As it's Written

The man took a long sip before spitting half the drink back in the cup. The barista had gotten his order wrong. It was always the same barista who got his order wrong. And another Chai Tea. He didn’t understand. Did he look like a man who drank Chai Tea?

The man stood up, looking all business, in a suit and tie, and a shiny balding head to show he knew what stress meant, and that he made the big decisions wherever he came from. Shoulders arched way back and head held high, he walked like an asshole to the counter.

It was five seconds before he got too impatient.

“Hello? Can I get some help over here?” He waved over the barista, the one with her hair dyed blue, who wore the round glasses with little eyes hiding behind them. She stopped what she was doing and made her way over.

“How can I help you, sir?”

“You got my drink wrong. I ordered an Americano. You gave me a Chai Tea.”

“Oh, well I’m sorry about that. I’ll make you one right now. You can keep the tea if you want.”

“I don’t understand how you got Chai Tea, from Americano. They’re very different things.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You know, this isn’t the first time.”

“What was that, sir?”

“This isn’t the first time you got my drink wrong. Last time you gave me a Chai Tea.”

“Well, I can guarantee it’s an Americano this time.”

A minute later and she turned around, the drink in hand.

“There you are sir. I’m so sorry about that.”

“I can tell you’re sincere.” he said sarcastically, grabbing it and turning around to go back to his seat. But a woman had taken up there. His seat snatched.

She seemed to take no notice of him, scribbling away in a small black book, pausing to purse her red lips to her coffee. She was young, with frilly brown hair, yet looked like a woman out of the 30’s in her maroon cocktail dress.

The man had no idea how he could miss such a woman, but despite being taken aback he was angry all the same, his eyebrows furrowed at the point.

“Where did you come from?” he said. “I was sitting there. Did you know that?”

The woman looked up at him, under her flapper hat, and flashed a smile.

“I do know.” she said. “And the seat looked rather nice. So I took it. Just like your drink. I ordered the Chai Tea.” She took another sip from his cup. “I’d never tried an Americano. And it’s really quite good. You made a good choice, just like with your seat.”

“So, are you going to move then?”

“Rather rude of a gentleman to ask a lady to give up her seat. Don’t you think?”

“You’re no lady.”

He chose the table next to her and sat with his back turned. He pulled out his phone, looking through messages from colleagues and the like. She peeked over his shoulder.

“A lot of messages. You’re a busy man.”

“Do you mind?” The man turned to see the woman smiling wider still.

“A man of interest.” she said through her pearly whites. “So I take it you like interesting things?”

“Yes, but what else did you say? Earlier... That I was a busy man. Go back to drinking my Americano.”

“But I have something. Something interesting. Don’t you want to hear it?”

“No, I really don’t.”

“I’m going to tell you anyway. I haven’t told anyone yet, and frankly it’s driving me mad.”

“I said, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Here it is.” The woman stood up from her seat and plopped herself down and across from the man, who looked annoyed at the fact. She set her book down in front of him. “Anything I write, and that’s anything, becomes reality. Riches and fame are all mine, woe and disaster too if I write it. How’s that for interesting?”

“Interesting, sure. Interesting that you think I’d believe such a thing.”

“It’s true! I’m not sure why, and I don’t know how, but I write anything, anything at all and it happens. I can show you. How about that? Just read a little.”

“I’d like to see you leave. Don’t you think you’ve overstayed your welcome a bit? It’s my only break. I don’t have time for interesting conversations.”

“Oh, come on now.” She opened the book and thrust it in his face. “Read this! Come on, I wrote this too.”

“So?”

“So, it says just this! I wrote that I’d be meeting a bald and angry man today. And see this part…”

She points to the page. “Read it!”

The man groaned and picked up the book, opening and reading.

The woman began to fidget. “Aloud! Please.”

“Alright. Here then.” He found his place again. “...and so the woman looked fondly on the man, his head shining ever so brightly. He huffed and puffed, angry that the woman could do such a thing. First his coffee, then his seat…” He stopped and shot another furrowed look.

“What? This is your proof? Of what? It’s all things you did. Nothing special.”

“Read on.”

The man shut the book. “No, I’m not going to read on. You could’ve written this a second ago. It doesn’t mean anything.” He gave it back to the woman, who took it looking a little upset, her face upturned in a frown.

“So, that’s just that? I worked rather hard on that bit, and you’re a part of it. I’d really like it if you read it.”

“Well, I’m not going to.”

“Now, come on! I want you to read it!”

“Why is it so important I read it, huh? Is that what it says in your book? If that’s what it says I better not read it. And then you have no proof. Just another liar. I’ve met bunches of them.”

She tapped her fingers on the book’s spine, biting her lip in frustration. “I’ll prove it to you some other way then.”

