On The Wings

He winced. He winced as he got up the next morning, and as he was set to do the simplest movements, such as picking up the newspapers on the floor or sitting down at the breakfast table. The pain had followed him all the way to work, and late into the night. He had not slept well that night. And so, when the next appointment with the physical therapist came, Oliver knew that he would have to tell her about this. She had said he could encounter some aching and stiffness after the exercises she made him do. Oliver, who thought himself to be healthy enough, had brushed it off.

But it seemed that she knew the rule to be universal, and after all, if he had a tendency to sprain his ankle, there certainly was a muscle in here not doing its job.

She had found that muscle, and so that morning, as she asked how he was feeling today, he told her how he had been feeling last Friday.

“It’s pretty simple, I couldn’t even sit down without looking like an old man. And the same thing was true about getting up. It amused my co-anchor. There’s a silver lining to everything.” A beat. “Please tell me I won’t be in the same amount of pain after today.”

@sloanexml​

There was something karmic about her job.  Of course, seeing people in pain didn’t bring her joy, but if there was one thing she had learned, it was the body could say I told you so, better than anyone she knew. And she knew a lot of ego driven people who lived by that phrase. It was her job though, to ease the pain of life catching up in more ways than one, of all the decisions somehow culminating in the joints and muscles of the body. But she could only do so much.

Even worse, she could only say so much for her clients to do and hope they took her word. Sloane wasn’t a betting woman, but she had improved her ability to judge how well people actually listened to her. She could be drowning in money if she were able to turn that skill into something more useful.

“Hate to break it to you, but some would consider you an old man,” she snorted. 40 was far from old but he knew that, even if there was some doubt. “I can’t promise you anything other than we’ll work on it.” Sloane was sure that wasn’t what he wanted to hear but she wasn’t a magician, she couldn’t make his pain go away with a snap. “And how many of the exercises and stretches did you try?”

Judas noticed the other had an air of almost… dejection about her, but didn’t comment on it. It did change the trajectory of his own behavior at least and reminded him to be empathetic. To remember everyone was going through their own shit, and sometimes being an asshole to someone over something as small as a coffee he really wanted to fully enjoy just wasn’t worth it. His coffee could be replaced, and luckily for him, this woman didn’t seem to put up much of a fight about paying him back. He nodded, typing his username into her phone, though it took a few tries. Backspacing over the typos he accidentally pressed into the @jokelloyellow because he wasn’t used to her phone. “You can just make it an even four,” he compromised, feeling bad now even though he shouldn’t have. “I’m a pretty big fan of coffee,” he chuckled, and then passed her phone back to her. “I take it you’re not? Was that part of some master plan to end the coffee drinking in America?” he joked, though it came out kind of lame. “Knock em out of people’s hands one by one.”

She wouldn’t fight the man about change. Four dollars was light work compared to the damage she had done, “are you sure I can’t cover more than just four dollars?” There was no reason to barter her way into paying him more but Sloane really did feel bad. She hesitated in pressing send, double checking the name he typed in, “not to be nosy,” clearly she was being nosy, “is yellow your favorite color?” Or had she met a man who randomly liked to add yellow into this profile name. There were more important things to focus on. That was a new take. Her battle against coffee addicted America, it really was an epidemic that wasn’t talked about enough. Unfortunately this wasn’t her hill to die on, “I actually enjoy coffee, so it pained me to see a good cup go to waste,” she could start with herself before taking on New York or even America. “Good idea though, Starbucks might start a war against me first if they catch on.” Sloane grimaced, “if angry coffee drinkers don’t fight me first.”

open starter:  @enycstarters​ 

location: a venue with an open mic night. 

While he may be a man of many facets and entirely too much personality to be contained into just one box, there was one irrefutable truth about Rico regardless of the mood he found himself in: he loved attention. Wherever way it came, to a fault. At the same time that it was shocking to see the man up on a stage with a guitar in his hand performing folk classics, it was also not surprising at all when one would consider the lights, the prime spot, and the audience that had to look at him for the twenty minute set he had during open mic night. It was ten, initially. He’d been pretty insistent that the owner should let him have twice as long as anyone else. 

