#vignet

The cafe door swings open to ring an old fashioned bell, and the smell of a thousand spices, seasonings, and herbs pleasantly invades our noses. The walls are lined with shelves cradling all manner of nicknacks and doodads. Little mechanical contraptions, strange figurines and statues, and a number of books written in languages none of us recognize. Half the tables don’t have any chairs, just cushions of various sizes. The counter is taller than all of us, and I can never help but feel like a child again anytime I walk up to order something to go.

We’re seating together at a table this time around. There’s a new crossword puzzle placed there for us and we pass it around while we wait for the server to come out. We expect a familiar face, but instead a new hire comes out looking nervous. He might be nervous. It’s a little hard to tell sometimes with their eyes and long jaws. He asks in a very careful and practiced way what we’ll be having and we all order something different. Black with a bit of almond milk, decaf with nothing added, and of course my sugar saturated concoction. The scales around our waiter’s brow raise at my order and he scribbles it down in his notepad, then asks me to repeat it so that he can be sure he got it right.

I watch him walk away, his talons clacking noisily against the floor and his tale tensely stiff. My friends make fun of me over my drink again and wonder if the new guy will get it right. I’m not worried about that. I’m honestly pretty determined to ease his worries when he comes back. Regardless if my coffee is up to the usual standard, I’m gonna tell him it was delicious.

No one else comes through the door as we wait. We watch people pass by the window, oblivious to the little place just out of the corner of their eye. My friends and I were once like that, then one day I tripped on the sidewalk and had to lean against the door to fix my shoe. Whether it was by chance or by invitation, the door opened and sent me stumbling inside. Fear would have been the expected reaction to seeing a dragon for the first time, but the kindly creature was quick to offer a helping claw and a warm mug before I could even register what I was seeing.

From that day on, when I passed by that same spot I tripped, I took care to look at the little shops on the road. Some days it would be there, other days it wouldn’t. I always went in when it was, just to remind myself it wasn’t a dream. Soon I brought my friends along, and then the barista started calling us “regulars.” She offered to let us borrow books, talked about the contraptions she’d collected, explained how to brew the perfect cup of tea. She never told me why the cafe was here, or there, or anywhere really.

The new server came back with our drinks, placing them down in front of us while reciting what we’d ordered. He got mine right without stumbling on a single word. We thanked him and took the first sip, while he watched with apprehension. I didn’t need to fudge the truth when I told him it was perfect. That was all the confidence boost he needed, and he happily bowed to us, asking us to call for him if we needed anything else.

An elderly man stepped into the cafe, his cane rapping against the floor drawing our attention. He wore a dark coat and a flat cap, and didn’t even glance up as the barista trudged in and looked down over the counter at him. She nodded, then quickly got to work on an order the man hadn’t even given. He turned to look at us, smirking and redoubling the wrinkles on his ancient face. I might have recognized him from somewhere, he had that kind of face that looked like he might have been important at some point. Like an actor who still had that chiseled look, but had been worn down by the waves of time.

The barista brought his order over, smiling at him as he pulled something out of his pocket, a small little gizmo like the ones on the shelves. She graciously took it, taking time to examine it before thanking him. He nodded and approached our table with his steaming paper cup, passing us and reaching to the shelves to pull down a book. He winked and asked if we’d written anything recently. I couldn’t help but be surprised that he knew about that. He bowed his head, as if our slightly startled expressions were all the answer he needed.

“I look forward to seeing your work on these shelves.”