One Strange Day

Clarissa made a sound like a bag of gravel being mixed in a blender as she entered the coffee shop. “Dear God…” she muttered as she stood too close to the door for her own comfort. She had snoozed her alarm approximately one thousand times and still had wet hair from her run around the shower. She shivered from the cold and looked around at all the glowing faces of people that had risen with the sun. They looked like they had their lives together, with their new model laptops and fancy tablets.

–sigh–

A cup of coffee and an everything bagel would ease her mind and her nerves.

She had moved forward a couple of spaces in the line on auto-pilot. She listened to the machines sputtering and whirring as lattes, cappuccinos and espresso shots were made. She had worked at a coffee shop in high school and as a first year, but no longer had energy for even a part-time job. She was in her last semester of school and didn’t want to take the chance of having to repeat one more semester. It was bad enough that she was a super-senior and one more belittling conversation with her mother would send her mad.

“NEXT!”

She looked around at the empty space in front of the cash register in a daze. Taylor, the cute barista, with his tussled hair tucked under his beanie and bright-printed T-shirt underneath his apron, waved her toward the counter.

“NEXT!”

She scuttled forward, making sure to hold onto her laptop bag and purse. “Hi! Yes. I would like…”

“The usual?” Taylor asked.

Clarissa, shocked that he remembered her order, nodded shyly.

“That’ll be $7.45.” She grappled with her purse. Of course, in her panic to get out of her house that morning, she had misplaced her wallet in either her laptop bag, purse or gym bag. Taylor rolled his eyes and checked his phone hidden out of sight on the counter. She found her wallet and hesitantly handed him a gift card. I hope there’s money left.

“It declined.”

Clarissa laughed nervously. He’ll never go out with me now. The seconds seemed like minutes and she could feel the glares from the impatient people behind her.

“Here! Sorry…” She handed him an almost maxed out credit card.

“It’s cool.” He answered with a smile. She blushed. Why are baristas always so cute?...

“NEXT!” he bellowed out in front of her. She swept a loose strand of hair behind her ear and rushed to the pick-up counter. A horde of people stood tapping their feet, as if the baristas had made them spend their morning on social media and spend too much time fixing their hair. She viewed the coffee shop landscape to see if anything had changed. Still no tables.

–sigh– Hopefully she would be able to finish up her paper in the shop and not at the library. She really hated the library – there was hardly ever any good people watching.

“Latte and an everything bagel!”

She whipped around and pushed her way through the new wall of people staring at their phones. She smiled at the barista and thanked them for their tireless service; she felt their pain in the battle that is breakfast. She turned, scanning one more time in the hope that someone would get up. Just as she glanced again for probably the third time, a man at a nearby table folded the paper he was reading, tucked it under his arm and stood up. She rushed toward the two-seat table, hoping no one else was doing the same. She plopped her bags down, heart thundering, with a grunt. The people closest to her cut their eyes over their designer glasses for a brief moment and returned to their work. The adrenaline was pumping through her at this point. She laughed to herself at how ridiculous she was being and slid into the long bench facing the rest of the café. It wasn’t her first choice for people watching, but it would do.

The rest of her coffee house visit wasn’t nearly as exciting as the first 15 minutes had been. She set up her station and set a timer on her phone for an hour and a half. That would give enough time to write and walk to class without feeling rushed.

After what felt like forever, she eyed her lock screen. 21 minutes left. She looked for any new faces or changes. Mostly it was the same people as when she first walked in with a few new faces.

–sigh–

She leaned back and closed her eyes, breathing through her mounting anxiety. On her third deep breath, she relaxed her shoulders and pushed her hands into the bench. In through my nose and out through my mouth. Just as her therapist asked her to do when a panic attack was coming on. In her fifth or sixth breath the tension eased in her hands and her fingers relaxed. She felt something smooth and cool come into contact with her pinky and ring finger but she didn’t let it deter her from her breathing exercises. Her therapist had been very pointed in making sure she never broke her concentration when trying to calm her thoughts. She opened her eyes feeling the calmest she had since waking up that morning. She smiled and looked down to see what was touching her.

