《A Love of Humanity》
Chapter I - Josie is fine.
Take a left, then another left. Take the next right after you see three cracked concrete slabs in a row. The cracks form the shape of a crucifix. Follow the road until you see the flickering neon sign, then take the next left. Look for the blue door with the symbol of an hourglass on it. Knock three times.
I check over the directions again, hoping they¡¯ll change to a normal address. Are these even correct? Gosh, my handwriting is awful. I suppose the stereotype of doctors is true - either that or I was just in a rush. My watch shows the same slow moving hands pointing at the same numbers as the last fourteen times I¡¯ve checked it. Stop checking the time. I pull my sleeve down over the watch while also covering up that awful mistake. I thought ¡°Wherever the art of Medicine is loved, there is also a love of Humanity¡± tattooed circling my wrist was a golden idea at the time. It is so different to anything girls my age get - when in reality it¡¯s not what you get at a dodgy unsanctioned tattoo parlour in Ibiza that you regret but getting the tattoo in the first place.
¡°Where shall I pull up darlin¡¯?¡± My taxi driver snaps me out of my spiralling thought.
¡°Anywhere here is fine, cheers.¡± I point to the left. My driver pulls up, fiddles with his sticky handbrake a few times before pressing a seemingly arbitrary sequence into his taximeter.
¡°¡ê14.50 please darlin¡¯.¡± I pull out a ¡ê10 and ¡ê5 note and hand it over.
¡°Keep the change.¡± I regrettably say clambering out of the taxi.
The London smog mixed with an overcast sky weirdly feels fitting. Tinges of grey clouds reflecting off of greyer glass buildings is adding to my nervousness. It¡¯s odd, I recognised so many streets as we drove, but I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve been to this area of Greenwich before. Actually, it''s the sky that''s greyer. Take a left. A left of the building I was dropped to takes me down a narrow alleyway of ripped bin bags and strange machinery attached to the walls spewing smoke. I can see a left turn approaching. Take another left. I look back down the alley.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Hey Kels, just walking to my interview now and it''s super dodgy so going to send you my location in case I get murdered lol.
Send. I pop my phone back in my pocket and with a new lung-full of smoky air, I take another left. A similar sight to the last alley, rubbish strewn across the floor and more boarded up windows than glass ones. It hasn¡¯t rained for a few days, yet the drains hanging off the roofs seem to be perpetually dripping. Take the next right after you see three cracked concrete slabs in a row. Shit, I¡¯ve not been checking. A quick glance back at the intact slabs confirms I haven¡¯t missed it, so I continue on scanning the floor like a human metal detector. I come across three cracks not long after and contort my head to look for the crucifix shape. Twenty yards ahead I see a right turn. Eh, I guess it does look a bit like a crucifix.
The road continues down as I pass neon sign after neon sign in perfect working order. This street seems to be some hidden back alley spot of creepy bars and God-knows what else. A classy flickering red neon sign that reads ¡®XXX¡¯ tells me I¡¯m in the right spot. Then take the next left. Look out for the blue door with the symbol of an hourglass on it. The left turning takes me down an impossibly tight alley. The builders must have made a mistake and left off 6ft in the making because there is no way this lane is deliberate. Yet there are doors here, even though it doesn¡¯t seem like they can open fully. My focus is partially on these doors and partially on trying not to twist my ankle walking along the most uneven path I¡¯ve ever encountered.
There it is. A blue door, and a little white hourglass symbol on the top left corner. No sign, no windows. Odd. I check my watch. 3:59pm. Knock three times. Deep breath. I hold my fist up at the door¡ Wait, does knock three times mean knock three individual times or knock normally three separate times? Three loud thumps are bizarre and can easily be missed but knocking normally three times might make them seem like I¡¯m the police or something. I check my watch again. 4:02pm. Shit.
¡°You must be Josephine.¡± I¡¯m snapped out of another spiral by a warm smile of a middle aged woman standing at the now open blue door. I jerk my arm back down.
