One
Being young sucks.
You hear all of the older adults, hovering in their thirties and forties complaining about day to day life. About being stuck in the same dead end job for decades and resenting their wife and two kids for holding them back. They hate the house that they’ve built at the end of a culdesac in Florida.
Those people must have retained no momeory of what it’s like to be my age. Because honestly, I’d give anything to be in any position but mine.
I smooth down my fitted black button up that I found at the bottom of a box this morning and pull open the door in front of me, forcing my clammy hands to stop shaking. A tiny bell jungles, signaling my prompt arrival.
The smell of fresh coffee beans fills my nostrils, and I can’t help but inhale deeply and hum. How could anyone possibly hate the smell of coffee? There’s something special about the way it warms you up from head to toe, and wraps around even the darkest of souls; including mine. It’s like hot chocolate in the winter, or like fairly lights in a dark room.
I survey the cafe in front of me. It’s large, decorated in a modern fashion, with a touch of the homey coffee shop feel. A few customers sit at the tables that dot the large interior, while a few baristas bustle about behind the counter, eyes focused on whatever complex order sits before them.
I approach the front counter, trying to seem more confident than I actually am. I wouldn’t be shocked if they could hear my pounding heartbeat that the enticing smell of coffee has done only little to slow.
One of the baristas spots me waiting and makes their way over. I recognize the tight lipped smile as they greet me far too well. I’m an inconvenience to them. Another person they have to plaster on a smile for and pretend like everything is perfectly peachy. My own face is schooled into neutrality.
“How can I help you?” She says. She has ginger hair, with more notes of red than orange. It’s curly and pulled into a messy ponytail, but it almost suits her more that way. Her eyes are a dazzling hazel. She smooths over the green apron tied around her front as she looks at me.
“I’m here to speak with Brittney?” I tell her.
Relief seems to wash over her features upon the realization that I’m not another customer she has to please.
“Are you Tyler?” She asks. I nod, and she disappears behind a door that I assume leads to the back room. I wait awkwardly, trying not to twiddle my thumbs.
Moments later, she enters the main cafe again, this time with another woman in tow. In contrast to wild red hair and complex eyes, this woman looks a bit plain.
Straight brown hair, also pulled away from her face. Brown eyes and a slender body. The first girl heads back behind the counter to continue working, as the second comes to stand in front of me, extending her hand with a warm smile.
“Hey there, Tyler! I’m Brittney,” she introduces herself. I take her hand lightly and shake it, stapleling an equally pleasant expression to my face.
She’s spoken a single sentence to me, and I can already tell what kind of manager she is. The kind to spout whatever corporate bullshit will get her out of actually helping out one of her employees. The oblivious kind that has no idea what’s going on in the store when her back is turned. I groan internally.
“It’s nice too meet you!” I say cheerfully. The perkiness in my voice makes me want to vomit.
“Let’s take a seat and get started, shall we?” She suggests, heading over to a long dark table that’s partially hidden behind an ornate wall. It has a few papers and a laptop on it. The employee break area, it seems.
I take a seat across from her as she opens the laptop. I watch as her eyes scan the screen in front of her for a few moments before her gaze turns back to me.
“So you’re transferring from out of state?” She inquires. I’m praying to the good lord I don’t believe in that the questions stay business related.
I nod, smiling brightly.
“Yes, from Colorado.”
“Okay, cool! How long did you work at that location before you put in your notice?” She asks, typing a few things on the computer.
I actually have to think about that one for a brief second. “I believe about two years.”
Her eyes light up with excitement, probably because this means she won’t have to train me, which is a hassle all on its own.
“Perfect,” she says. “And your availability? Is it open?”
I shake my head, keeping the beaming smile on my lips even though it’s steadily dampening my mood.
“Unfortunately not,” I tell her, feigning sorrow. “I’m available afternoons and evenings. Weekends and holidays.”
“Morning studying?” She guesses, giving me a knowing glance.
“Trying to stay caught up,” I confirm with a laugh. It’s a lie, of course. I wouldn’t touch a college course with a ten foot pole. I have a second job that takes up most of my mornings. I honestly couldn’t explain why I didn’t just tell her that. It’s not unusual for people to have more than one job, especially a nineteen year old. But for some reason, the thought of anyone here knowing about anything beyond these walls unsettls me.