Underneath one of the many old pillows that scattered the long bench was a little black book. Leather bound, with small gold lettering on the cover and a leather strap to keep the pages from falling open. Clarissa stared at it for a moment. The gold lettering obscured just enough in the shadow of the throw pillow for her not to see what was on it. She picked it up with care and angled the cover toward the light from the front café windows. "Dreams" was written in shimmering cursive faintly laid in the middle of the little book. She looked around to see if anyone seemed to be looking for a missing item. In her meditation though it seemed that both neighbors on either side of her had gotten up. She ran her finger down the smooth spine, feeling the leather cord shift in her pass. I wonder if it belonged to that man who was sitting here before.

With her curiosity piqued, she untied the cord with ease. The book seemed worn, as if it had been around for ages. Maybe there’s contact information in here. She looked around one more time before opening the leather cover.

She expected to find pages filled with notes and doodles. Maybe numbers from illicit affairs. Instead, on the front page in black ink, in the same font as the gold script on the front, was written:

“Hello. If lost, please, keep.”

Clarissa took a deep breath and glanced across the café. Am I being set up? Today has been SO weird. She skimmed through the preceding pages, but each page was blank. Why would someone leave instructions to keep a blank book? As she neared the last pages, she looked at the back cover and examined the outside. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary with the journal. She remembered journaling as a teenager and thought that along with her daily meditation, it may be a good rhythm to get into again. She flipped through the blank pages one more time. Oh! Must have missed this…

On the backside of the first page, in the same cursive, was written:

“Tell us your dreams.”

Clarissa picked up her ball point pen and tapped the tip on the page. What ARE my dreams? I have so many… If only I were rich… “Money won’t make you happy,” she remembered her grandmother saying while sitting at her kitchen table, smoking a Virginia Slim. It’s easy to say that when you never had money… She looked at the page with trepidation. She poised her pen as if she was about to write a great manifesto.

Money. I dream of not worrying about money.

She had written the line perfectly in the middle of the page. She looked up at Taylor talking to one of his coworkers and smiled. She peered around the room again. This place is really great people watching.

Written underneath her bubbly writing, in perfect old cursive, had appeared,

“Done.”

She slammed the book shut with such force it knocked some of her papers onto the floor and made a first year near her yelp out. She half smiled and apologized to everyone around her. Nervously, she climbed around the table trying to be as quiet as possible when she bumped into her own, sending her half-consumed latte on a wild ride. Thankfully, only a few drops escaped over the rim of her cup. She scooped to pick up the paperwork, mumbling “sorry” to no one in particular, but to anyone willing to listen.

“Miss… Clarissa… CLARISSA!”

Clarissa jumped, looking around, startled. Taylor was standing in front of her table.

“You fell asleep and your alarm has been going off for a few minutes now.”

Clarissa jumped. “Oh no. I am so sorry! I can’t believe…” She trailed off. Taylor watched her for a moment before turning toward the counter. “Thank you!” She called out a little louder than anticipated. She hurriedly collected her things and shoved what she could into any bag it would fit in, including her uneaten and unwrapped bagel. Oh man. That’s going to get sesame seeds everywhere. She had taken too long and needed to sprint to class. WHAT is wrong with me?!

She got to class at the last second, out of breath, and with barely enough time to unpack her laptop for the lecture. The professor went on about whatever it was he was talking about that day. Clarissa mused over the morning. She scrolled through social media, taking notes periodically and moved on to make sure she had paid her bills on time and check her schedule for the next week. She logged into her bank account with bated breath. I wonder how much I’ve overspent.

She chortled at the screen in front of her. Under the transactions list was a deposit for $20,000. This is impossible. She racked her brain for why the money could be there. Maybe the bank deposited the money into the wrong account. She jumped over to the virtual assistant and was connected to a live person almost immediately. They confirmed that a wire had been made earlier that morning. Her fingers hovering above her keyboard, she typed out “Thank you” and looked down at her bags. I thought... I dreamt that…

Looking around, Clarissa inched her hand toward the bag, waiting for someone to pop out of nowhere and explain that she was on a prank show. She fingered through her main bag, then her purse. As she pushed stuff around and back and forth, she expected to feel the cool, smooth leather of the mysterious coffee-shop book. She had devoted her full attention to the search at this point and started tossing bits of paper and old coffee shop receipts onto the table in front of her. She took a deep breath and stared at the +20,000 in her checking account ledger. The book was nowhere to be found.