¡°Hi! Yes, no, hello uh¡ Sorry.¡± A sheepish chuckle escapes me. She continues to smile that disarming smile and raises her greying eyebrows at me with a subtle shake of the head. ¡°Oh! Yes, sorry, I am Josephine yes. But please, Josie is fine.¡±.
¡°Come in, love.¡±.
Chapter II - A few parched minutes.
The owner, Mae, sits opposite me maintaining her smile. Her skin looks youthful and untouched by the stress of living the fifty-odd years she has. Prominent crow¡¯s feet ensure I¡¯m not the first person to be on the receiving end of this endearing face. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun and it¡¯s hard to tell her original hair colour. She has embraced the grey well, has aged gracefully and has some to spare because she exudes it.
¡°Any trouble with the directions?¡± She asks as she grasps a wonky mug of coffee in both hands.
¡°No no, they were perfect in fact.¡± A small shiver travels up my spine watching her sip her steaming coffee. She finishes her sip and places the mug carefully on the table.
¡°You should know, I was really impressed with your phone interview. What was it, three years experience?¡±.
¡°Close! Four years as a barista, yeah,¡± In eight different cafes, ¡°I worked while I studied.¡±.
¡°Ah lovely, what were you studying?¡± She leans forward and clasps the mug again.
¡°Medicine. Healing is somewhat of a family business.¡±.
¡°Your parents own their own practice?¡± Her tone changes from kind to impressed. I wish they did. I¡¯d be working for them instead of interviewing for the only place that would actually hire me.
¡°Oh no, they¡¯re both doctors, but they just work at the Royal London.¡±.
¡°I see. So, is it a love for the profession, or are you following in your parents footsteps?¡± She nurses the coffee.
¡°Both. It¡¯s a love for helping people and I help my parents by following in their footsteps. All that¡¯s left to do now is actually become a doctor.¡± My lips feel dry watching her finish off her coffee. I think she just saw me lick my lips.
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¡°I¡¯m so sorry love how rude of me, would you like anything to drink?¡± She asks, already on her feet heading towards the bar. A coffee would be brilliant right now. I¡¯d even take it in a wonky mug.
¡°It¡¯s ok! Water is fine, thanks.¡± Never mind. Coffee and my 50p change can both go in the ¡®Socially awkward losses¡¯ chart for today.
The artificially lit coffee shop sitting area is a menagerie of mismatched furniture. Each table has two to four chairs, and each chair looks different from each other. Behind the bar, a large menu hangs on the wall, and an outline of a smaller sign that¡¯s recently been taken down. The rest of the brick walls are blank, devoid of decoration. Mae places a glass of water down in front of me. I thank her, and painfully wait a few parched minutes before taking a sip so I don¡¯t make her feel bad.
¡°Well Josie, I¡¯ve been pleased with everything and would like to offer you the job. However, before I do there is something you must know about the¡ customers we serve here.¡± She shifts in her seat. Her knuckles go white from gripping her empty mug.
¡°Oh, if this place is a weird sex caf¨¦ or something I¡¯m sorry but I¡¯d rather not-¡±
¡°What? No gosh no. Listen, what I¡¯m about to tell you will sound farfetched. You probably won¡¯t believe me, and that¡¯s ok. We serve time travellers. Exclusively. Now, if you believe me or not shouldn¡¯t have influence over your decision, because you¡¯re being hired to provide good service to our customers ¨C regardless of when they¡¯re from. So, with all of that in mind, the job is yours if you want it.¡±.
I flicker a smile before it turns to confusion. Is this a joke? Mae¡¯s just smiling at me of course, it¡¯s impossible to read her. My eyelids dance as I shake my head trying to conjure up a response. My lips begin forming sounds before my brain can piece them together into an answer. This has to be a joke, a caf¨¦ in the back alley of all back alleys with no signs, windows, or decorations. She must be ill. There is no barista job, she just needs company serving her weird customers. If I wasn¡¯t unbelievably desperate for a job, I wouldn¡¯t even be considering it. I take a gulp of my water and clock Mae¡¯s eyes glance at my tattoo that¡¯s snuck out from under my sleeve.
