The Beginning

Here goes, I've decided to write again. Bear with me :/

The alarm went off at 6:30 every morning. To my sleepy ears it seemed like it rang around my tiny apartment until it was shut off. This particular morning, amid the half-pieced together parts of my dream, the alarm sounded more desperate that usual.

As if a train whistle could sound desperate.

Johnny stirred next to me and reached over to touch my back, but I was already up and moving. I pulled my robe on and promptly went to relieve myself. I heard Johnny sit up in bed and then move into the kitchen. His feet slapped against the floor, growing more and more distant.

He should start paying rent if he was gonna keep sleeping over. But being the good girlfriend that I was, I didn't have the heart to kick him out. Besides, he was kinda cute when he was half asleep.

I quickly washed and prepared for the day, making sure to not look like I was completely broke and had lived off of ramen noodles for a week. Today was payday, though, and I had to look extra good. Don't baristas always look good? I laughed to myself and put some clothes on.

"Mornin'" Johnny cooed as I emerged from the bathroom. He had made me a bowl of ramen for breakfast, handing it over with a guilty look on his face. It was his fault that I was out of money, he was the one who had blown it all on a pyramid scheme. Freaking Johnny. He was just too cute.

"Morning, boo." I said, plopping down on a kitchen chair and sipping on my ramen soup.

"How late are you going to be at Joe's tonight?" he asked, poking at his own bowl with a frown on his face.

"Eight or eight thirty," I took another sip, "I've got to get some dough so I can afford your lazy ass." Johnny put his bowl of soup down.

"I'm gonna make something on this, Sugar, I can feel it." he mumbled, an excuse I had heard for two years.

"I'm sure. Get a job."

"You know I'd die in the American workforce, Honey. I wouldn't make it a day." He batted his lashes at me and took another sip.

"Well, it's wither they kill you or I do at this point. Love you!" I waltzed out the door.

My commute to work was about twenty minutes, but tourist season was beginning to set into Boston, and they really weren't accustomed to how traffic flowed. I clutched my thin, threadbare scarf around myself a little tighter and walked a little faster. It was already 6:40, Joe's was opening at seven and I was twenty minutes away.

Luckily, Joe wasn't going to fire me. I had been working there for about three years, and I was the best barista there, so he really couldn't afford to let me go. I still ran the last couple blocks.

I threw open the door and a line of seven people all started to cheer. These were my regulars. There was Ben, the Vietnam veteran, Mrs. O'Toole, the retired nurse, Norma and Harry, the young lovers, Sarah the social worker, Douglas, who always wore a suit and had $100 haircuts, and Charlie, the Lenape indian. We were a right crew, we were.

I knew exactly what they were all going to order, so I just threw on my apron and got to work.

Douglas was first today, and anxious about a big meeting. Apparently there was going to be a merger with another company and he had to do all the work. I gave him an extra espresso shot on the house.

Norma and Harry got their mochas and went on their way, holding each others hands.

Mrs. O'Toole asked me if I was single yet and if I'd like to meet her grandson. This was the fifth time this week she had offered him up to me. I handed her her tea and politely refused.

Sarah was on the phone, but took her vanilla latte and smiled at me.

Charlie and Ben were discussing politics at the end of the line, and didn't even notice I was ready for them.

I just put their coffees on the counter and went about my work. I had to sweep and clean and assist the steady stream of customers coming in.

Joe's was actually a very nice coffee shop. It was clean, crisp, modern. It had booths and tables and a small counter-bar. People would start to file in at about 7:30, again at 11:30, then again at about 5.

Ben would be here all day, he was unemployed and possibly homeless. He had told me a couple times that he had bounced around Boston for a while and finally decided that Joe's had not only the best joe, but the best people. No one else would be here as long as Ben would, but that was fine. Too many people is too many people.

 I passed the day sweeping, making coffee, talking to people, and cleaning the shop. At noon Joe sent me out for lunch, I came back with sandwiches and drinks. We sat under the counter and took our sweet time.

Joe's full name was Joseph Christopher Daniels III. He inherited the coffee shop from his father, who got it from his father. The shop was founded in the late 1930's, right before World War Two started. Joe's grandpa had been drafted into the armed forces and left his wife in charge. Grandma Daniels kept the shop running, but just barely. Joe says she gave too much free coffee out to factory workers and soldiers.

He was just so proud of his family. It was kind of cute, but after the fifth time he told me about Grandma Daniels, I was kinda tired of his story.

"I hope I'm running the shop well," he said, munching on his roast beef sandwich, "I'm doing pretty well for my age. And I've got the best barista in Boston here with me."

"Yeah, Joe, you're living the life." I chuckled, tossing my papers at the trash bin. He helped me up and then brushed the crumbs off his too-tight skinny jeans.

"Sure am." He had a nice smile.

The day was way too long. I was exhausted at 6 pm, but still had two hours to go. I was wiping the counter for the ten-thousandth time that day when a customer came running in.

He was a short little man, balding, but with bushy facial hair. The man had on a nice, tailored suit with big stripes. Stumbling and heaving, he ran up to the counter.

"Look, sugar, I need ten cups, all black, sugars and cream on the side, and I need it yesterday. Get movin'!" He tapped his fingers on the counter while I measured the coffee out.

"You aren't going to drink all of this, are you, sir?" I asked, peeking out from around a brewer.

"Hey no questions, keep it moving." The little man was prickly.

"Sir?" I had finished the order, "Sir? Your total is $31.06. Cash or credit?" He shoved a fifty at me, took the coffee, and ran out the door.

That was weird.

At eight I clocked out and shuffled on home. The temperature had dropped, I could see my breath. It took me fourty-five minutes to get home. Yeah, traffic was that bad. At eight. At night.

I walked into my apartment complex and checked my mail. There were four bills and an advertisement waiting for me. I chucked the advertisement, and began to open the bills as I climbed the stairs. I rounded the third floor staircase and almost fell over.

A stout old chinese woman was blocking my way. She looked straight at me, unblinking. I said hello and tried to step around her, but she just kept staring. It was unnerving.

"Well, it's been nice seeing you and all but-"

"No." she snapped, snapping her fingers. "You won't go upstairs."

My eyes bulged open and I said goodbye. I ran up the stairs to get away from her, throwing myself at my door. My pocket forfeited my key after a moment, and as I pushed it into the lock, the door creaked open.

The old woman had spooked me good, my heart was thumping. I pushed the door open even more, expecting to find my apartment in disarray.

Oh, but how I wish I had.

Instead of a robbery, I found Johnny plowing some blonde girl on the floor.