Once those twenty have past, the makeshift musician smugly makes his way back into the crowd with his instrument in hand and conveniently sits by himself at the bar. First, to enjoy the drink on the house that performing got him. Secondly, because he found it was yet another prime spot, this one to receive praise from those who would think him approachable. And when such a person comes to his side, he flashes them a charming smile. “Did you like the set? I tried sprucing it up a bit tonight.” As if he did this often, not just every once in a blue moon. He’s just fishing for praise, really. 

Entertainment was a side prize, the true token was the drink she was so close to receiving. She would be much closer if she could find an opening to order. Who knew open mic night would be so crowded. Sloane was sure she had been missing out, but was it really her fault if no one let her know. More importantly that open mic night would be a bad time to assume you’d get your drink quick enough. Sloane only half-heartedly clapped along with the crowd as she maneuvered around, finding another opening.

It doesn’t take long for her to put 2 and 2 together. Though Sloane can’t lie and say she spent more than a minute or two even looking at the stage, so the man could be lying for all she knew. The pride suggested he wasn’t. “Of course, it was great. Who doesn’t like a bit of guitar in their live music.” Sloane waved down the bartender, maybe sitting by an act would get her farther than she was. “Sprucing? What changed?” And did she really want to know. It didn’t hurt to ask.

open starter: @enycstarters​ location: times square

claire had been walking around times square, looking for the restaurant one of her friends had told her to meet them at, and she’d be lying if she had said she wasn’t lost. she had pretty much grown up here her entire life and yet, she was still prone to getting lost easily due to how huge the place was. as soon as she was about to reach the destination she had on her phone, she manages to accidentally bump straight into someone and causes them to fall over. “oh shit, i’m so sorry!” she apologizes, feeling bad for knocking them down. “are you okay?”

There was something about time square that Sloane couldn’t get used to it. No city she lived in would compare, it couldn’t. Still maybe there was just too many people. That sentiment was ringing as she hit the floor. Too many people. Hustling and bustling New York, what did she expect. Sloane smiled, pushing herself off the ground, “looks like I had an enemy in the city and didn’t know it,” she joked. Sloane wiped around her, regretting it as soon as she did. Who knew what was on the floor. “I’ve been worse,” she shrugged, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were going somewhere.”

location: a bar in brooklyn

status: open

Dealing with politicians for a living got tiring. Sometimes she wondered why she continued this job, she’d had enough of their egos, the lying and their games. It wasn’t a simple job, but it could be hugely rewarding – she’d had the opportunity to work closely with some of the most influential and known political figures in the world, Hillary Clinton and Joe Biden being two of them, but lately it felt like the negatives outweighed the positives. The possibility of working with her ex-husband was looming, and she couldn’t quite get it out of her head. She wasn’t at the point that she could be picky about the campaigns she ran anymore, but bills have to be paid, right? Plus, he was a high profile politician – while it wasn’t a Presidential campaign, mayoral elections were good work.

“If the paycheck was great, would you ever work with your ex?” She inquired to the person next to her at the bar as brought a lit cigarette to her lips. She wasn’t much of a smoker, unless she was stressed. It’d become a vice she she only indulged in when she really needed it. Tonight was one of those nights.

“How great the paycheck, how bad the ex?” Sloane couldn’t speak for the other woman, there were enough differences she could point out just by them sitting besides each other, first being the smell of cigarettes. If she couldn’t get past that, there was no smoking for her in the very least either. Did bars still allow smoking inside them? “If it’s a murder worthy ex,” they all had one, “then how close would you be working with them?” Sloane could be cordial, with enough preparation and care, care to save face, maybe she could do it. Then again, everyone would sell their soul for a good amount. “Somethings just aren’t worth your peace of mind.”

maybe it’s just not her day. her cream puffs turned out awful and don’t even get her started on her apple pie — she doesn’t want to think about either until tomorrow when she’s got to do it all over again. she loves her job, her bakery, baking, there’s no denying that, and this won’t change her love, but all she really wants right now is a bubble bath and one of her books. she’s in her head about what to pick since she has a dozen half read, some she can’t bring herself to finish and others she hasn’t even opened yet. it happens so quick, snapping her out of her thoughts as her arms lift and she gasps. it takes her a second before her hands are trying to shake off the liquid, tugging at her top to get any excess off but she’s pretty sure it’s already filled her bra. “ it’s… okay. ” said slow, uncertain of her words as she looks at the other. “ no, no, it’s fine, it happens… to be honest, it’s just my luck today. ” pri adds almost in jest, offering the woman a smile. 