¡°I accept. I¡¯ll take the job.¡± I slam the glass down harder than intended and yank my sleeve so hard I almost rip the stitching. After recovering from the startle, her default state of smiling returns.
¡°Brilliant news! Can you start tomorrow morning?¡±.
Chapter III - 62nd Minute.
My first few days have been uneventful and I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m disappointed or relieved. After Mae told me about the whole ¡®our customers are time travellers¡¯ situation I expected more of an interesting experience. I thought I¡¯d get the chance to speak with some intriguing people about when they¡¯re from ¨C not that I believe it any more than I did when I took the job. All of the customers wear modern clothes too which surprises me as I had envisioned a little caveman in a leopard print tunic coming up to the counter and grunting ¡®Pum¡kin¡ la¡tey¡¯.
Still, Mae insists every single one of them can time travel. Something that would be easy to confirm if not for the 3 rules I learnt on my first shift:
- ASKING A CUSTOMER WHEN THEY¡¯RE FROM IS FORBIDDEN.
- ASKING A CUSTOMER WHAT HAPPENS IN THE FUTURE IS FORBIDDEN.
- ASKING A CUSTOMER HOW THEY TIME TRAVEL IS FORBIDDEN.
These three convenient rules keep me sceptical. Regardless, Mae seems to be happy with my work. I show up on time, I¡¯m kind to the patrons and I make a very good cappuccino.
My first Saturday shift starts in a few minutes. Generic breakfast radio faintly peeks over the clinking of glasses as Mae polishes them. When I asked her why we have a radio and not a TV, she seemed pleased that I had noticed and told me that ¡®The radio keeps the travellers grounded in the year they¡¯ve travelled to.¡¯. She seemed less pleased after I asked her if she¡¯d ever put a 1950¡¯s playlist on to mess with them. Still, I don¡¯t know what to expect from a Saturday. Will it be busy? I didn¡¯t expect to see any customers at all on my first shift given the sequestered nature of the caf¨¦, but they proved me wrong. We have barely any repeat customers either and when we do, they¡¯re all elderly and Mae tends to them. So, I¡¯m trying to unlearn my Saturday expectations and go in blind.
¡
Busy. I have re-learned all I foolishly unlearned. I don¡¯t even know how far into my shift I am because there are no clocks in here and I haven¡¯t had a moment to check my watch. I empty the coffee machine, turn, and smile to the man at the counter.
¡°Good¡¡± My eyes go wide.
¡°Afternoon?¡± He replies with a laugh.
¡°Good afternoon! Sorry, it¡¯s been a bit of a busy one. What can I get for you today?¡± I dart my eyes at Mae to see if she heard that. She¡¯s entertaining one of our repeat customers. Phew, got away with it.
¡°It¡¯s quite alright, just a black coffee please. Modern.¡± Modern. We have an assortment of tins behind the bar, each labelled with centuries: 1600¡¯s, 1700¡¯s, 1800¡¯s, 1900¡¯s and Modern. Identical looking coffee beans in all of them. So, unlike most caf¨¦¡¯s, we don¡¯t ask if they want cream, or if they would like some oat milk ¨C we ask what century of coffee they would like. I whip him up a wonky mug of coffee and deposit the cash in the register. He turns to walk before looking back and points to the radio. ¡°Would you mind if I request a radio station?¡±
¡°Not at all, what frequency?¡± I saw Mae do this for a regular on Wednesday so she can¡¯t tell me off for doing it.
¡°103.4 please. It should come up ¡®SportLive¡¯.¡± He shouts to me as I fiddle with the knobs.
¡°Safe to assume you¡¯re a sports fan then?¡± I ask, giving myself time to figure out how to change frequencies.
¡°Football fan. Making it my mission to go and see all of the major games. I¡¯ve seen 19 world cup finals y¡¯know. After I finish with them, on to the Champions League!¡± This radio is ancient, how on earth does it work. Ah ha! Crushing the knob in as hard as I can and twisting it turns the frequency dial and I rest it on 103.4.
