I know the world is no good and we’re all terrible, rotten people, but Comet Coffee is now open until 6. For almost two years I couldn’t go in at all, and then just until 4, and I won’t say all is as it used to be – all shouldn’t be as it used to be – I know this town and the world has work to do, we are horrible folk, but the lights are on in the shop, and a seat is empty, and so I go in.
I say there is a nothing like sipping coffee in a mug you have to hold with both hands in a shop where more people are working out of notebooks than on computers.
A woman comes in from the barbershop next door and orders a coffee. “I get the discount,” she says, and I think there’s no way this place gives discounts, and the barista says, “You’re one of us,” and then the two of them fall into a conversation with each other about all that’s happened; all they’ve done in the last few years.
“Can I have water?” she asks, and then tells how thirsty she’s been today. The barista tells her that whenever she needs water, to please come over. “You can take a glass back with you,” he says, sliding a cup across the counter.
The woman downs the glass and lets out a satisfied sigh. “That did the trick,” she says. “Thank you.”
We’re in a town where everyone knows everything and a woman peeks her head in the door of the coffee shop and asks where the flower shop is. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “I know I should know this,” and I’m wondering why she thinks she should know. What is wrong with all of us that makes us believe we must know everything all the time?
The barista tell her the flowers are just a few doors down, and the woman smiles, then backs out of the door. This place is small, and maybe that’s why we are all watching her leave, or maybe it’s because of the smallness that makes us all want to learn about what each other is doing.
She leaves and brushes past a couple that walks by the window. One person is holding a bouquet wrapped in brown butcher paper, and she is smiling the smile of someone who’s just been surprised because a secret she thought she’d been keeping so close to her heart has been revealed and reciprocated and nothing will ever be the same, and how could it? We all watch and indulge in the revelation and silently celebrate for a few seconds.
The bells ring on the door again, and we watch it swing open. A man this time steps half-way in and asks when the shop closes.
“Six,” the barista says, and all of us look at our phones to check the time. It’s 5:45.
“But it’s a soft close,” the barista says. “Stay as long as you like,” he says.
I think he says it to all of us.
Leave a Reply