Chrissy’s cafe

They’re out of raspberry, again. They were out of raspberry last week too. Chrissy is working, so I’ll get over it, but I was really hoping they would have raspberry this week. Coming all the way out here, two buses and a walk, just for coffee is crazy, but worth it if Chrissy is working. The pastries are ok, but she’s the reason I make the trip. She is beautiful, and although that has shallow value to my eyes, her wit and attitude are the draw. She is lovely.

“Mr. J!” She smiles. “How was the trip today?”

“Not bad. It’s nice out this morning.”

“It was chilly this morning when I came in.” She uses each arm to grab the other, and pretends to shake from the cold. “How’s the leg?”

“Not bad today. Walk was fine.”

“Good. I’m still waiting for you to take me dancing.” She lifts her eyebrows up and down, then spins in a pirouette. This. The kindness and playfulness. This is why I come all the way here for a cup of coffee. Chrissy is forty-years-plus my junior, but my interest isn’t romantic, at least not traditionally. I’m not here hoping for a date, just happy to spend my social time with a good person, a kind person.

The coffee and pastries here are cheaper than the place closer to me. Add in the cost of the bus rides and this trip is overall more expensive, but it's a tax on my fixed income I am happy to pay. On top of being an extra adventure, there is no chance I will bump into my roommates here. I am not a fan of my roommates, and they are not a fan of me. It's a mutually exclusive setup. I stick to my room, except when I need to shower or use the bathroom, and they do the same. We have a common living area, but it is generally considered off limits by all of us, which we all seem to prefer.

“Still not ready for dancing. When I am, you’ll be the first to know.” I retort, with my own attempt to be playful. I try the spinning move on my good leg, my real leg, and have moderate success.

“Now we’re talking! You got some moves!” Chrissy beams. “You’re getting better at using that thing!

I am getting better at using this thing. ‘Thing’ in this case is my new ‘leg’. Transfemoral bionic dynamic response full leg prosthetic with the new AI microprocessor knee. A bunch of ten-dollar words to say fancy fake leg. I wore a standard above the knee prosthesis for years, and after my last visit to the VA hospital with sores from the bad fit and over usage, the doc signed me up for a new program. Now I have an AI smart leg, and Brain-link™, the scars of which are still visible on my head, when not covered by my hat.

I lost my leg in the New Great War. Don’t bother getting up to salute me or some shit like that, I am no hero. I was attached to a Marine Detachment assigned to an island full of oil processing equipment as a warehouse clerk, when the warehouse I was in got hit by a drone, and my leg was crushed by warehouse roof supports. That was years and years ago now. Therapy, gait training, harness, and hours of balance work later I can walk. Even more years of cognitive processing therapy and prolonged exposure therapy, and I can walk and not buckle over crying and screaming.

“What can I get for you today?” Chrissy breaks me out of my daydream.

“Same please. Large black dark roast and a...” I look around at the pastries.

Chrissy makes a half frown. “We’re out of raspberry.”

“I see. Cheese then, please.”

“Sure thing, coming right up.”

She leaves and fumbles with cups, lids, coffee maker, and pastry bag. She stages everything in front of their respective needed locations, then starts working down the line. Pen to cup, write on cup, dark roast into cup, lid on cup, cup down and slide to the pastry display case, then cheese pastry in tongs, tongs in bag, pastry in bag. She turns and works the tablet in front of her, then rotates it to face me.

“Thirty five thousand two hundred and fifty dollars.” She jests while smiling. “And tip!”

“Huh, wow.” I say, pretending to be gobsmacked. “I’ll need the big card for this one.” I pull out my wallet and scan my bank card, as I think to myself thirty five dollars for coffee. And tip. I select my options and pick 30% for the tip.

Chrissy gleams and spins the tablet back to face her. She finished processing the transaction, then handed me my coffee cup, labeled ‘Handsome’, and my pastry. I squint and pretend it is hard to read, and look over to her to say “What’s it say?” in my best old man voice.

She smiles, and goes back to cleaning the area around the register. I take my goods and head over to my favorite table, pushed right up against the window next to the door, so I can watch people while I enjoy my coffee and Danish. My life has been pretty simple since I have been on disability, and this is absolutely the highlight of my week.

My coffee is hot, so I start by sipping, the fluid bringing to life my taste buds, throat, and brain. As my mind and soul begin to engage, I reach for my phone and start browsing feeds. I click on a video with a weather update, and a blaring commercial about fast food starts playing at maximum volume for the entire coffee shop to hear, as I fumble to turn the volume down. I have been around technology for my entire life, but it still somehow manages to find new and fun ways to make me feel as old as I am, or at least look.

That episode passed, with everyone back to their silent, necks-bent-over-studying, minds on their own devices. I got back to seeing what the weather was going to be like today. It doesn’t matter, after this I am taking two buses back home, then sitting in my room, and likely looking at this damn thing until I decide to go to bed. After the weather a story about another coral bleaching event comes up, and I get buried reading about the extensive heat causing the corals to expel their colorful algae and breaking up the symbiotic relationship. As I am reading, a notification pops up on my phone about an update to my leg and Brain-link™. I select it, impatiently finger the notification button, and end up starting the update without my consent or desire.

“Shit.”

I look around, hoping no one can see the mistake I made, and see that no one, in fact, cares at all. Why would they? It makes no sounds and does not affect them in any way. I watch as my phone screen switches to the management app, and an unfilled bar and percentage takes over the entire screen. It moves slow at first, then finishes quickly, exiting the update screen and returning to the management app. I feel a tingle in my head, but figure it must be psychosomatic, as I feel that most of the time these updates occur. The management app instructs me to get up and do some basic leg movements. I comply, looking around hoping no one is watching as I stretch and move. They aren’t. I complete the tasks and click the appropriate buttons, and finish the update.

