Creative Juices

A woman sits in a coffee shop by the window, typing furiously into her word processor. This should be rather normal, but read ahead and you'll be thoroughly surprised.

She sat by the café’s front window, laptop open and fingers moving swiftly across the keyboard. By most standards this setup should seem rather commonplace for most, but somehow she caught the attention of most every coffee enthusiast who wasn’t preoccupied with their own work. Even the few people who strode by in the downpour on the other side of the window seemed to be just as entranced by her laptop as she seemed to be. This was where the similarities between the two parties ended. The hyper-focused young woman in the window was concentrated on the words she furiously typed onto the screen of her computer; the people inside and outside of the coffee shop however, were transfixed by what seemed to be leaking out of the bottom of her laptop onto the floor.

For whatever reason the woman was completely unaware as to what was happening to her computer. As she typed words in, a shimmering liquid spilled out of the CD/DVD port and into a small tin bucket strategically placed on the floor. Some of the onlookers who were at the café when the woman took her place at the window remembered how confused they were when she placed it there, but after seeing the strange liquid pour into it, a small sense of understanding came to them. Still, there were others who remained if not became even more confused than they were when the liquid first started to pour out. Their jaws metaphorically hit the floor in shock not only to the events occurring before them, but also the obliviousness the girl possessed towards the whole conundrum.

Was she really that invested in her work? If that was the case then why did she bring a bucket with her to catch the liquid? Maybe this was just a normal thing for her laptop and she had just come to accept it? In that case why come to a public place like a café and astound everyone watching? These thoughts swam in the onlookers’ minds like a spin cycle on a washing machine. One of these people, however, was not satisfied with simply having unanswered questions. He was different from all the rest of the onlookers for one specific reason; he’d seen this all happen multiple times before.

He was a man of many strict routines, one of which being to frequent this café every other Friday morning and Sunday afternoon. In his routine coffee runs he noticed that the woman always took a seat at the window, she always ordered either a Salted Caramel Mocha or a White Chocolate Mocha, and she had only recently began bringing her own bucket (she used to have to ask for one from the Janitor’s Closet). She only came here on Fridays according to his limited knowledge, but with some words from the baristas he figured out that she had a Monday, Wednesday, Friday Schedule one week, and a Tuesday, Thursday schedule the next. One week she would order a Salted Carmel Mocha, and the next she would have a White Chocolate Mocha; whether it was a frappuccino or a hot coffee depended on the current season. 

Then there was how the color of the laptop juice came into the mix. Depending on the drink she ordered, whichever flavor or temperature she concluded on, the shimmering liquid would be either a bold caramel orange or a soft off-white, and would either sparkle like a trail of glitter or steam like a flowing trail into a hot spring. He never stayed long enough to figure out what happened to the liquid after it had stopped pouring into the bucket, but he certainly had his questions about where it went after collecting in the bucket.

He decided this would be the day he finally asked those questions to someone other than himself. Yes, it was high time he confronted the woman about the reason behind the choices she made and the very nature of her mysterious laptop.

He stood from his seat quietly and strolled over to the café window briskly. As he approached the woman, she remained oblivious to the outside world; even when the man was literally right behind her she gave her entire focus to the words she typed into her keyboard. From what the man could see on the dimly lit screen, she seemed to be typing out a story, dialogue to be specific, going by the number of times her finger hit the quotation mark key.

Being this close to the bucket of mysterious laptop juice, he could now make out a scent of salted caramel gently wafting through his nostrils. Before he could get a single answer, he had asked himself at least ten more questions.

The man knelt down to the level of the woman’s face. Her eyes were locked onto the ever moving cursor in her word processor with scary precision. All this time she remained blissfully unaware of the man a few inches from her face. She cracked a small smile. 

“You’re curious about the liquid, aren’t you?” she asked, not looking away from her screen at all. The man was a bit taken aback by this sudden action on the girl’s part. He nodded.

“Don’t worry. I get asked about it all the time. You’re far from the first one, trust me,” she said, taking a weight off the man’s shoulders.

“How long has this been happening?” he asked.

“As long as I’ve been writing this story, so maybe four months? I’ve called so many helplines but they seem just as clueless as me.”

“Do you just throw it out somewhere once you’re done writing done writing for the day?”

“I used to. I’ve been keeping it in jars lately.”

“Why?”

She glanced around the room quickly then looked the man dead in the eyes.

“I’ve begun seeing scenes from my story in the jars.”

The man rolled his eyes. Laptop juice at least sounded probable, but the liquified form of prose? She had to be messing with him. The woman, on the other hand, simply wore a look of acceptance; as if this was the reaction she received the most.

“No really. Take a look in the bucket if you don’t believe me.”

Not wanting to seem rude, he humored the woman and glanced in, but soon he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the frothy scene before him.

The warped scene of a traveling circus en route through the forest played out before his eyes. Everything had a burnt orange tint to it, probably because of the drink, and the image seemed to bend and wave just like it was being witnessed from outside a swimming pool. He was dumbfounded to say the least.

“Now do you believe me?” the woman asked him, and he nodded slowly.

“I’ve had to keep it a secret, and because most people either refuse to believe me outright or play it off as a trick of the eye after looking in, remaining unknown has been rather easy.”

“I can imagine,” the man said, “What do you think will happen after you finish your story?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe as I edit it the pictures will become clearer and those horrible tints will disappear.”

“Maybe.”

“It’s weird though. I’ve written stories before but this has only happened while I’ve been writing this one. Even when I open the document, a little bit of juice will leak out from the USB port.”

“Maybe it’s a sign that this one will become a hit?” 

She laughed a bit.

“Yeah, maybe.”

The woman turned away from the man and developed a shocked expression upon looking at the time. Suddenly she saved her progress, closed the laptop and struggled to pick up the nearly full bucket.

“I’m gonna miss my class! I’ve got to go!” she wailed.

“Do you need any help?” the man asked.

“No, I’m fine. Listen, it was really nice to find someone who believes me. If I see you again maybe we could talk some more about it?”

“I’m here every other Friday, and I’ll definitely take you up on that offer.”

“Great! Again, it was nice to meet you!”

And with that she shuffled out the door, leaving the man with many questions answered but even more so to ask.

* * *

The two of them began talking to each other every chance they got after that day in the café, and eventually the woman finished her story entirely. When it got published, the man was the first one to buy a copy at the local bookstore, and not long after that, the book grew in popularity. Pretty soon it became a best seller.

After the initial excitement for the book wore off, the two of them retuned to the café, both with their laptops, and both carrying tin pails. They both ordered their drinks-a salted caramel mocha for the woman and a white chocolate mocha for the man. After situating themselves at the window and placing the pails at their feet, they opened their laptops and began typing furiously. They were both completely oblivious to their surroundings and the many shocked looks they were getting. Well, they themselves weren’t getting weird looks; it was more their laptops.

And the mysterious juice coming out of them.

Reviews

[Jessica Jaufmann]

How to get the "creative juices" flowing is a great question to ask indeed. How they are perceived is a completely different question all together. This was an absolute joy to read and the length is perfect! Was this a prompt or did you come up with this out of nowhere? I'm very impressed and am falling in love with your work. You're very creative and this is a fantastic example of how writers can get when they get into a piece. I think it;s very ironic that I'm sitting by a window with the rain falling outside, watching others as they walk by with coffee and umbrellas. Perhaps it's just my environment, but the imagery was very strong. You showed me these two characters rather than telling me about them. Fantastic!