Café On The Corner

There’s a sunset in the sky this evening. I remember how much we used to love them.

Megan would press her chubby little hands down on the windowsill and tilt her head back so she could see, the pale streaks of pinks and oranges and blue hues above her reflecting in her big, brown eyes, the chestnut waves of her hair swishing gently around her shoulders. She was so fascinated by colour; how deep blues could morph into a light gentleness in the day, then darken and swirl with stolen colours of the sun in late afternoons. Her breath would catch in her throat, a small smile tugging at her lips as she stared up out the window, marvelling over something that’s so easy to overlook.

She’d breathe one word as she gazed at the sky, and we smiled at it every time.

“Pretty...”

Oh, Meg.

He loved sunsets just as much as she did. He used to quote things too, little things, but things that made me stop for a brief moment and take it in properly. How he knew all those quotes and all the names of the people who quoted them I don’t know - I’ll never know.

“Sunsets are proof that endings can often be beautiful too,” he said once, as Megan stared at one in awe, scarcely blinking. “That’s, uh, Beau Taplin.”

Was your ending as beautiful as the sunset promised?

Was Meg’s?

This one feels a little different now I’m watching it alone. No Megan to stare at it with me in a trance, her dad not by my side with a warm smile on his face, the cute freckles on his nose scrunching.

If you’re looking for me... somehow, if the sunset gave you another chance, I’m at a café of some kind. A café on a corner, at the very end of a long street that branches off and leads to another one. I’m at that right-angled point, watching the sky intently so I don’t accidentally look down. Look down to see the mess, to break the illusion of the peace I’ve got inside me now, the sheer calmness that I probably shouldn’t be feeling at all, considering. There’s a blue that fades into orange and purple, long, drifting clouds creating blocks of colour in random spaces.

The colour, the vibrance, the peace. Not the death, the destruction, the end.

It’s all completely abandoned, of course, but I like that. I put on some calm background music that was part of the café’s playlist very quietly, and I’m ready to turn it up a bit if another bang or scream or rumble of protest from the ground beneath us all interrupts this. I’m not meditating, not really, but I’m breathing and listening and watching effortlessly, letting random memories wash over me. Wash over me this time, not rack me with sobs, or send me into a panic with shaking, uneven breaths as I run around again, in the death, the destruction, the end. Here, I’m in the Café On The Corner, maybe the only shop still standing and mostly unharmed by nature’s revolt.

I’m not hiding, not from you, and we can’t hide from nature. No, I’m not hiding, I’m just here at this drawn-out moment, gazing out the window I’m sitting opposite, watching the world on pause, the whole thing just like a picture. I’ve got a cup of coffee in my hands that is still pleasantly warm as I hold it, long wisps of steam curling like thin streamers and disappearing as they rise higher.

It’s not just the world that seems to be on pause. I feel almost numb to everything, too, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m not hot or cold, I can’t make myself jerk into action, into full awareness and motivation to go and do something, anything. The world is smoking, and here I am, letting it happen. I can’t change it. I can’t change the fact that I’ve lost them both. I’m in this unusually calm state of acceptance, maybe because I’m simply too tired, or too confused.

All the whizzing emotions have cancelled each other out and left my head, as if it’s a hive for a swarm of nagging wasps. Over time, they were replaced with bees; wasps can sting as many times as they want without any effect on them, but bees strike once before surrendering, leaving without another whispering buzz of a taunt. The wasps were my thoughts, my anxiety, my utter despair, and after a while - a long, long while - they lessened into bees, before leaving my mind completely clear, uncharacteristically at peace.

The air outside is humid from the fire before it whips into a cold, fresh breeze, the feeling like cool blades against your skin, from the relentless, crashing waters and ice. The pavements and roads are well worn by now. If it was a dramatic scene, I wouldn’t be surprised to see a tumbleweed brushing against the ground before being lifted effortlessly by the ever-changing tugs of the wind.

I don’t know how long I was running around crumbling streets, full of dirt and spatters of blood, like something out of a survival game.

Yes. Perhaps this is what it all is, all it was. A survival game.

I was asking weak people, the few I found scattered about different streets and roads and parks, clutching onto them as if they were my last grip on sanity, asking again and again if they’d seen her, if they saw Meg or her father, but all I got were exhausted blank stares, eyes full of scarring experience that reflected my own, and a weary shake of the head.

I haven’t chosen to forget about this. I can’t choose what to forget, anyway.

I’m not sure how long I was out there. Could have been days, maybe a week, or only a few hours. It felt like an eternity, but when my legs couldn’t carry me anymore and I collapsed onto the hard ground in the middle of nowhere, too tired to let any more tears rack my body, the shaky breaths I breathed in and out turned smoother, more even. And, just like that, the wasps turned into bees, and the bees died off. I thought they left a weak, empty shell of a young woman behind them, but in many ways, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been in my life, and certainly not empty. This is a new stage, the next chapter. The final chapter.

I’m perfectly happy to spend it in the Café On The Corner.

