Ch 1: Connection
Amelia
My head thumps against the steering wheel of my baby blue 2006 Toyota Sonata. It should hurt, but I’m too tired to notice. With a grumble, I glance down at my radio clock--11:25 PM. Hm, the ride home from Gerry’s Diner took longer than expected. Oh well. Guess I should go inside. I pull the keys out of the ignition, climb out of the car, and trudge up the concrete steps to the front door. My legs feel like sandbags, and my feet are burning from standing all day long.
Before I can react, the door flings open. A light clicks on, illuminating the dark space and revealing my aunt Joslyn in her fluffy purple bathrobe. Judging by her unkempt brunette hair, scowl, and narrow hazel eyes, she’s furious with me.
Again.
My pulse quickens. Man, I hate it when she's upset with me.
Faster than a lightning strike, she grabs me by the forearm and drags me into the living room.
“Are you serious!? It’s almost midnight!” She shrieks, pulling me into the hallway towards my bedroom door. “ How are you supposed to sleep or function if you keep staying over!?”
I yank my arm out of her grasp, bumping into my door, before muttering in annoyance,“Shannon didn’t show up.”
Joslyn sighs heavily, rubbing her temples in frustration. “Why didn’t you call me? When the Assistant Manager doesn’t show up for the night shift, the actual Manager is supposed to take over.”
I shrug. “The evening crew was shorthanded, so I stayed behind for the dinner rush. After that, Shannon straight-up abandoned us. Everything needed to be set up and cleaned for overnight, and staff needed to be tipped out. I overheard you saying you had a bunch of paperwork to do when you left. I figured it was better to leave you alone. Between Pamela and me, we handled it. Plus, I needed the extra tips.”
Pam's an older worker, but she's super dependable. And she's always nice to me, so working alongside her is never a problem.
Her eyes soften a fraction before pushing my bedroom door open. “We’ll talk about this in the morning. Shower, then bed.”
Forcing back the urge to argue, I concede. A hot, soapy shower after sixteen hours of sweat and greasy foods does sound nice. With a nod, I say, “Okay, love you. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, honey. Love you.” She yawns, pressing a kiss to my cheek before shuffling off to her room and closing the door. Leaving me alone with my thoughts.
As the water heats up, I look at myself in the mirror. God, I've let myself go! Nineteen-year-olds are supposed to be thin and pretty, but I'm the opposite. My face is rounder than before with a jiggly double chin, my skin is greasy from all the stress and fried foods that everyone in the United States consumes, and my hair is dull and lifeless, almost like a single mother who's given up hope.
Admittedly, I’ve always had weight issues, but it got worse about three years ago, when my parents passed away.
I'm always working, so I never pay attention to the details. Tears form in my eyes as I realize how much I've neglected myself. Hardly taking more than five minutes to get ready or freshen up really adds up over time, I guess.
No wonder Aunt Joslyn is angry. I look like an underpaid, overworked single mother, despite being nineteen.
Lip quivering, I wonder, what's the point of it all? To save money? To hide from my lonely existence?
At this point, I have no idea.
Once I'm done bathing, I throw on loose, soft pajamas and face-plant onto my bed. No covers or anything. Falling asleep almost instantly.
In my restless sleep, I dream of my mom and dad. Of laughter, video chats with me when they went camping in the Smoky Mountains. Coloring at the counter of Gerry’s Diner as a six-year-old, carefree, and happy. Something that is in short supply these days.
Loud grinding, buzzing sounds jolt me awake. My mind is foggy, and my eyes are heavy. Geez, I slept like a log. Covering my back and neck is a warm, fuzzy pink throw blanket. The room is full of golden sunlight. What time was it again…? I glance at my alarm clock. It's 9:45! No, no, no! I’m late for the breakfast rush! Jumping out of bed, I get twisted up in the blanket and crash to the hardwood floor with a thud.
“Oww!” I whine, frantically rolling back and forth, struggling to get free from my fuzzy captor.
“Knock, knock!” Joslyn beams, swinging the door open. Her brunette hair is in a long, neat braid, and she’s still wearing her purple robe. “I made-“
She notices my embarrassing situation and chuckles. “Lord, what am I going to do with you?” Shaking her head, she grabs the blanket and yanks on it roughly, releasing me from its clutches. Offering me her hand, she says, “Come on, I made breakfast.”
Upon entering the kitchen, I see my favorite breakfast all laid out waiting for me. Two everything bagel sandwiches loaded with turkey bacon, eggs, and cheese. With a freshly blended peanut butter banana yogurt smoothie next to them. Exactly as mom made it. Except, usually when she made it, something was going on, or we were going to have a serious conversation. Like when I was fourteen, and she wanted me to get on birth control for my irregular periods.
While I'm grateful for her gesture, I can't shake the feeling of uneasiness settling in my chest.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask with a yawn, stretching my arms above my head. “My birthday isn’t coming up, neither is yours; it's not a holiday that I’m aware of, so what's up?”