It wasn’t hard to find more than one person suffering in her city today. It was New York where there was more people to count. Sloane should be anything but surprised that she managed to crash into someone else that was having it just as rough, if not harder than herself. The other woman's expression to Sloane it was anything but okay. She’s more inclined to believe the repetition that maybe it is fine. Though the continued statement about todays luck was clear it wasn’t. “I’m sorry, I hate to add to you bad luck,” even if the woman is being a good sport about it. “Any way I can make your day better, in addition to the dry cleaning bill?” It was the least Sloane could do.

honestly, someone else might’ve read the other woman’s smile as them somehow making fun of maggie’s situation, but not her – somehow, it didn’t feel like a malicious smile. “ha, no, you’d be right about that. trust me, usually i like my coffee to be piping hot, so i guess they got my order right… maybe i wasn’t expecting them to, somehow. probably because this isn’t my usual place.” with a shrug, maggie almost took another sip before shaking her head. “no. nope. shouldn’t make the same mistake twice. i’d be an idiot.” with a small laugh, she then smiled at the other woman. “it is a cute coat, you’re right – but we all have our clumsy days. hell, i know i do. i don’t want to give you a 50 dollar dry cleaning bill. no, a cookie will do just fine.” 

Piping hot. It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been her piping hot coffee spilled on either of them, maybe even both. “Was it at least good coffee, the bit you can taste without having your tongue burn.” She wasn’t sure she could handle piping hot, on a different day maybe but another attempt at coffee didn’t sound progressive. Sloane shook her head, “not an idiot, it’s convenient, it’s coffee and in your hand. It’s probably just natural at this point to drink it.” She was sure if she had some, even if it was hot, she would do the same thing. Sloane snorted softly, “you’re a terrible negotiator, I promise you, 50 dollars isn’t bad. I actually think that’s pretty cheap for a dry cleaning bill in this city.”

location: saks fifth avenue

status: open

Shopping was almost like an extreme sport for Meredith, yet it wasn’t often she actually stepped foot in a store – her go-to was online shopping, or having her assistant and personal shopper fetch everything she desired with her platinum card. She loathed lines, and being exposed to sweaty tourists getting in her way. Still, today she found herself at Saks, trying to find her daughter the perfect gift. No, it wasn’t her birthday, but more of a way to soften the blow when she would tell the overdramatic teenager that she’ll be an older sister in eight months. 

“What is the perfect gift for a seventeen year old who already has everything?” She asked, initially rhetorically until she laid sight on the person next to her. “I need your opinion.” At that, she held up two separate shoes. “Should I go with the Jimmy Choo crystal embellished pair, or keep it simple with the metallic platforms? It’s for my daughter.”

Sloane knew better than to spend her day in a store when the last thing she needed was an excuse to do so. Still, there was something about physically being in a store that online shopping couldn’t match, maybe it was the clear judgement from everyone else around at your choices. Or maybe it was the wanted advice from other shoppers. Online couldn’t give that, not fully. She blew a low whistle, “I can’t say I remember what seventeen year old me liked,” probably for good reason, growth was important. Seventeen year old Sloane didn’t have everything either, but that was neither here or there. “What’s the occasion? I think the crystal embellished pair would go well with everything.” The metallic platforms... well did people still like platforms? They reminded her of tinfoil in a way, but that would be an unnecessary add. “I think I saw a simple but embellished pair from Alexandre Birman if you’re not a fan of either.” It was cheaper too. God, why were shoes so expensive.

shit. shit, shit, shit. this was about the last thing maggie needed in between appointments; getting extremely hot coffee poured down the front of her coat. her new coat, that was. sure, she’d gotten it on sale, but damn it, it had still been 250 smackeroonis she had worked hard for, and now with one swift move, she’d had to get it dry cleaned ALREADY. what a way to start her morning. suppressing a very deep sigh and settling for a softer one, she slightly shook her head. “no, it’s fine – i can’t really stand around for too long. clients to see, coffee to drink.” holding up her own cup before taking a sip, she nearly spat it out again. “ah, fuck. that’s hot. damn it.” finally letting out the long sigh she’d been holding in, maggie looked up at the other woman in front of her. “guess this is not my morning. maybe i will let you repay me – i think i’ve deserved a cookie.” 

