Where the Sidewalk Ends

After much arguing with Frank on whether or not it was safe for me to leave so soon after an event like today's, I managed to slither my way away from his house (not, of course, without an awkward thank you sandwiched between each of our own veiled glances).

It was getting late in the afternoon, and although I had the day off from work, I felt like it would be best to return to the secure confines of my own place. Frank offered to drive me home, but despite his hospitality, I still didn't feel comfortable with a strange man whom I had just met knowing where I live.

I wrapped my unzipped hoodie around my waist, hugging it closely as the brisk autumn wind lapped away at every inch of my body. As I made my way down the urban street, it hit me that I hadn't a clue which part of town Frank resided in. Being myself, I hadn't even thought to ask him. With a frustrated sigh, I continued down the old sidewalk in search for a familiar landmark or street name. Luckily, not long after leaving the warmth of that minty-green home, I found a bus stop. It would be a short ride back to my part of town, one which I didn't mind making. I needed time to think.

Eventually the bus came, to which I was grateful as it had started to get a bit colder out. Boarding with my bus pass in hand, I shuffled towards the back for a nice, quiet spot. Shifting into the hard plastic seat, I brought my legs to my chest, wrapping my short arms around them. I began to ponder as I set my chin atop my knee caps.

Why would a perfectly good stranger come to my assistance in a moment of fear and uncertainty? Had I been seriously hurt, he could have faced an ambulance ride across the city and lengthy police interrogations- two very time consuming things that an otherwise ordinary person likely wouldn't want to experience.

Would he have called 911? Why didn't he? What did he mean by "it felt like the right thing to do"? Did he have some sort of motive? My heart raced as channels in my mind converged into one panicking thought. Oh god, had he taken advantage of me while I was passed out? Sickness began to tiptoe its way up my throat and into my mouth, lining my teeth and gums with acidic terror. When speaking with Frank, he had seemed nothing short of a true gentleman: kind, patient, and warm with a giving personality.Could it have been a clever mask to hide something much more sinister? I covered my mouth with a shaking hand, swallowing the rising stomach acid begging to leak between my lips. I was nearing the bus stop close to my own home, being only a short ways away from taking the block-long walk back to my apartment. I decided that I would do my best to check, persay, if there had been any damage done, knowing full well that although I may not find anything that it didn't necessarily rule out the possibilities.

***

Two days had passed since I returned home in a fury. The rest of that evening had become a blur. All my mind posessed in remembrance to that night was thoughts zooming past my eyes in technicolor, the swirls of blue and green becoming hot and irritated as they boiled into red and orange. It seemed like every path led to that violent feeling. The one that coated the inner walls of my skull as I slept, closed my eyes, and breathed.

I had done my best to push the emotion to the deepest pit of my chest, trying to focus on anything other than the drug my brain sought nourishment from. During this point in time, I was at work. I wouldn't exactly call it safe to be working with steam or hot liquid or sharp knives when so distracted, but I was so desperate to get my mind onto a new train of thought that I didn't care who or what I endangered. It had been the same as any other morning at the coffee shop: busy, linear, and chaotic. The line to the till was everlasting. The customers were tired and irritable. Most were having monumental withdrawals of their sickeningly legal addiction to caffeine. Others were frightningly cheery and energetic. I welcomed all types of consumers.

The morning drug on breve by breve, the chaos finally dulling down to a steady wave as the clock neared noon. I had overpoured at least three drinks and burnt my hand by the third hour into my shift, something that worried my manager enough to put me on register until our slow hours hit. Lucky for me, the shop slowed down monumentally, leaving me to enjoy the murmur of patrons sipping at their hot drinks, biding the time before returning outside to the chilled air. Just as I was about to abandon my station to clear a nearby table of mugs and saucers, a cheery voice welcomed me back to reality.

"Beth, how are you?" an elderly man said with a loose-lipped smile, one that accentuated the grey stubble scattered across his chin. I smiled back and laughed, shaking my head in response.

"Busy day as usual then." He trailed off, slighly swaying the cap he had clasped between both of his hands. "Well," his voice showed a turn of emotion, the start of a more positive tone, "I'll just have my usual. What about the-...the um..."

"Blueberry scones?" I finished, laughing as he never remembered the name of the pastries. "We made them this morning. Super fresh and worth every penny."

The man, known by those around the shop as Mortimer, smiled deeply and responded with his usual "they always are, Bethie", reaching into his wallet to pull out a crisp wad of cash. I rang up the order, passing on the memo to the barista to begin his drink, all before moving to fetch his warm scone. Mort shuffled into the corner with his folded up newspaper, and just as always, sat down to begin the crossword. I brought him his scone and drink, to which he tried to tip me, though I always refused. Customers like Mort made this job worth all of the hot-headed jerks who passed through- his frequent presence was enough of a tip for me. I sighed as I heard the door open and after reassuring Mort that I would think about the answers to two down and five across, I made a beeline back to the front counter.

"What can I get for you?" I started, my eyes solely focused on punching my information into the P.O.S. system to begin the order.

"Your largest Americano."

My fingers started to enter in the information robotically, but quickly halted as I came to recognize the voice. I dropped my hand and snapped my head up, eyes staring blankly unto the smug expression housed on the face of the not-so-stranger from two days ago.

"Oh," the man whom I remembered as Frank added quickly, "and a bagel."