¡°Is that alright for you?¡± I ask nursing my aching hand. He turns his head to listen intently to the innocuous chatter. His eyebrows jump up in excitement.
¡°Ah, Spurs v Arsenal. Hell of a game this one. Thanks.¡± As if he knows what happens. As if anyone here actually knows anything that¡¯s going to happen. None of them are time travellers. It¡¯s impossible. I take another look at Mae. She¡¯s still chatting away to the elderly and, more importantly, out of ear shot. Screw it. I wave my hand to get his attention.
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¡°Excuse me! Sorry, before you sit down,¡± I lean in over the counter and shift my eyes back and forth. He understands my change of tone and leans in to listen, a mischievous smile growing on his face. ¡°If this really is a hell of a game as you put it ¨C what happens then?¡±
He jolts his head to Mae, then back to me, then up at the sign above my head where the 3 rules hang that was missing the day of my interview and then back to me.
¡°Spurs go 2 nil up, but Arsenal claw one back. Then in the 62nd minute, a Spurs defender gets a straight red and Arsenal end up coming back in the dying minutes winning it 3-2. This win for them was crucial as they end up beating Spurs to the top of the league by 2 points.¡± With another glance back at Mae, he puts his finger to his lips, smiles and sits at his table. Sure. In his defence, all of that sounds plausible. It also sounds easy to make up on the spot, which is what he just did.
I continue serving the never-ending array of customers filtering in and out and notice myself paying a bit more attention to the radio than normal. Not that I would ever admit it, but I suppose a small part of my wants to believe him. I start pouring an 1800¡¯s coffee for a lady when the commentator says ¡®He¡¯s onside and 1 on 1 with the keeper¡and he slots it into the back of the net. 1 nil to Spurs.¡¯. In my trance of paying more attention to the radio than my job, I pour quite a lot of the coffee on the counter next to the mug, before correcting and filling it up halfway.
¡°I¡¯m so sorry. I¡¯ll whip you up a fresh one.¡± I apologise, wiping the boiling hot coffee up with a thin tea towel. The lady looks over my shoulder at the half mug of coffee.
¡°No need. I never finish it anyway, so a half-mug suits me better.¡± She says with a sympathetic smile. I refund her for her kindness.
Listening to a silly football game isn¡¯t worth a semi-burnt hand and a free coffee, so I tune the radio out and continue working. I serve another two dozen customers, finally getting to the end of the rush. During the downtime, I wander around the floor clearing tables and making small talk to the patrons. My eye is caught by the football fan¡¯s hand waving, and he asks for a refill. Waiting for the coffee to brew I tune my ears back in to the radio to hear the referee blow his whistle for half time.
¡®¡and there we have it, 45 minutes down and Spurs lead the game 2-1.¡¯
Okay, a smart prediction so far, nothing more. I¡¯m not going to believe in time travel just because he predicted a half-time score because that makes every pundit and gambler time travellers too. I shouldn¡¯t even be focusing on this. Mae has been kind to me, this job has been kind to me, and I can¡¯t risk messing it up by diving into rabbit holes. Time travel is not real.
As the day goes on, more customers filter out than in and I get back into a normal working rhythm. I get the chance to check my watch to find out its already 4:15pm. Just over an hour to go, unless Mae asks me to stay behind to help clean ¨C which I will regrettably and undoubtedly agree to do. I restock the mini fridge underneath the bar with unlabelled bottles of water, fizzy soft drinks, and juices. Mae tells me the juices are from the present because the fruits are juicier, water is from the far past before pollution and the fizzy soft drinks are from the future because-
¡®¡ed card for Sp¡¡¯ .
I whack my head on the underside of the bar. I give the bar a wide berth at my second attempt standing up and lean towards the radio.
¡®¡and with just under half an hour to go, how will this affect Spurs¡¯ chances at keeping the lead. Looking at the replay of the tackle, it¡¯s a clear red card. Now, Arsenal make some attacking changes, hoping to use the next 28 minutes to pressure their opponents.¡¯.
