To New Beginnings

I open the door, and as usual, this time of the year, there is Christmas music playing just loud enough to listen to but easy to ignore if I want to talk to someone. It's my favorite time of the year to visit this place; it is constantly cluttered with people laughing and talking to one another, which is a breath of fresh air from the usual. During the rest of the year, there are laptops everywhere, college students mostly, trying to cram in some studying while being distracted by the door opening and the influx of people coming and going every two minutes, ultimately failing in their goal of learning. 

Today, a family in matching pajamas sits on the couch, surrounding the table in front of them. Each is content with listening to the other’s stories and humming along to the music that barely drowns out the hissing and whirring of the machines.

I open the wallet that I found outside the door. The Michigan driver’s license has a picture of a man with brown shaggy hair, freckles, and dark eyes. It’s hard to make out distinguishing features since most I.D.s have terrible quality. According to the license, his name is Justin, so I look around for a man who resembles the photo. 

I see him sitting alone at the bar, on his laptop, on a video call with someone. He says something that only has meaning to the one on the video; he laughs, and it looks like the lady on the screen laughs too. I don't want to intrude, so I sit three seats down from him and watch the people cloaked in black and green move around elegantly, not clumsily stepping on each other’s toes. They add to the noise when messing with the machines, making the hissing louder, steam filling the air above them. When finished with their dance, which almost syncs with Jingle Bells playing over the speakers, they end with a glorious shout, mainly the names of the others inside. 

“Amanda!” the one worker shouts. She waits to see an orange-haired lady, probably in her mid-50s, come up to her. Amanda, wearing a Christmas-themed outfit, tells the workers, wearing holiday-themed buttons pinned onto their work uniform and cap, happy holidays before walking off with what the machine spits out moments before. She heads straight to the door, letting in a cold gust of wind. A song about having a White Christmas starts, hopeful wishing down here in the South. 

A couple came in right after her exit, filling the space that had just emptied. They stare in awe at all the pretty colors around them, primarily green and red decorations. They have their arms around each other, trying to warm up from the cold winds that surrounded them less than a minute ago. 

My people-watching is interrupted by the movement in my peripheral vision; Justin is taking out his headphones and starts to pack up his things, putting his laptop in his blue bag, so I scramble up from my seat and make my way over to him. 

“Are you Justin?”

He looks up at me. His hair is not as shaggy as in the photo, just above his eyes. His green eyes, like the leaves outside on a sunny day in September, with little specs of browns and reds coming in for the fall, stare back at me with a puzzled look as to how we know each other. 

“I– uh, I found your wallet. Outside. By the door.”

“Oh geez! Well, thanks for returning it. I thought I left it at the hotel; I would've been screwed without this. I don't have any other way to check in for the plane back home.” Justin flashes me a smile, temporarily blinding me with rays of sunshine beaming out of his mouth. 

“It's no problem,” I say as I watch him look through his wallet, probably making sure I did not take anything. While sifting through the cash, I walk away, but Justin tries to hand me a twenty-dollar bill. 

“Here, for being a good citizen.” 

“Oh no, I couldn't; I only returned a wallet.”

“Yeah, but you could have run off with it, stolen my identity, and ruined my credit score. But you didn't. You decided to be good; have you been naughty all year, and this is your one act of kindness to get you outta the big hole with ol’ Saint Nick?” He winks at me and flashes that smile again. I feel my cheeks fill with heat despite it being room temperature here. I take off my coat with the sudden temperature change.

“If you don't want the twenty, how about I get you something?”

“Don't worry; just do not let me pick it up again, or I will treat myself to whatever I want.”

He laughs. “Well, hopefully, if I do drop it again, you pick it up, so you can use this twenty with your name on it,” he pulls out the twenty again, picks his bag up, and starts searching for something. After digging around for ten seconds, he pulls out a black marker. 

“Your name, please?”

“Abigail.”

Justin starts with the A on the back of the bill, then the B. He looks at me, unsure of what comes next. I spell it out for him. 

“Well, Abigail, I shall keep this for the next time you pick up my wallet.” 

“For financial’s sake, let’s hope I don’t.” 

Justin smiles again, “Well, it was nice to meet you; happy holidays!” He puts the bill back into his wallet, which is placed into his coat pocket and has no zipper or velcro to keep it from falling out. No wonder it got lost in the first place. 

I watch him walk through the door and past the glass walls, oblivious to the worker asking if I am Jenna. Once he gets in his car, I return to where I am, Silent Night and machines hissing with steam creeping into my consciousness. 

“Are you Jenna?” the worker wearing a Santa hat asks me.

“No, sorry.”

“Why do people order this stuff and not pick it up? It is a waste,” the worker with the Santa hat mumbles as she dumps the contents waiting for Jenna into a green bucket. I smell the seasonal peppermint and chocolate as I walk to the register. I ask the worker what their favorite is for the wintertime, and that is what I get. I wait for my name to be called, sitting at the bar, watching their dance routine again. 

“Abigail!” the worker shouts. 

I wave my hand a little, and she passes my order to me. I grab it and walk out, ensuring no wallet is on the ground. 

* * * 

I thought about Justin every time I opened the big glass door for two weeks straight. After three months, though, I eventually forgot about him, remembering a crucial detail that he was staying in a hotel and probably flew back to Michigan, which made me feel stupid for thinking that I would ever see him again.

I go to the front entrance and see a familiar wallet next to the door. I pick it up and look at its contents: Justin from Michigan. I hastily open the glass door and look for a familiar brown-haired, green-eyed man. Justin was in the same bar seat as last time, headphones in and oblivious to his environment. I start to him, hoping he recognizes me from that fleeting instance three months ago. Once I get close enough to him, Justin looks up. He flashes his beaming smile at me and says goodbye to the woman on the call.