I sit and return to my coffee, cup in one hand heading for my lips, phone in the other, thumb kicking up my feeds again. The coffee hits my lips and tongue, and I pull back hard, my eyes searching to find the words on the cup. Was it my cup? I see ‘Handsome’ on the side. It was my cup, the one Chrissy handed me. What the hell was that? I sip again, catch the vanilla macadamia hints again, and put the coffee down while exhaling hard. It certainly was not a dark roast.

“Augh.” I mumble as I pick up the cup, and again inspect for the term of endearment, only to find it a second time and put the cup back on the table. With a grimace on my face, I reach for my pastry bag, pull out the cheese Danish, and dig in with a large mouthful.

“Oh damn.” I think, surprised, as I get a mouthful of raspberry Danish. I look around for Chrissy, hoping to make eye contact and lift the pastry in a sign of thanks, both enjoying the preferred flavor and the thoughts behind the surprise. I do not see her, and bring the pastry down to my eye level, and see clear as day that it is in fact cheese.

“Huh.” I reach for my coffee again, without thinking, and slurp another warm gulp, overwhelmed by the vanilla sensation. I don’t mind vanilla, not even the fake vanilla flavor my mouth is now entirely entranced by, but this was just too much. Another fun play by Chrissy? This is way outside of her normal, cute, customer care. This was odd and strange. Is this why she wasn’t behind the counter? Was she making fun of me?

I bite the Danish again, now hoping to wash away the flavored coffee, and am met with an overwhelming raspberry flavor, or maybe it was blueberry? My brain flexed hard as it tried to land on the sensation. It wasn’t a berry, it was something else. Something powerful tasting. A poison maybe? Some cleaning detergent that ended up on this pastry or in the bag? Do poisons taste good? I have been coming here for years now, and I don’t recall that ever happening before. Curious, I reached my teeth out for another bite. I grab some pastry and filling with my incisors, and chew carefully.

There it was again, that delicious, intense flavor. My brain raced to match it to something I knew, some previous experience and failed hard. It was berry, but not berry. I focused hard as I chewed, trying to relax my mind while my jaw and salivary glands crunched down and fired hard, almost painfully sending signals to my brain that I just couldn't process fast enough. Nothing in the process suggested I should spit the food out, but every moment that passed my brain locked on to the signaling even further. It wasn’t berry, it was... blue. The color blue. How the hell could I taste the color blue? That isn’t how that works at all. My brain ached with curiosity. There was no pain, no urgent need to seek help or shelter, just an overwhelming curiosity, like the first time you tasted chocolate or orange juice or a sharp cheese.

Intrigued, and only mildly afraid, I reached with my mouth and took an enormous bite. My jaw clenched, my mouth watered, and I tasted it again. Blue. Fucking blue. The color blue. My pastry was filled with blue. I looked around, studying the people in the café, my eyes searching for someone, anyone to be experiencing the same thing so we could share eye contact and a friendly head nod, to confirm that they too were enjoying their blue and were also happy to see me enjoying mine.

No one was enjoying their blue. They were studying their devices, blind to any type of new, glorious tastes, blue included. I shift my search for Chrissy again, hoping to make eye contact and initiate a chat about her new pastries, and to ask how the hell she got the color blue as an ingredient for her filling.

My overwhelmed, excited brain finally comes to reason, and suggests to itself gently, “Blue isn’t a fucking flavor, it is a color.” I put the pastry down and stare at it, it's filling clearly cheese and not blue, and ponder what exactly I am experiencing as a small amount of panic starts to build. I use my tongue to clean and pick the pastry out from between my teeth, each time being taken over by the compelling taste. Mouthwatering, taste-bud shocking, blue. My panic increases, and I can feel my heart starting to flutter in my chest. I am breathing heavier, and my mouth is starting to dry. I reach for my coffee, forgetting my very recent experiences with it, and take another slurp.

Vanilla, again. Or maybe not vanilla. My brain racks again, hard, painful. I struggle to process it, but come to terms that it is not vanilla, but white. Blue pastry and white coffee. The panic is now a full attack. My breathing is hard, and my chest is full of pressure. My mouth, now sending signals of both powerful blue and white flavors is my only, and primary thought. The stress from the signaling makes my brain hurt. Pressure builds until I stand up quickly, now looking around for anything, anyone to see and help. I try to speak, try to ask for help, but my voice will not work. I sit and try to look around, try to think. I feel my phone in my hand and look at it, before my mind is pulled away. My mouth, absolutely filled with saliva, and remnants of blue and white, shudders, the muscle starting to lock and unlock, like a toy with a trick mechanism. The blue and white taste, now powerful, painful, is making every nerve in my head fire. The headache is now all I can see and hear. The signal in my ears is a ringing, a sharp obscure noise. My heart is racing now, like I had been running all morning to get here, mouth still full of blue and white, and now my ears, firing the same sense, are hearing red.

The thumping sensation, now coming from my chest and my head, out-of-sync and matching a drumbeat, has replaced all of my thoughts as I try to stand, putting weight on my real and fake leg, as the prosthetic gives out and I fall to the ground. I grab my chest, now pounding in purple, as my eyes scan the room. I see Chrissy, from the corner of my eye, leaving the restroom in the back of the café. She doesn’t see me on the floor, she doesn’t notice. She is engaging with a customer at the back table.

I reach out, trying to will her to see me, to help as I am overtaken by black. My vision, hearing, touch, and even taste. Black is all I can process now.

I feel a sharp pain in my head. The black fades to emptiness, void of all feeling. My phone falls from my hand, the screen showing a new notification.

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