It’d be even better if they were here with me. I didn’t give up on them, and they didn’t give up on me. I stopped looking because there was nothing left to find. They might still be out there, somewhere, but I can see their faces as clearly as I can see the beautiful sunset above me, smiling and serene, their most common expressions, and my favourite to look at.

I remember when I first saw his. It was in a library, of all places, five years ago. I don’t really remember what I was doing there, but he was studying for an English course at university. We were sitting opposite each other on a table, my face buried in a book, until I looked up, right up into his curious stare. I blushed almost immediately, me being me, and he smiled. I smiled back, then forced myself to look back at the book, though I wasn’t reading it now.

After half an hour or so, my phone vibrated to remind me of needing to go somewhere, so I closed my book and stood up... at the exact same time as he did.

We paused for a moment, meeting each other’s eyes again, and he grinned. We left together, and up until now, that’s how it’s always been. A year and a half after that first meeting, we were married, six months after that, pregnant, and then came Megan. Coming together, leaving together.

I’m so sorry, Meg. I’m sorry we can’t leave together this time. I hope dad’s with you, at least, wherever you might be now.

Truth is, I don’t think I have much longer left. In the contentment of the Café On The Corner, the ground’s rumbling softly with warning again, ready for round two. I don’t see a round three coming, though. A bit too late, isn’t it? Just a bit?

The electricity is fully out now, though I’m surprised it lasted this long. All the transmission towers around us are most likely collapsed by now, brought down and overcome by nature’s wrathful outburst. The coffee machine is silent. So am I.

Whatever’s happening, it’s not blocking the sunset. However, it is fading gradually, retreating into deep, groggy blues of the approaching evening. It’s an amusing thought, recognising the sky’s stillness and calm tones, while smoke rises once again, heating up the roads for a proper game of The Floor is Lava. Then the ice and freezing waters come flooding over the flames, everything underneath hissing in annoyed protest. Wind twists itself into deadly spinners, picking up odd souvenirs along the way before dropping them as they lose their power. Lightning will dance among us, all over again, a parade of natural conflict, before silence and brown dirt and dust settles it all once more.

Then it’ll be the sunrise again, Meg. Will you watch it for me? It’s so pretty, isn’t it?

I’m ready for the breakdown, I think. Even if I’m not, it’ll still come. It’s a natural, overdue force, the force of nature, and no matter how peaceful and still the Café On The Corner is, it won’t be missed. I can see the colours that painted the skies with colour dimming, retreating, making way for the darkness of the night and the warning fog that rises from cracks in the ground, whistles through the gaps beneath the doors of empty buildings and smashed windows.

Still, I find myself thankful. Thanks for the experience of life, the life I had with him and Meg, under the watchful shades of the sunset. The cups and mugs tremble as do the shelves that hold them up, and I let out a deep breath through my nose, my gaze finally dropping from above to wander below. It’s an odd sight, since I’ve been looking up for so long, and the sight itself is... well, it’s not appealing.

It’s empty. It’s death, destruction, the end. Almost like a parallel world to the one I used to live in, where everything was modern, modern, modern, and tall silver buildings winked in the light of the sun that glared at them. It glared at the trees that kept on falling with loud snaps and groans, leaves slapping against the ground, animals hidden but not at all oblivious.

There’s a hint of churning fear deep in my stomach, but I ignore it, and it fades away as I watch the process grumble to life again, the ground shivering, the colours Meg adored fading behind rising smoke in the far distance, sweeping and glazing over the horizon with shuddering puffs of grey. I know that the sickly feeling of dread that came momentarily is the last time I’ll ever feel scared. I can accept this. I have to, and I will. I’m calm, so calm, as the windows start to crack from the corners, pressure bullying the glass, dangerous energy awakening.

So, instead of thinking about what it might feel like, or what it could have felt like for them, I look up at the sky one last time before closing my eyes, where there’s a sunset waiting for me in my head. The colours are a little less lively and smooth than they are when my eyes are open, but it’s okay. It’s still breathtaking. I don’t need a camera, because I’m seeing it now, and it’s the last thing I want to see.

I can almost hear Meg’s soft grunts as she pushes herself up higher to see more of the scene, her palms pressing down on the surface of the windowsill, her hair and breathing tickling my arm. He’s beside me too, an arm around my shoulder loosely, just as captivated as Meg is, with hundreds of little poems and quotes coming to mind, most likely, as he takes in the view.

I take a deep breath in, the smoke and metallic smell of what’s happening replaced with the Yankee Candles we have at home, burning softly, the tiny flames tugging impatiently at the wicks. The smashing and the sudden uncomfortable temperature of the outside pushing itself in the Café On The Corner doesn’t distract me at all, but it motivates me, hot tears running down my cheeks as I take Meg’s hand from the windowsill and clasp it in mine. He does the same to me, his soft, boyish smile tugging at his lips, and I smile back, my head high.

The sudden pain hits me, and then there's nothing.

There’s a sunset in the sky, forever. We'll always love them.