The Story That Never Was, Chapter 1

This is the Magic Bean, a humble establishment of coffee, espresso and tea. It is also a p lace of chance encounters and friendly meetings. But today we are going to be treated to a very strange story. First, let me introduce you to him. See the one sitting there alone with his tea, listening to music loud enough to rupture the ear drums of anyone sitting too close? That is our hero in this adventure. And you see how he managed to catch his overly long scarf under the leg of his chair, leading to his trip up when he stands up, making him look like a buffoon? From his messy black hair to his black framed glasses. That is the kind of person he is. Clumsy and awkward. Exactly the kind of person she would have noticed. Had she been looking. But her back is turned to him, his music drowned out only by the sheer, desperate might of her own. The cafe is far too crowded for her to notice his presence at the table behind her. Her long red hair is pulled back lazily from her face as she glowers at the flickering laptop screen, occasionally biting her brightly painted lips in concentration. Everything about her is brightly colored, from her favorite green elephant earrings to her striped rainbow toe socks. That is the kind of person she is. Silly and strange. But why am I explaining this to you? You can just see for yourself. Just take this little tidbit for example, the day they met...

He drummed his fingers on the table top, impatiently waiting for his tea to be cool enough to sip, or at the very least cool enough to hold. He had forgotten one of those cardboard cup holders they had at the receiving counter, and after a long peril filled journey to his tiny table, he still had to wait. And wait he did. He was to shy to walk back to the counter and ask for one from the girl who handed him his drink, is only thought being ‘If she could hold it long enough to give it to me, why can’t I hold it long enough to drink from it?’ His question remained unanswered, and soon his stare drifted to the window, awash with rain, and then to his messenger bag, filled with his entertainments, and of course, his umbrella.

And this. This always happened to her. Always. Always. Always. You’d thinking living in a city where 90% of the time large drops of water decided to fall from the sky, once in a while you’d remember to bring an umbrella. But no. The trusty green portable awning sat patiently by her front door, waiting patiently for use a convenient 20 blocks away. She looked from the miniature hurricane splattering against the window that read neaB cigaM back into her mug which was now, unfortunately, empty. This wasn’t much of a surprise as it had been in this state for the past 45 minutes. Though miracles were always worth hoping for. It would be nice if the 35¢ in her pocket would suddenly turn into $2.50 (including the tax) so she could afford another hot chocolate, but no such luck. Maybe wishing for the rain to end long enough for her and her bike to make it back home would be enough miracle for one day.

It was still raining, and no hope of a sunny sky was in sight. And so, he decided, for the sake of his warmth he would brave the cashier’s counter and claim a cardboard cup holder (for which she would later assure him that ‘coffee snuggie’ is the technical term), and take a few extras for his bag, so that this fiasco never occur again! And even as he stood up, he knew there was danger ahead as his knee bumped the table, an annoyed grunt escaped him and his tea bounced ever so slightly. ‘Why do they make tiny tables for non-tiny people? Stupid dollhouse furniture.’ Straightening himself out, he took two steps when the tug at his neck informed him that he was about to make friends with embarrassment - for the, third time, today. A tug of his scarf sent his chair toppling, and sent him bounding for the ground, but before that encounter occurred, his elbow would make a brief stop at the next table over, flirting with a small stack of books.

Possibly the only thing that could have jostled her from her thoughts at that particular moment occurred as something swooped past her peripheral vision and scattered her miniature, portable library all over the floor. She jumped up in shock, knocking over her empty mug, headphones popping out of her ears. “Are you alright?” She asked the dazed shape on the floor. It looked like he’d possibly taken The Complete Works of Lewis Carroll to the noggin and she half expected “Jabberwock” to come spilling out of his mouth as she held out a hand to him. He rubbed his head, making his messy hair neater in the process. “Ow,” he said flatly, sitting on the coffee shop floor, scrambling to his feet only because of the sudden memory that these floors probably hadn’t been mopped in weeks. In his scramble, he took the assistance offered, wanting to be off the filthy floors as fast as possible, he glanced down at his black shoes, avoiding eye contact as he mumbled out his apology, “Sorry about the books, it was my scarf’s fault.”

She chuckled, looking him over just to make sure he wasn’t showing any early signs of brain damage. “Don’t worry about it. They’re books, nothing fragile.” Once she was assured he could stand find on his own she bent down and began scooping up her collection. Peter Pan, The Hobbit, The Phantom Tollbooth, dropping them back down on the table rather unceremoniously for the bibliophile that she obviously was. He glanced up, watching her pick up the books, he stuttered a few syllables then decided to quit while he was ahead, picking up a few of the scattered items he couldn’t help but admire the titles; Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone, The Princess Bride, and Inkheart. He placed them on the table noticing her tipped over cup, a sound like a gasp mixed with that sharp hiss people make when you pull off a band-aid that’s been on for a few days, escaped him, “I spilled your drink didn’t I? I’m sorry. What were you drinking? I’ll get you a new one.” Of course, what she might have heard was “Drink, Spilled, New” and things that may have once been words mashed together in between. “No, really. It’s fine.” She struggled to keep down her giggles. He was obviously very sincere and trying very hard to keep the blush that was spreading across his cheeks from being too visible, “quite adorably” she would add when telling the story in later years. “There was nothing in it. Thanks for the offer though, very sweet of you.” Ok, so maybe she was fishing a little. But damn it, another hot chocolate sounded really good right about then.

He knew he was blushing, he had that warm sensation when your sure you have a fever but no one believes you. He casually pointed to the cashier with one hand, his other fishing for his errant scarf, wrapping it around his neck some more causing his mouth to almost vanish under the black and white knittings, “I was going to get something, and I already offered. It would be rude of me not to follow through.” His words were much clearer, if not a bit muffled by yarn. “You passed the test.” She laughed as she dropped back into her seat. “A gentleman always offers twice. If you’re going to insist, another hot chocolate would be lovely.” He smiled, a bit happy she accepted as he moved quickly to the counter, announcing confidently that he wanted an extra large hot chocolate, and if possible, with extra marshmallows, something told him that the tiny girl rather enjoyed her sweets judging by the size of her last cup. And as he waited by the receiving counter, aptly ignoring the conveniently placed items he would soon come to know as “coffee snuggies” he couldn’t help but watch her go back to staring out the window, and he couldn’t help but smile.

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