Second Chances Café

[Content Warning: Depression and implied physical violence.]

“Hi, yes could I get a medium caramel macchiato with two pumps of vanilla please?”

“Name for the order,” asked the cashier.

“John,” I replied.

My usual café was closed this morning due to remodeling, so I ventured down the backstreets to a hole-in-the-wall called ‘Second Chances Café’. It's a fitting name, considering they got my order wrong the last time I was there, pre-COVID. Maybe the owner named the place so their employees could have some leeway.

I walked to the pickup counter and started texting my mom back. She had asked about Christmas, and I told her that Sandra was keeping the kids this year. Since she’d remarried, she said it’d be strange for them to have two dads watching them open presents. Maybe it was just uncomfortable for her, having her ex-husband and her new husband in the same room. Either way, they are probably better without me there.

Before I could send this overly complex trauma dump of a text message to my mother, I heard, “Medium caramel macchiato with two pumps of vanilla for John.”

I reached for the cup and said, “Thanks,” but another hand grabbed the lid while I grabbed the base of the cup. I looked over at the stranger and said, “Open your ears, bud-”

The barista looked at us and said, “Very funny, you two do this often, do you,” then returned to making coffee.

When I looked at this stranger, I wasn’t expecting to see myself. It was like someone put a mirror in front of me, or maybe more like I was looking at a picture of myself. He was the same height as me, had the same messy brown hair as me, shared the same shade of blue eyes, and even had the same scar on his chin as me. He wore a green flannel shirt with an old ACDC shirt underneath and he had relaxed fit jeans on. I was wearing the same thing. He even still had his phone out and from what I could see at a glance was texting his mother, too. His text seemed much shorter, though.

We stood there staring at each other for a couple more seconds, our hands still holding the same cup of coffee labeled “John”. Then I let go and said, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll get the next ‘John’,” ending with a forced chuckle, praying he couldn’t see how panicked I truly was about the situation.

“Thanks, uh- John,” he replied with a smile. His lips parted and showed teeth that I knew very well, as strange a thought that is to have about someone. But it’s true, I knew this man. I tried to keep looking away, but I couldn’t stop looking at myself in the wild.

After several broken awkward glances, I couldn’t hold back my curiosity for another second. No matter how strange of a question, I had to ask it.

“Are you me,” we asked in unison.

“I - no, are you me?”

“Uh - no, are you me?”

We did it again.

“Large dark roast, black with room for Jessica,” called the barista. A woman, Jessica presumably, reached past us and grabbed her drink, mildly perplexed about the situation, but more concerned to get her coffee and be on her way.

Before we could say the same thing, again, John — him, not me — said, “Maybe we should sit down,” gesturing to a table in the corner.

-

“I can’t believe it.. same name, same job, same place, same mom, same dad. Same cup of coffee, for crying out loud,” John stated. “We even have the same old raggedy shirt from my sister —” “Joan,” I finished for him. We had been talking for nearly an hour. It was the most interesting conversation of my life, even though I knew the answer to every question, and he did mine. It was incredible and oddly very comforting. It felt like watching your favorite movie for the hundredth time.

“Okay, so we are both into sci-fi,” I said. “We both know there are a couple of different things that could be happening right now.”

“Time travel," he agreed with a nod of the head. "Maybe one of us slipped into the past or the future. What’s today’s date for you?”

“November 8, 2023,” I said.

“Damn, that’s mine too. So that’s marked off the list.”

“What about timelines? Maybe we are from different timelines and somehow crossed over on the same one?”

“That’s gotta be it, right? Otherwise we have to be clones and I know I’m not a clone.” Though he said it, I knew in my heart if that was the case, I was the one truly not a clone.

“So if we are from different timelines, there had to have been a point where time derailed and we became ourselves.” Then instantly, a terrifying thought occurred. “Holy shit, why did it take so long for me to ask this; do you have kids?!”

“Yeah,” he exclaimed. “I have Jake and little Jenny… You?” He asked the question with a nervous look on his face.

I sighed in relief, the thought of my kids being unknown to him — me — made me uneasy for indescribable reasons. “Yeah, me too,” I said with a smile. He let out a sigh at my answer, too. “So the text to mom, what about Christmas this year?”

“I mean I haven’t sent it yet, but she and Dad should be coming over to have Christmas with Sandra, the kids, and I.”

My heart sank. “Wait, you and Sandra are still together?”

“Oh shit. What happened with you two?” John’s face looked a lot like mine when we split. Looking at his face was like I was reliving it all over again. Although, I guess his face looked exactly like mine then, since it was mine — his I mean.

“It- it was nothing,” I lied. “Just some misunderstandings with a girl.”

“Dude…” he said, and his face — my face — held the same disappointment that I felt. “Okay, that’s clearly a difference in our timelines. When did you two split?”

“I dunno, about three years ago? It was right out of lockdown,” I said.

“The what now?” My eyes opened wide but quickly fell back to normal when he added with a smile, “I’m just fucking with you. We had that too. Man, the mutant kangaroos messed a lot of shit up, huh?”

I assumed he was joking again because we both laughed. It was a good joke, but maybe I would have been more subtle with less context and just said, “Kangaroos, am I right?” Would that have been just as funny as his?

His laugh died down and he said, “So that must have been the moment of divergence.” His face — ...my face... — straightened up and he said, “I’m sorry, man. Are you doing okay? Are you seeing anyone now?”

“I — yeah, her name’s Jessica,” I lied again.

His face scrunched up a bit, we do that when we are trying to remember something. “Feel like I know a Jessica…” Then he glanced back at the barista, and said, “Oh shit, you still haven’t gotten your coffee. I’ll get it for you. I think I know what you like.” Our face smiled in a comforting way as he left the table.

He went to the register, told them, “My usual please,” paid, and then sat back down across from me.

“Well, I guess the next question is, are we in your timeline or mine?”

“I dunno.” I looked at the smile on his face. The smile looked natural on his but seemed like something I cut out and pasted on mine. It is the same face, I suppose. Or maybe he’s just a lot better at faking it.

No, he isn’t faking it. Of course, his is genuine. Why wouldn't it be.

His phone rang and he said, “It’s our mom, gotta take this.” He stood up from the table and chatted with her a couple of tables away, away from the café chatter. I looked at my phone and noticed I never sent my text. I hit send, and a red “X” popped up next to it saying it was undelivered.

“Medium caramel macchiato with two pumps of vanilla for John.”

I stood up and grabbed it from the barista while John was still on the phone. I went to go grab a stick to stir my drink. I grabbed the stick, but then noticed this place had real silverware. Not the plastic stuff, but real metal butter knives, forks, and spoons. I grabbed a knife and slipped it up the sleeve of my flannel.

John came over and said, “Well, are you doing anything after this? I'm going to take the day off. Do you wanna take a walk and keep chatting? You can tell me all about Jessica.”

“Yeah, a walk would be great,” I said with the most genuine smile I could muster, though it almost did feel real this time. I focused on my face — his face, our face, my face — more, trying to copy the exact muscles he was using in his cheeks. “What a neat café, y’know?”

“Tell me about it, I come here all the time.”