“Hey, Mom, I gotta go. I will call you when I meet Cynthia. OK. Yes. I love you, too. Bye.” Justin closes the laptop, shoves it aside, and sets his headphones beside him. 

“Well, if it isn’t the great Abigail! Did I leave my wallet somewhere?” He reaches into his pockets in his hoodie and frantically starts looking around on the ground. 

I chuckle a little at his aloofness. “Actually, yes, you did.”

“Well, look at that! You were not trying to suck up to Santa, you are nice!” 

“No, I just thought I should get a head start on good deeds so that by Christmas, they should be pretty even with my evil deeds.” I won’t tell him that I don’t believe in Santa yet. 

“Ha! You are funny!” Justin moves his blue bag to the ground, “Sit.”

I do. All the chairs at the bar are way too close to each other, making it uncomfortable to sit next to strangers. Most of the time, when people sit at the bar, it is every other chair, keeping distance between strangers, an unspoken rule. Justin is a stranger, but I do not think sitting this close to him is uncomfortable. 

“So, what are you doing back over here? I am assuming you are from Michigan and just visiting?”

Justin’s eyes go wide for a second, wondering how I know where he is from, but then it vanishes, and he returns to his kind green eyes. 

“Oh yeah, I try to come down here at least once a month. But I am moving here in the next few months; Florida stays much warmer than Michigan, and the people are nice. They return strangers’ wallets here.”

“Is that why you are moving down here? The weather?”

“That and I want a change. I want to start over and see what I can do independently, with no influence from my parents and their relationships in Michigan. It may surprise you, but I am the family’s black sheep.” That does surprise me. He seemed so lovely, and he was talking to his mom earlier; they seemed to have a good relationship.

“Was that not your mom earlier on the call?”

“Spying on me now, Abigail, that goes on the naughty list, you know.” Justin chuckles at his joke. “But no, my mom is worried I won't be able to make it on my own, so she wants me to call her after every little thing. I will see Cynthia, my landlord, to review the agreement later today, and my mom wants to be there in the room via a video call to make sure I don't do something stupid. I will move in about three months from now when my lease ends in Michigan. The place is pretty close to here, maybe even walking distance.”

“I live out here, down the street.” Why am I telling a stranger where I live? I usually hate chit-chat, but it doesn’t feel like that with Justin. It feels like I am talking to someone I have known for years. 

“Well, it looks like we might see more of each other then!” Justin looks at me, happy to have someone to talk to who knows nothing about them, to be able to start clean, with my treatment towards him having nothing to do with his parent’s influence. 

“Do you know what you are going to do out here?” I ask, genuinely interested in Justin’s new start.

“I do not know yet, but that is what spring is for, right? Get rid of the old, stale, and boring to be met with new, fresh, and exciting.”

I like that idea; most want to keep the same routine, but being predictable gets boring. Still, I cannot help but worry for Justin, hoping he has a plan. 

“You planned out the apartment, gotta have something planned to pay the bills.” 

“Well, that is another reason I am out here this weekend. I am going to scope out the competition. Might start a magazine. It might be a beekeeper. I will see where the cool breeze takes me.”

“All the luck to you. I am going to get something from here before the workers kick me out.”

Justin looks at me with a smirk and eyebrow raised. “Do you want a twenty?” He pulls out his wallet and shows me the bill with my name.

“Sure, why not? Thanks.”

“No problem.” 

I hear the Top 100 playing through the speakers. As I am walking to the counter, there are people with laptops everywhere, and the sound of their keyboards tries to challenge the music, competing for my attention. However, my attention is on Justin and this twenty-dollar bill. It is spring, so the place is filled with pinks and greens, and the bright pink dragonfruit has a hold on most people this time of year. I asked the cashier for the dragonfruit and a pen. I hand them a ten-dollar bill and write my number on the twenty. 

I go back to my seat next to Justin. I am half listening to him and half listening for my name to be called. Now, he is the one asking me questions.

“So, Abigail, what are you doing out here in Florida? Here for the weather?” 

“Nope. Born and raised. But I am from more central Florida, so moving here is like day and night. There is a lot less to do, but it is quiet. I am hoping to start my own business.”

“Interesting. What are you selling?”

“Haven't thought about that part yet. Waiting on that cool breeze.”

“Abigail!” The worker shouts. I do my little hand wave, and she passes it to me. 

Justin and I talk for about twenty minutes, giving little hints about who we are and what we want the other person to know about us. But when Justin glances down, he catches a glimpse of his watch. His face, now full of shock, looks at me. “I was supposed to meet Cynthia ten minutes ago! I gotta go.” He starts shuffling everything into his hands and stuffs them into his bag, bending his torso down to where the bag lay. The unsecured pocket lets the wallet fall out easily, bouncing behind the chair. “It was nice to see you again!” he says, running to the door. 

“Wait!” Justin stops and watches as I pick up his wallet for the third time. “You dropped this.” I hand his wallet to him. 

Justin laughs at his carelessness and smiles at me, “What am I going to do without you, Abigail?”

“Get your credit score ruined, probably. And here.” I hand him the twenty dollar bill. “They said they couldn’t take money with writing all over it. Next time I pick your wallet up, you can give me a twenty I can use.”

Justin looks down at the twenty with the new writing and gives me that warm smile again. 

“Roger that, Abigail. See you next time.”

He walks out the glass door, and I hope that if he loses his wallet with my number, he will occasionally come back here. 

I go to my bar seat and listen to the machines, the Top 100, the tapping of people’s fingers hitting the keys on their keyboards, and amongst all the noises, I hear a familiar chime. I look at my phone, and there is a text:

“Returning a $20? That’s another check on the nice list, Abigail.”