The Coffee

Antoinette

I’m caught up in the moment, as they say, so much that I almost don’t notice as Jaco steps into the tiny corner cafe at 6:00. He looks different than the last time I saw him. 

He shakes off his wet umbrella, hanging it on the coat rack directly adjacent to the door’s hinges and rubbing his muddy loafers on the mat.

I stand, quickly and quietly, expecting him to see me. He does not. He instead makes his way to the counter, orders a cup of coffee, and takes a seat at a window table for two. 

It doesn’t take much thought to decide that I’ll go over there. It’s not like he won’t be happy to see me, after all. I would still call him my friend if someone asked, though I admit that I’m not aware he’s in town. 

I’m so glad that I spotted him. I think of all the great times we had so long ago.

I sit across from him. He hesitates for a second or two before looking up a little bit, barely glancing at me. He looks back down. 

“Jaco,” I say.

“Antoinette.”

“It’s been so long.”

“Has it?”

His odd manner doesn’t worry me, though it likely should.

“Jaco, you didn’t tell me that you were in town. Why didn’t you tell me that?”

He looks upward once again, this time making eye contact. 

“I did tell you. I sent you a letter. Did you not receive it?”

I’m confused, as no letter had ever arrived. It’s not unlike him to send mail, though, as he’d always preferred it to calling.

“I didn’t. You’d better call next time you’re here, or I won’t know about it,” I say.

“Yes, maybe so,” he replies, his voice monotonal, “I prefer letters. It must have been lost in the mail, or something like that. Maybe I forgot to send it.”

I chuckled. It wasn’t as easy to talk to him as I remembered. I tried to make more conversation.

“Do you still have the same job now?”

“Yes, I do. I need to leave. Very sorry, but it’s an important meeting.”

He left his coffee cup on the wooden table. I took a sip and walked out.

The Meeting

Jaco

I arrive at a large building, a couple of blocks away from my hotel, and enter through the revolving door into a massive lobby. 

I can’t stop thinking about Antoinette. She seemed so calm, normal, even. God knows I’m no such thing. I can barely keep myself focused during the meeting. I try to stay quiet as the others in the room ramble about stuff I won’t hear or remember the next day.

“Jaco.”

“Ryan.”

“I asked you a question, Jaco, and you did not answer.”

“I wasn’t listening when you asked.”

Ryan turned his head to face the painting on the wall: a rough image of a garden, painted in the impressionist style, I think it’s called. He shifts his focus back to his papers, rustling through them as the room falls silent.

Everyone in the meeting is in a bad mood, I can tell. I can imagine that they are upset about working New Year’s Eve, however, I am not. I’m in a strange city (though I lived here for years, I don’t recall a thing about it), I’ve got no reason to celebrate something as arbitrary as New Year’s without family around.

“I know none of you want to be here,” says Ryan.

“I do.”

“No, Jaco, you do not.”

“Yes, I do,” I reply, frustrated, “I have nowhere else to be, and I need to occupy my time somehow. I want to be here.”

Ryan is fuming. I can picture smoke rising from his ears. 

“I know that you all want to be at home with your families,” he says, “but this is your job, not a mere occupation of time, nor a way of making money.” 

I can’t take a second more of this. So I do what Antoinette would do: I gather my papers from the table, stand up, and walk out. Ryan follows.

“Jaco, you cannot leave in the middle of a meeting. You even said that you want to be here, but now you’re sacrificing your job, and for what?”

“I have a friend named Antoinette. I think she would quit her job if she didn’t like it. I’m trying to be more like her.”

I leave through the revolving door and walk away.

The Park

Antoinette

I’m walking without a purpose.

So, in search of something to do, I stop at an unfamiliar park mere blocks from the coffee shop that I’d just had such a nice encounter in.

It was pleasant to see that Jaco was still such a kind soul. At least, that’s what I took from the conversation. I use my good memories of him to block out the fact that maybe he isn’t exactly the same as he used to be.

The park is very small and very plain looking to me. 

The entire landscape is just a field, mostly, plus some trees, benches, and other things that you’d find at any decent park. I find myself on a green-colored wooden bench with my coat beneath me, as to avoid getting wet.

I close my eyes to doze off, but I can’t. I sort of just sit there with my eyes closed, feeling like I’m not on Earth any longer.

I imagine I’m sitting on top of the thick overcast, where no one can see me but Jaco, who is also there. 

“Antoinette.”

“Jaco.”

“What are you doing up here, on top of the clouds?”

“Getting away from the Earth.”

“Maybe you should retreat back to the ground, and stay on Earth.”

“Maybe I should.”

I open my eyes to find that I’m still in the plain little park on the green bench, only it’s already nighttime. 10:30 p.m, to be exact. I stand up, take my coat, and walk out of the park.

The Cafe

Jaco

At 10:45 p.m. on New Year’s Eve, I walk into a corner coffee shop on Howell Street that I’d been in only once before. The sign out front reads “Open 24/7,” and the place is crowded with friends and families waiting for the clock to strike midnight. 

I glance at the seat at the same window spot that I was at earlier that day. I’m pleased to see that no one has taken it. I take a seat and get comfortable, knowing that I’ll be there until New Year’s Day.

Seconds later, the tiny bell above the cafe door chimes, prompting me to turn my head around and see Antoinette stroll into the joint.

She has a slight smile on her face as she looks at me. Without a word, she walks over and sits down. 

“Jaco.”

“Antoinette.”

“I figured you’d be here.”

“I figured you’d arrive.”

We sit in a state of silence for over an hour, occasionally getting up to grab a coffee, water, or muffin. 

As 10:45 turns to 11:00, and then to 11:30 and 11:45, the others in the cafe grow more and more excited. We remain at the table, getting up and down but staying quiet.

At 11:59, the first word is spoken since Antoinette entered.

“Jaco,” she says, softly, “I wish you would move here.”

“Antoinette, I do too.”

“So why won’t you?”

“Because I’m not brave enough for that.”

She looks at me, solemnly.

“But I cannot live without you here.” She thinks for a moment. “I’m not brave enough either. I am not brave enough to live without you.”

“Nor am I.”

The clock strikes 12:00, and in that tiny coffee shop, there is an uproar of people laughing, crying, kissing, hugging, and yelling.

“Happy New Year,” we all say.