Gas station Coffee

The surrounding darkness thick, rain pouring; the only thing illuminating the scene was the sharp neon lit sign from the old gas station across the parking lot. Nora couldn’t remember why she’d stopped here, and stared at the sign for what seemed like forty minutes or so. The place was empty. Emptier than normal for a Tuesday night. Not like the place was buzzing otherwise, but something definitely felt off. An old forgotten memory of those Sunday mornings where she’d wake up home alone and disoriented. You know, those times when both of your parents’ cars were in the driveway, no note at the kitchen counter, and the whole block seemingly abandoned. When you didn’t quite know if you were asleep or awake. Some people called it derealization, but Nora wasn’t sure. Perhaps she was just exhausted after a long work week.

As she approached the entrance to get a cup of coffee, the gas station looked like it was shrinking. Like that scene from Jaws where the camera seems to zoom in and out at once. She had her gray hood on and probably looked like she was about to rob the place, half running and almost stumbling through the door.

For a place so deserted, there seemed to be an abundance of gas stations. Maybe that’s exactly the type of places where gas stations thrive. She had many fond memories of waking up at the slight bounce of the car as it hit the curb next to the pump. Dad either rushed or half asleep, either way in no condition to drive. She’d never felt safer, though, comfortably watching the starry night from her mobile little home.

Inside, the classic spotless tile floor that’d probably been cleaned with three types of toxic detergents, and far too bright fluorescent lights. If not for the decorative old licence plates on the walls and abundant shelves of energy drinks, the place could’ve auditioned for the role as a hospital.

A young woman sat behind the cash register, her phone strategically placed so it wasn’t obvious she wasn’t working. Nora couldn’t blame her. It was 11:30 at night. She remembered her own night shifts at a local diner a few years ago. Time always seemed to creep slower and slower the closer you got to closing time.

When the young woman looked up from her screen, their eyes locked for a second. Nora recognized her. Not like they knew each other, not like she’d even seen her before. The feeling wasn’t that of Déjà vu.

You know when you’re dreaming and it’s sort of a nightmare but still alluring. Like if you wake up, you have cold sweat, yet you’re eager to fall back asleep because something feels exciting and at the same time right. Nora guessed this was something like that.

Few things suggested that the gas station was from the 21st century. Racks on the walls filled with old magazines, some of them probably from the 80s or 90s. The cash register had seen better days, along with the barstools next to the poorly insulated windows. Although it wasn’t exactly a fine dining experience, Nora’d used to love stopping at these places for a hot dog or nacho plate. Mom muttering something about food safety violations; herself not really bothered by said hazards.

One of the lights flickered above her. The young woman sighed as she slowly dragged herself to the janitor’s closet.

“Let me know if you need something”, she hurriedly said before disappearing behind the door.

Nora nodded.

The rain outside grew more intense. As if it were foreshadowing something. Most of her memories from the past included rain, and although she didn’t seem to recall any support from her family or friends regarding this preference of weather, it’d always been comforting to her.

Inside the gas station, the young woman had paused her attempt to fix the lights, and was instead mopping the floor (seriously, was there some kind of universal gas station policy to constantly have shining floors?). Eyes drained of life as her arms pushed the mop back and forth across the tiles. She was probably finishing everything up while waiting for Nora to buy her damned coffee and leave.

But Nora was stuck.

The gas station began to shrink with herself inside it.

Mesmerized. Minimized.

The coffee machine now cast a glow around it, like a video game where your objective lights up so you know where to go. Her feet replaced by chunks of steel as she heavily turned towards it. The sound of rain transformed into a symphony of horror music. When the second light above her began flickering she almost had a heart attack, her body crumbling beneath the desperately patched-up smothering ceiling. And yet the young woman still seemed eerily preoccupied with her near sparkling tiles.

The diagnosis had changed her. Mom. If the obsessive behavior had been borderline unsustainable, the labeling of it removed all doubts. Dad tried his best because he needed be supportive, but Nora was for the most part just angry. She was a grown woman now with her own place.

No tiles.

Somehow the anger still prevailed over her better understanding, and her memories of loving mom faded by each passing year.

The rain had now turned into a blizzard. Her thoughts the same.

“Coffee”, her lips trembling pathetically as her eyes pleaded to the young woman.

There was no life in her eyes. An empty shell dropped the mop and moved robotically towards the coffee machine. By the push of a button, a thick brown slush poured into the dusty paper cup. As Nora reached out her hand to grab it, the door behind them swung open. The blizzard’s mighty breeze avalanched before their feet and shook the magazines off their racks. In slow motion, Nora watched as her cup fell off the edge of the desk. The brown slush of coffee released tiny drops onto her clothes before landing in an explosion on the no longer sparkling tiles.

Everything was stained.