Misery loved company. Often overused, often used as a tool to wreck another person’s life, but possibly had some truth in it. Something about hearing the other woman also struggling brought a warm smile to Sloane’s face. How quickly her tune had changed, though the same could have been said about herself earlier in the day. “In a way we should be grateful to have been served hot coffee rather than lukewarm, but it’s not really seeming to benefit us.” At least there was still coffee in the other woman’s cup, even if it was too hot to drink. “I can relate to that.” More so than the other woman realized. “I can do a cookie and I’m still willing to pay your dry cleaning, it’s a cute coat, I hate to be the one to wreck it.” At this point, maybe she deserved a cookie herself, at least she liked the idea of one.

There were few things more revitalizing to Judas than a good cup of coffee. It was never just the taste that mattered to him—much like most things in his life, it was all about the experience of it. From start to finish, if an acrid cup of coffee was preceded by a smiling barista and happy small talk, it could easily become a not-so-terrible cup of coffee. Judas always liked to see the bigger picture, but sometimes that got difficult in a city where everything seemed to move a mile a minute and a mid-day caffeine boost was suddenly turning into first degree burns on his chest. The sweater and jacket he was wearing? Those were recoverable. But the experience of this coffee, that had otherwise been perfect? Irreplaceable, if only by the sting of skin absorbing too much heat too quickly. “Jesus—” he exclaimed, and in some sort of mini-funeral, watched the rest of his coffee and cup meet pavement and bacteria. His now free hands whipped the front of his hazelnut-dark-roast-soaked shirt against his skin, trying to get some airflow on the burn, and for a moment he glared at the stranger—then his expression softened. Empathy was a good tool, he tried to remind himself. He also tried to remind himself that he’d been in the same position as her before: knocking someone’s food, coffee, flowers, pride and happiness into the dirty streets of New York and profusely apologizing for it. 

He sighed, shrugged a shoulder and leaned down to retrieve the cup and lid before the wind could carry it away into pollution. “You got Cashapp? Venmo?” Normally he wouldn’t even press for the some four dollars, but he was particularly cranky about this coffee being taken from him. Especially because it was so cold out. “It’s alright, I think I’m allowed to machine wash this. Besides, maybe it’ll be nice smelling coffee all day?” A small attempt to find the good in things.

The glare was the least she could accept from the man. In the area of things that mattered in this moment, his glare was welcomed. If only life cared just as much when she felt that way. Faster than she thought it was gone, for a minute Sloane had thought she had imagined it. “Venmo. I can do Venmo.” Good thing she still had left over cash in her Venmo account, the process would feel less like losing her own money and borrowing someone else’s. Sloane gave a sheepish smile as she pulled her phone out, at least he had a sense of humor. “I would guess that depends more on what you’re going for.” Not that he had asked her opinion in anyway. She was sure he didn’t care. “Coffee doesn’t exactly fit everyone’s style,” adding quickly to not insult the man further, “though it works for you.” Talk about adding insult to injury. Wanting to make less of a fool like the adult she was supposed to be, she reached her phone out towards him, “it’s easier if you just type it yourself.”

Sloane was convinced time had chosen to pick a fight with her today. Time or life, she hadn’t decided which one was holding a grudge but she wasn’t a fan either way. Her own appointment had made her late to see her first patient early in the morning, who had rightfully been cranky. As expected for anyone in pain. Normally, she would be understanding, it was hard not to be, but lack of decent sleep and running on whatever adrenaline she could muster, made sympathy less available. Now, was a well earned break, one that had mostly been spent in traffic, cutting short her ability to run errands. Still, she decided to treat herself; a coffee to get through the day. And maybe it would’ve but she would never know. Not now, not when she had spilled it. On someone else. Life, it was life picking a fight with her. Why wouldn’t it be life when her first non-work social interaction was her making someone else look like a mess. Sloane let a frustrated sigh slip through her lips as she bunched napkins to hand over to the other person. “I’m so sorry, really.” She took a deep breath, “let me repay you, maybe not now but later?” Or never, she would be fine with never too. There just wasn’t enough time today. “Ah or just send me the dry cleaning bill.”