“How will you do that, liar?”

“I’ll make anything you want come true. Right before your eyes.”

“What?”

“Say it and it’s yours. Anything you want and you’ll have it.”

“Anything I want and you’ll write it is what you mean. Is that it?”

“Sure, I’m going to write it. And I’m going to write it brilliantly. And then it’s going to come true and you’re going to see what a wonder I am, and then maybe you’ll read what I wrote about the two of us.”

The man stayed sitting and thinking to himself. Best not to give these kinds of people an inch, he thought. But also he wanted a lot of things. He stopped thinking and stood up, turned round the table and sat across the woman, now looking rather happy with her lips tucked back in a wide smile.

“There you are, my man of interest. What do you dream?”

“Well, if you need material for your next story, I guess I have a few ideas.”

“Go on.”

He doesn’t say at first, hesitant to spill his dreams out over the table. Not that his dreams are wild. A business man’s dreams never are. “What any man wants I suppose. Riches. I want to be rich. I want the nice car, and the money… the house. I want the power. Of course, I want power. I mean… in your story, I mean.”

“Yes, in my story.” She opened her book to a blank page and tapped her pen on the white, deciding what it was to put down. The man still had a few ideas.

“Maybe all my stocks could go up… or I get a big raise at work. Hell, I could take over the company. Well... in your story.”

“Yes, it’s my story. I’ll write it how I want.” She began to scribble on the paper, and the man got bored rather quickly. He finished his Americano, and the Chai Tea as well. It wasn’t that bad, after all.

“Done.” The woman dropped her pen and book on the table.

“That was quick.”

“It wasn’t much to write.”

“What does it say?” He started for the book before she slapped his hand back.

“It’s not my best writing. Just wait a minute and it won’t be long. Then you can read my delicate prose that you threw away so brashly before.”

The man sighed and raised his arms in a defeated gesture. “What, so I’m just supposed to wait here like an ass-”

His phone cut him off. It rang the song Hard Workin’ Man, by Brooks and Dunn, which if you don’t know, is about a hardworking man of course.

He let it ring a while, for suspense one might suppose, before he answered and tucked in under his ear.

“Hello?” he asked all quiet. “Who is this?”

“Hello?” A woman’s voice. “Robert, is that you?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Oh sweetie! It’s mom! I just have the best news to tell you!”

The man’s arm dropped and dangled at his side as his mother shouted her greetings and apparent news over the speaker. He turned to the woman who still had a wicked smile. “How’d you get my number? Who’d you swipe it from? Tell me.”

“Oh, shut up. Would you listen to what mommy has to tell you?”

“My mother’s been dead for fifteen years. You think this is funny?”

The woman frowned again. “Oh, now I didn’t know that.” She pulled at the collar of her dress. “Say hello to mom, I suppose. Never brought someone from the dead before.”

The man put the phone back to his ear.

“Hello? I’m sorry, I missed all that. But, who did you say you were?”

“Robert, it’s me. Your mom!”

“My mom’s dead. Okay? I don’t know what joke you’re playing or what you want but-”

“Oh, hush now Robert. Don’t you know about Cryogenics? Why, it’s hardly a new thing anymore. Walt Disney did it all those years back.”

“Cryogenics?”

“Yes, Cryogenics. I had my head frozen, It only cost me a few thousand with my insurance. A head’s not a big thing to freeze after all…”

“You can’t be serious. That’s all science fiction!”

“So were telephones, and computers once. But if you’re going to be hysterical Robert, then I’ll just call later.”

“But-”

“But nothing. Oh, but wait. Before I go, more news. I’ve remarried, and to an Arabian prince! Can you believe it? Must be this new body, it’s beautiful… the woman I got it from lost it motorcycling. God knows I won’t be doing anything so reckless…”

“But-”

“He lives to impress, and when he found out I had a son he couldn’t help himself. So a check is on the way, and he bought you a house on the hills. Isn’t that nice?”

“But-”

“Anyway, like I said, goodbye sweetie. I hope you come visit me.”

The phone disconnected. The man looked at the woman sitting across from him; a look of disbelief.

“So, you wrote all of that?”

“I mean, the devil is in the details.” She pushed the book in front of him once again. “Now, if you would.”

“I still don’t know if it’s true.”

“But you’ll read it anyway.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I wrote it.”

She wasn’t wrong, and the man did read it, as if to secure the truth she revealed.

Unfortunately the woman was an author, and all authors crave blood. So the man read that the barista had poisoned his Americano, and read and learned all too late that some lessons you take to the grave. Perhaps it was the golden rule? The woman wasn’t so great a writer either. Talent is often wasted on individuals. But the man sputtered his last last breath on the cafe floor.

At least a check was on the way.