I don¡¯t move. The radio sounds like gibberish. Whispered conversations from the shop floor boom in my ears. It cannot be true. This is just another prediction, people bet on red cards in games all the time. But this accurately? With the precision he¡¯s gotten everything right, even down to the minute? I know what this is, it has to be a repeat or something. I railroad toward Mae and interrupt her conversation.
¡°I¡¯m just popping to the loo.¡± Mae gives me a quick nod and I dart away. I fiddle with the rusted latch and lock the door and bring up the ¡®SportLive¡¯ website on my phone. My thumb ¨C no, my whole hand is shaking as I hover over the ¡®Live.¡¯ Tab. I press it. A list of abbreviated football team names appears in a list, so I tap on the ¡®ARS¡¯ assuming that¡¯s Arsenal. Scrolling down shows me written highlights minute by minute.
¡®62nd minute. Spurs are down to 10 men! He went flying in with a reckless tackle and has been shown a straight red card. Spurs 2 ¨C 1 Arsenal.¡¯
Oh my god. I place my phone back in my pocket, easily unlatch the lock and stumble back out on to the shop floor. All of the customers look the same but different. The aura they give off is intense. They all clearly know so much more than I can even imagine. They¡¯ve seen sights historians spend decades researching. Yet here they all are, casually sitting here sipping caffeinated beverages¡ that I made for them.
For the first time since I started, a genuine smile creeps across my face. These people are all time travellers.
Chapter IV - Purposefully placed scars.
*Knock. Knock. Knock. *
I¡¯m patient, knowing she isn¡¯t expecting me yet. I¡¯ve barely slept the past two nights, but the excitement keeps my body ticking over. 5:53am was when I decided that sleep had evaded me once again, and so the sun and I both rolled out of bed. We made our way across London, the sun spreading more warmth and joy in one morning than I might ever in my lifetime. Now, its rays¡¯ peek around the glass towers of the city to reach this tiny alley and shine perfectly on the bags under my eyes. Beyond the blue door I hear the locks being methodically unlocked.
¡°Josie? You know you don¡¯t start for another hour and a half, yes?¡± Mae pokes her head out of the door and checks both ends of the alley.
¡°I know, I just thought you might need extra help? Monday mornings¡y¡¯know?¡± My last few words are stifled by a yawn. Mae stares at me. Why do I even bother trying to lie to her. Deflated, I tell her the truth. ¡°I didn¡¯t really sleep well, or at all, last night. Or the night before. Not really sure what to do with this early of a morning, so I thought maybe a coffee would help me.¡±
Mae¡¯s eyes soften and her trademark smile appears. ¡°Modern?¡± A small laugh escapes me.
¡°Sounds perfect.¡±.
¡
Mae refuses my help until my shift starts. She tried threatening me with no pay for working outside my shift times, but I didn¡¯t mind. When I tried going behind the bar to help her restock, she wailed and waved her arms at me. So now, I¡¯m banished to sit, relax, and drink my modern coffee. It¡¯s actually quite sweet and a welcome change of parental pace. Whenever I¡¯m even slightly unwell and my parents find out, I¡¯m pulled aside, interrogated for my symptoms, charged with any number of illnesses, and placed under house arrest until I recover. Mae has done what I never knew I wanted ¨C she¡¯s cared for me as child and not as a patient. I wonder if Mae has kids.
The imposed respite has refreshed my mind. My body is still struggling from the lack of rest but my suggestion of a makeshift bed in the walk in fridge was denied, so I will have to power through. We open in 5 minutes and I¡¯m nervous, more nervous than I was for my interview. The rational and emotional sides of my brain are wrestling ¨C In the red corner; rationality. Featherweight contender of knowing I have been serving time travellers for a whole week with no problems. In the blue corner; Emotion. Super Heavyweight champion of imagining serving actual time travellers. What if I upset one of them, and they go back and stop me from getting this job? Or even worse, being born? It¡¯s a brutal one-sided match and I don¡¯t want to watch it anymore.
