in relief as I plop back-down onto my bed.

Luckily as a hitman for the US government, assignments are scarce but the work is intense. You can go months without having to work, but one day, your phone rings off the hook and you have to get on a plane within two hours. You have no information until you arrive and are debriefed on the entire situation just moments before being given equipment, a generalized task outline/summary, and a target. Sometimes all you have to go off of is a single blurry picture taken from some CCTV footage where you can just barely make out the person's face. I hate what I do. I hate this line of work. Every night as I'm about to fall asleep, my conscious, the part of my internal monologue akin to god, pure in morality, screams at me. Judging me. Maybe that's what they mean when they say "only god can judge you". Maybe what they really mean is that you will always judge yourself for not doing more for other people. I struggle to justify my actions in my line of work to myself- it's not possible. It's simply impossible to justify murder to oneself. People are not supposed to feel this awful burden, people are not supposed to die at each others hands, that's all I've learned during the last 25 years of my professional life.

I don't want to listen to anybody speak tonight. I don't want to listen to my own thoughts, or any words, at all. I simply want to feel whatever I feel. I think I'm going to put on a nature documentary, a silent one. I want to hear bugs chirping and animals clicking. Actually, that's exactly what I need- a lack of what I'm used to.