She nods, smiling and typing again.
“Perfect,” Brittney says. “I’ll add you to the schedule for next week. I look forward to working with you!”
She stands, and so do I, pushing the chair back with my legs and shaking her hand again. “Me too!” I agree. Even though working with her is the last thing on my list of things to be excited for.
“Did you wanna grab a drink before you go?” She offers. And I’d be a fool to say no to free coffee. So I head up to the counter, where the red headed girl is already waiting.
“Whatcha gonna get?”
I order my Starbucks drink of choice.
“Cool, I’ll have that right out,” she says. I’m already more inclined to like her more than the manager. She seems less like corporate bullshit, and more like the kind to tell you like it is with no regrets.
“Thanks.”
“I’m Crystal, by the way. I’m a shift supervisor, so we’ll be working together a ton.” She doesn’t offer me a hand to shake, fortunately, and her smile isn’t overly perky and fake.
“Tyler,” I echo. “But you already knew that.”
She hands me my drink and a green straw, with a wave and a warm farewell.
My smile and uplifting attitude drop as soon as the door shuts behind me. I leave them broken on the pavement as I walk towards my car, an ugly and outdated vehicle that threatens to break down every time I drive it. It’s been roughly ten minutes since I set foot in the store and I’m already drained.
The drive home takes two measley minutes, all of which I spend blaring angry music and judging the upbringing of other people based in their driving abilities.
My place is nothing special. It’s a tiny studio apartment on the second floor of a building that looks a lot nicer than a space occupied by people barely managing to scrape by.
It takes me three tries to get the key in the door and turn the lock. And when I finally do, I’m about ready to kick in my own door. I push it open and flip the switch to flood my tiny space with light.
Most of it is still boxes. The brown containers are stacked along the far wall of the small living area. I’ve been here for two weeks now. My only excuse for living out of boxes at this point is lack of motivation.
I drop my black bag on the small black couch, kick off my black shoes, and stumble over to my bed twenty feet away. I sprawl out across the fuzzy black duvet and sigh heavily. My eyes flutter closed. Silence envelopes me. The darkness behind my eye lids swallows me whole, wrapping me tightly in its warm embrace.
The mattress shifts, and a small sound reached my ears. The corner of my mouth twitches up in a fraction of a smile as I reach over and place my hand on a fluffy surface.
“Hi buddy,” I say quietly. Drogon meows in response. He’s named after the main dragon from Game of Thrones. I swear, sometimes he thinks he’s a fire breathing dragon. I crack my eyes open and turn my head to take in the large animal seated beside my hip, gazing back at me through half lidded eyes. I run my fingers through his thick grey fur. “I missed you.”
And that’s the one of the only honest thing I’ve said all day.
He flops over, sprawling out and resting his chin on my thigh so he can look up at me. He blinks slowly at me.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, meeting his green gaze. I know he can’t understand the words coming out of my mouth. But he can hear the tone of my voice. He can register the changes in my body language better than any actual human being can.
He gives me a look. One that if he could speak, he’d be saying, “No you’re not.” My cat knows me better than I know myself sometimes.
People are overrated. Animals are better in every way.
I slowly run my thumb along his cheek, and his eyes close.
He’s a big cat. Not fat, just large. A portion of that comes from the amount of fur he has. He wasn’t always this big though. I found him four years ago hiding behind a dumpster on the outskirts of Downtown Denver. A tiny ball of grey fluff cowering in the shadows with no home, and no place to go. We’d had that in common.
I’d poured a bit of milk from the carton I had into my hand, cupped and held out to him. It took a few tries, and I still haven’t forgiven him for letting that precious bit of milk go to waste. But after a few moments and soothing words, he’d been lapping greedily from my palm. I remember moving to leave and try to make it into the shelter for the night, and he’d followed me. Those green eyes gazing up at me with newfound hope and energy had speared right through the wall I’d thrown up around my pathetic heart.
After that, he’d gone with me everywhere.
Looking at him now, full grown and slumbering on my leg, it hits me how far we’ve come. From being on the streets with the cold creeping in, to having our own spot, small as it may be.