Fifteen minutes after we open, the first customer walks in. A man, mid-thirties with black curly hair. His nose is hooked, and his lips are plump. He has a body shape and muscular build unlike I¡¯ve ever seen ¨C built for rugged war if I had to guess. The clothes he has on do not suit him, but I don¡¯t think any modern clothes would. As soon as he approaches to order, I thankfully go into autopilot and manage to serve him without upsetting him.
The day progresses nicely without any major issues, apart from running out of Modern coffee beans. The featherweight contender is actually putting up a fight. Mae has been pretty preoccupied today dealing with an old lady I see in here all the time. An older gentleman walks in and up to the counter. He has a long grey scraggly beard that connects to his hair, which wraps around the sides of the head leaving the top bald.
¡°Could I please just have a glass of water?¡± He asks in an unfamiliar accent.
¡°Of course!¡± That look and that accent is killing me, where is he from? More importantly, when is he from? I guide the glass across the bar, ¡°500BC?¡±.
¡°Sorry, say again?¡± His eyes flash to Mae. He heard me.
¡°I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re from 500BC. Greece?¡± I raise my eyebrows at him. I haven¡¯t let go of the glass of water. He inflates his chest and releases a deep sigh while re-reading the sign above me.
¡°I- You know we mustn¡¯t discuss information of this kind.¡± My hand releases the glass. He takes it but doesn¡¯t move. His brain is shovelling coal faster than it can burn it. If smoke could physically plume from his ears, it would. ¡°Incorrect. Correct.¡±
¡°Incorrect? Oh. OH. 400BC? 600BC? But I got Greece right, right?¡± My heart is trying to burst out of my chest. We share mischievous smile.
¡°Correct. Incorrect. Correct.¡± My brain retraces the question I asked.
¡°Woah. So, wait, do you know Hippocrates!?¡± I say a little too loud.
¡°You meet a man from Greece, or - Ancient Greece to you, and automatically assume he is friendly with Hippocrates?¡± He raises an eyebrow at me and maintains it before he surprises me with a quiet chuckle. ¡°I joke. As a matter of fact, I do know him.¡± The featherweight contender has been pinned; the Super heavyweight champion holds the belt still.
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¡°Would you please mind telling me what he was¡ or is, like?¡± Every one of my toes are wiggling in excitement.
¡°An amazing man. The presence he commands by simply speaking is unlike anything I had ever seen, and still unlike anything I have yet to see. A true shame that it is I who can travel and not he, as the theories he would be able to conjure with your modern medicine would be groundbreaking. I could see the impact he would have on the world long before I could travel. I do miss his camaraderie.¡± He speaks with a nostalgic, glassy look in his eyes. Strange. He can travel and see him whenever he wants.
¡°Is everything alright? If I¡¯ve brought up some bad memories, I¡¯m really sorry, we can forget I asked!¡±.
¡°Not at all, in fact I¡¯m grateful for the chance to pause and reminisce. However, I must confess that I have not spoken to him for longer than I would like to admit. Knowing his legacy; I both worry that I could interfere with his future findings, and revere him to the point that I cannot build the courage to speak to him.¡± He stares downward. A single drop of salty water falls from his face into his full glass of ancient spring water.
¡°Hey,¡± A quick glance confirms Mae isn¡¯t looking and I place my hand on his shoulder, ¡°Yes, he¡¯s an influential figure in medicine. Yes, he has a people quoting him to this day. But he¡¯s also just a man. A man who threw tantrums as a child, had an awkward teenage phase ¨C if that¡¯s a thing in Ancient Greece ¨C and who has also made mistakes. He has plenty of followers, fans, and fanatics. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d appreciate a friend.¡±.
His drying eyes look up at me as he exhales all worry from his body and inhales confidence. Standing tall, broad shouldered and smiling he gives me a quick nod and slides the glass of water back to my side of the counter. Sparing another brief look towards Mae ¨C she¡¯s finishing up with the old woman ¨C he mouths a happy ¡®thank you¡¯ and exits the caf¨¦ with surprising pace for a man his age.
