Jane

I am done with this silly infatuation I have with destiny. My whole life I believed there was a higher power that guided us and everything happened for a reason. I can tell you now that is a lie. If that was the case why would my mother be sick. Why would I have to drop out of school for the one thing I was born to do? Why would my father leave me and my mother to raise another family two streets over with a woman who is unaware everyone around her has two eye brows and she has one?

“Can I have a large coffee with two sugar and a splash of milk?” What kind of measurement is a splash? It's funny how there are measurements in the world that no two people could agree on completely. A couple. Could be two, maybe three. A dash. Could be what fits between two pinched fingers but what is you have very big fingers.

“Hello. Did you hear me? I want-”

“Large coffee. Two sugar and dash of milk. Got it. That will be $3.45.” I said as I rang in his order.

“I said a splash of milk.” This man is in a suit. Working type, always looking at his watch. Always running late, I'm sure. Never has time for his wife who has turned to the mail man for comfort or the young son who only wants to play catch with the glove he got him for his birthday, the party of which he missed cause he was working LATE.

I put a smile on because I notice Trisha from the corner of my eye giving me the 'don't be a smart a*s' look. She's gotten good at that face. “Yes, sir. A slash of milk”

“Here. Keep the chance.” He passes me a five dollar bill with a phone number on it and winks at me. He walks to the end of the counter where Trisha is making his coffee. He tells her to make sure there is only a slash of milk. She ask him what he would consider a splash. I laugh to myself.

“It's break time for me Trish, I need a smoke.” I haven't had a smoke in three hours which seems like a hundred years today. There is a man in the corner I've been watching. He must be a writer. He has been here my whole shift, pounding his keyboard. Every so often he looks away, as if the answer is floating in bubbles in the air but he can't make out what they're saying. Then He steps out side for a smoke. He just got up. I am not missing the chance to talk to him.

He is already outside. I light my smoke and watch as he takes a deep drag. Everything he does seems to be in the pursuit of the answer to a question. His eye's always questioning.

“What are you looking for?” I say. He turns to me with the same questioning look.

“How Matt Turner will die.” He says like I know exactly what he's talking about.

“Suicide. A smoker who dies of lung cancer.”

He smiles. Lighting up his eyes. He puts out his smoke. Kisses me on the lips and walks back into the cafe. I finish my smoke. I return to work.

I keep watching him. He doesn't look up much so I get away with it. A woman sits in front of him, blocking my view. She is reading a magazine, but mostly she is looking around the cafe like it is the greatest thing she has ever seen. She doesn't order anything. After an hour the writer comes to the counter.

“Your name please?” He asks.

“Jane.” He turns and leaves.

I go to his table to clean it off. I turn and notice the magazine the girl was reading on the table. It is old, well used. On the cover, in a circle of coffee stain are the words 'Just do it. Who's going to stop you?'.

I turn to the door and walk out into the bright light.