Joslyn comes in behind me and begins to rummage through the cupboards looking for something. She pulls two ceramic, floral coffee mugs out and fills them up with piping hot black coffee. After setting them down, she insists, “Please sit down.”
I oblige, taking a small sip of the smoothie before scooting my chair all the way in. “Alright, I’m sitting. Now what?”
She slides her chair over to mine, so that we are side-by-side. Initially, she doesn’t say anything. Just sits there, sipping coffee and frowning slightly. After a few minutes of silence, she says, “Part of this… is an apology.”
Oh, that’s… surprising. I've known Aunt Joslyn my entire life, and not once have I heard her apologize for anything. Or to anyone, I wonder what’s changed?
Taking in a breath, she continues. “I shouldn’t have been so angry at you. You stepped up and helped me out in a big way so that I could handle other stuff. For that, I thank you, and I’m sorry for my attitude.”
“But?” I urge her on. Usually, these talks have a “but” in them.
“But, honey, you work too hard.” She says, sighing heavily, taking my hands in hers. “I looked at the books, you have worked twelve to sixteen-hour shifts almost every day, and haven’t had a single day off in a year. A year! I just… don't understand why. Why do you need to work so hard? Why do you need money? And for God’s sake, why do you isolate yourself so much?” She practically screamed the last sentence.
Wow, I didn’t realize I hadn’t been off in a year. A month or two for sure, but a year? Dang, time sure flies when working. I can’t tell her why I need the money, not yet.
I want to see her face light up when I accomplish my goal.
As for the isolation… she wouldn’t understand the reason why I deleted most of my social media accounts besides Facebook. Which I rarely even check. Even so, the memories make my lips twitch.
"It's complicated, Auntie," I mumble, nibbling on my bagel. "Can we talk about something else?"
Joslyn huffs, clearly annoyed with me, but doesn't press the issue. "Fine, but you're not working today," She takes a long drink from her coffee. "No ifs, ands, or buts."
As I drink my smoothie, it gets stuck in my throat. I start coughing and hacking viciously. I wheeze in a panicking fashion, as Joslyn smacked my back a few times roughly as I rubbed my throat back and forth for about five seconds, then, suddenly, it stopped. My breathing returned to normal.
“W-what do you mean? Why am I not working?” I force out through calming breaths and pounding heartbeat. I’m always scheduled for the lunch shift. Always.
“Because you worked last night.” She states matter-of-factly, rubbing my back gently. “I have a project for you. Today, I want you to go out and connect with someone. And I’m not talking about you talking to your computer screen, watching that dumb Victorian romance show you’re obsessed with. I mean to connect with someone.”
My lip quivers; a tear forms in the corner of my eye. I feel like I’m being punished. Because I couldn’t be around the girls from my school, because I hadn't had a boyfriend, because I preferred to be alone in a fantasy world full of drama and romance. As if who I am right now isn’t enough. I whisper, “Why?”
“Oh, honey,” she says, pulling me into a tight hug. “Please don’t be upset. I’m not trying to hurt you or to insinuate anything. I just don’t want you to be alone anymore. Working yourself to death, worried about bills, that’s my job. Not yours. Go out, have some fun, and try to meet someone.”
Sniffling, I mumble, “Okay. I’ll do my best.”
After recentering myself, I get dressed, grab my stuff, and bravely step out into the cool mid-April air. My mission objective: make a connection. The problem is, I don’t know how to do that. What am I supposed to do? Where do I go? Am I wearing the right clothes? Are blue jeans, pink sneakers, and a white ruffle peasant top appropriate, or should I go back to the house and change?
Ugh, this is why I don’t do people! I never know what is, or is not, expected of me.
But I told Joslyn I would try. She's done so much for me, I can do this one thing for her.
I drive up and down Interstate 40, a main stretch of road through central Oklahoma City, until I see something familiar.
Kelsoe Coffee. Or, what it used to be at least.
I smile as I recall Mom and me getting hot cocoa there years ago, or buying fresh Pumpkin Spice muffins during October.
Since her passing, I haven't been there, but I heard the tragic story.
The owners, a husband and wife duo, sold it during the pandemic. Due to profit loss and several infection risks, they shut down with a final goodbye taking place the same week.
Silently, I pray for them, hoping they're financially stable and healthy.
They lost their business, a lifetime of hard work, to something invisible. To make things worse, people a little older than me bought it and turned it into a teen hotspot.
I don't get out of my car right away. Instead, I stare at the significant changes.
There were no cute, colorful eatery tables outside with bright red umbrellas. The space was turned into exclusive scooter and bike parking areas. A pang of sadness overcomes me. I used to enjoy sitting at those tables, drinking cocoa with Mom, or enjoying the weather alone.