¡
My shift is coming to an end and for the first time since working here ¨C or anywhere ¨C I¡¯m sad about that. I¡¯ve met fascinating people. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever forget, though, that I got to pet an authentic ancient Egyptian cat. Her owner, a gorgeous woman that had short black hair, smooth tan skin and glossy onyx coloured eyes, seemed to love how much I loved her cat. She¡¯s probably the customer I spoke to the least about time travel, we exclusively talked about her cat. This means that either ¨C the cat can also time travel or she can take animals whenever she time travels. How she, and everyone else, time travels is still something I have no theories on. It¡¯s the question they won¡¯t answer.
Both rule 2 and 3 have been air-tight concrete dams. Nobody wants to share how they time travel, at least not with me, and finding someone from the future to break rule 2 with is difficult. Many of the customers I¡¯ve spoken with today have been welcoming questions about their childhood. As soon as I move on to the future, they refuse to tell me about it. I need a person who was born in the future, who had their childhood in the future.
Since I took the leap of breaking rule 1 though, I¡¯ve not served a customer who wasn¡¯t delighted I did. Mae has been equally delighted with the service I¡¯ve been giving, commenting on how happy the customers look. Every element of rule-breaking excited them; the whispering, the exchange of forbidden information, being able to talk about themselves and the unspoken looks we exchanged when Mae walks by. It makes sense that they enjoy rule-breaking considering they break all known laws of physics just by sitting here in this caf¨¦.
The end of day rush returns normality to the job though, as a line of 5 people form at the counter. I try to control my body as best I can, fighting against the cocktail of sleep deprivation mixed with caffeine overload. Still, through sheer muscle memory, I serve most of the line. The final customer saunters up to the counter. I instantly feel uneasy, and I can hear a low, almost imperceptible droning noise. He has piercing blue eyes, a chiselled jaw, and a bizarre clothing style. A sleeveless satin jacket with a high collar is an unusual combination, to put it nicely. The strangest of all though are what seem to be purposefully placed scars in a line across his arms, face, neck, and just about any skin on show.
¡°I¡¯ll just get a Pepsi please, nufin¡¯ else.¡± He says.
¡°Of course.¡± I bend to the mini fridge, pull out a Pepsi and do a brief scan of the caf¨¦ on my way back up in search of Mae. Coast is clear. I place the can on the counter, and has he reaches to grab it I playfully slide it towards me, ¡°When are you from?¡±.
¡°Y¡¯know I can¡¯t tell ya tha¡¯.¡± He answers with a chuckle, looks around the caf¨¦ and inches closer. I lean in. ¡°Like I said, I can¡¯t tell ya. But, ain¡¯t nufin up dere that says I can¡¯t show ya.¡±.
He presses on either side of his little fingertip, and the scars begin to move. The top half of his finger separates mechanically revealing intricate blue glowing machinery. They¡¯re not scars at all; they are the seams to body augmentation. From his finger, a thin rectangle smaller than a fingernail ejects and he catches it. While his finger re-assembles autonomously, he brings the rectangle up to the side of his head where a tiny slit accepts it. I close my mouth after realising it¡¯s been on the floor this entire time.
A string of blue light projects from his eye and stops mid-air. The line opens to for corners and turns into a projected screen that¡¯s playing a video. He turns his head to right and tells me to look. I turn mine left and, with us both now facing the same way, we watch videos of what I assume to be future London. They¡¯re not just videos, but memories. Memories that haven¡¯t even happened yet. Barely any sky remains after plenty of new skyscrapers have sprouted. Floating advertisements fiercely flicker strong hues on the streets below as he plays with other children, 40ft under a flying car motorway. One of the children taps his heels together, turning his lower half purple before running up a wall to ¨C
¡°Josie!¡± I whip around, whacking the can of Pepsi over the counter, to see Mae towering over me.
Chapter V - Together.
¡°What on earth do you think you¡¯re doing? Why are you letting him show you this, do you have any idea how reckless this is?¡± Mae asks incredulously. I¡¯ve never seen her this angry before ¨C or angry in any capacity come to think of it. She stands over me with a threatening silhouette as I clean the spilled drink from the floor with flimsy paper towels. My head hangs in shame, hiding from both Mae and the customers who stare, frozen in embarrassment.