I feel disappointed with the new paint. It's a boring modern light grey with borders of black on the top and bottom. Man, the old paint job was the best!
It was a friendly beige covered with hand-painted pink and blue floral designs by the owner's wife. A charming, approachable color choice that echoed the simplicity of a small business.
The doors are no longer wooden with ornate copper knobs; they are plain glass with light grey handles for pushing and pulling. Seriously, couldn't the new owners have tried to honor the old business?
Fortunately, the original sign was kept, but altered from Kelsoe Coffee Inc. to FR Internet Cafe. What is FR supposed to mean?
Only one way to find out, I think to myself, leaving my car and heading inside. Initially, my gut feeling is right. The place is full of teenagers and hipsters, all scrolling on their phones, occasionally chuckling or grunting.
I sigh. This was a mistake. There are too many people here, and none of them would even notice me standing around, let alone talk to me.
Turning to leave, I'm greeted with a friendly, "I'll be right with you!"
Briskly walking through the space is a teen girl, about my age, with a blonde pixie cut, wearing a neon pink T-shirt and black cut-off jean shorts. Her face is bright and cheerful as she carries orders to various tables.
Huh, maybe this place isn't so bad after all.
Standing still, taking in the black, modern furniture and white walls, my nostrils fill with the heavenly aroma of fresh coffee, baked goods, and vanilla. Sending an unexpectedly warm, comforting feeling throughout my body, relaxing me instantly.
At the counter, I become frustrated. There are several menus, all different shapes and sizes, and some in different languages. Geez, how am I supposed to order when I don't know what half of this stuff is?
"Need some help?" Says the young lady from before. She walks behind the counter and throws on an apron. Her name reads: Penny.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I mumble, my eyes darting back and forth between the various options. “Sorry, I’m not used to having so many options.”
She giggles. “No problem. Is this your first time here?"
A blush dusts across my cheeks as I nod. Typically, Mom and I would choose specialty drinks with no add-ons.
“That’s great! We have a promo going on for our first month in business, so the first drink will be free, but anything else will be an additional charge." Penny explains.
Briefly skimming the menus, pick the simplest one. A latte.
“Um, I’ll try… a Grande Vanilla Latte, please,” I say with a hint of uncertainty. “But can you maybe put half-strength espresso instead of full? Otherwise, I’ll be buzzing all day.”
Penny types away at the touch screen register, nodding at my request. I bet people come in here with insane customizations, but not me. From years of serving picky, ungrateful customers, I like to keep things simple.
“Name for order?”
“Amy.”
“Alright,” Penny mutters, pushing a few prompts. The machine beeps, printing out a small ticket with my order, name, Wi-Fi password, and a strange code. “Take the ticket, please. Also, there's an invite code on there.”
“Um, what for?” I ask, taking the purple paper rectangle.
“Only the hottest game on the internet!" Penny's eyes twinkle with excitement as she starts making my order. "It’s a fun, casual MMORPG with fun minigames, cool character customizations, and a private play mode for people to hang out with each other, you know, become besties.”
She hands me the now-completed drink in a brown, recycled foam to-go cup with a black lid. “You seem like an on-the-go person.”
I am on the go. All the time. She’s good.
Huh. That does sound interesting. Not that I’m a gamer, per se, but I’ve watched people play games on the internet since I was a kid. Casual games are fun and easy to get into, so it might be worth checking out.
“What’s it called?” I ask, sipping lightly on my steaming hot vanilla latte. It’s a wonderful blend of sweet, bold, yet not too much.
“Fantasy Story.” She says while wiping down the machines. “As in your life, your story, your fantasy. Get it?”
“Yeah, I do,” I say with a smile, walking toward a booth in the corner of the cafe. "Thank you!"
Booting up my laptop, I type in the Wi-Fi password and pull up my browser. The first thing that pops up is a grey, black, and purple splash screen covered with animals, witches, and wizards. Inside a ring of bronze in the center of the screen, it reads: Fantasy Story: your life, your story, your fantasy. I click on it and enter the invite code.
I’m not going to lie, I probably spent an hour putting my character together. Once I see all of the options, I fall into a rabbit hole of customization.
And, surprisingly, it's fun! Like, I feel calm and happy flipping through the different models and outfits.
My body relaxes into the booth, feeling lighter than it has in years.
Since the game appears to have a 16th or 17th-century vibe to it, I modeled my girl after my favorite TV character. Lady Marissa from Featherton. It’s a popular British romance drama set in the same time period. Joslyn thinks it’s stupid, and I spend too much time watching it and not enough living life. Well, she’s not here right now, so bleh.
Dressed in her signature purple evening gown, wavy brunette locks, blazing emerald eyes, and tiny waist, there stands Lady_Marissa: support magician. I don't know about the game much, but the title and abilities fit her personality perfectly. After hitting the submit button, a white light covers the screen with only three words in the middle:
Ready to live?
Yeah, I think I am.