¡°I asked him to show me.¡± I mumble to the floor.
¡°What was that?¡± She leans down slightly, her tone getting angrier. I flip my hair back and glare up at her.
¡°I said I asked him to show me, I asked him about the future. He didn¡¯t do anything wrong ¨C nobody did anything wrong, it was all me.¡± I see her replay my plea in her head.
¡°What do you mean nobody-¡± A million thoughts flash in her eyes before she lets out a scoff, ¡°You mean to tell me¡ Right, yes of course you have. All day I¡¯ve seen the customers spending 5 minutes each at the counter chatting away to you, and you¡¯ve been breaking the rules this whole time!?¡± I¡¯m now a little below her eyeline, standing, with a handful of soggy napkins.
¡°I-I¡¯m sorry, Mae. Really, I am. I think I just got caught up in curiosity of it all.¡± I feel like a child being scolded at school in front of my peers. Everyone in the caf¨¦ is just sitting in silence. The man from the future has slipped out. The regular old folk are staring. Mae is like a woman possessed and persists.
¡°Sorry isn¡¯t good enough Josie. This is serious. Do you understand how unbelievably lucky we are to still be standing here talking right now? Anything you learn about the past and future can change everything. I say we¡¯re lucky, but we haven¡¯t been outside or checked the news. There could be irreparable damage to the space-time continuum, all because you were curious?¡± She¡¯s rattling these points off like they¡¯re rehearsed. Relentlessly pointing out how much of a failure I have been.
However, she¡¯s right. For my own selfish curiosities, I have potentially caused chaos. As soon as these people finished talking to me entire histories could¡¯ve been erased, important moments in human civilization wiped out.
¡°You¡¯re right, I was selfi-¡±
¡°I know I¡¯m right Josie, I wrote the rules. Rules I have managed to follow for decades with no issues, so how come it¡¯s taken you just one week to break them? I just do not understand what went through your head that made you think it was a good idea.¡± Mae has my gaze locked in, yet I see movement in my peripheral.
¡°Mae, that¡¯s enough.¡± Mae¡¯s tirade is shattered by this. The eyes that look at me now are not the eyes that were reprimanding me a moment ago. We both simultaneously turn to see an old woman standing at her table.
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A long grey plait drapes over her shoulder, and she has a comfortable looking long sleeve black jumper on. I¡¯ve noticed her in here before, but now I look at her. I see her. The wrinkles in her face tell me the wonderful things she has seen, her jewellery whisper stories of the cultures she¡¯s witnessed. Mae is as entranced as I am and seems to have a deep respect for her.
¡°Mrs. Leuchtenberg. She¡¯s been breaking the rules.¡± Mae, the owner, pleads with her, a customer. Mrs. Leuchtenberg raises her hand.
¡°Mae, darling. You¡¯ve seen it today, yes? You¡¯ve felt it? Everyone has been smiling, enjoying their time, and reminiscing. You notice the negatives but ignore the positives; yes, the customers are at the counter for 5 minutes at a time, but you don¡¯t notice the joy on their faces. The joy on her face.¡± She points to me. ¡°Do you think this young lady has any interest in ruining time as we know it? She hasn¡¯t been asking for lottery results, or the outcome of sporting events. She has been asking about history, not the future. Not history as we know it, but people¡¯s history. Their memories. What it was like to grow up, what things have they seen or been a part of. I know I don¡¯t just speak for myself when I say we all cherish those memories and don¡¯t get to pause and reflect nearly as much as we¡¯d like to. Then we come here and get asked about them? Well, you¡¯re lucky it¡¯s only 5 minutes at the counter.¡±
Mrs. Leuchtenberg cocks her head slightly and smiles at us. Her final words wisp their way to Mae¡¯s ears slowly. Mae swivels back to look at me, a thin layer of tears forming in her eyes. With a deep sigh, she shakes her head.
¡°I¡¯m sorry Josie. I thought the worst and took it out on you as if it had happened. I¡¯m still upset with you for breaking the rules, but -¡± She takes a meaningful look around the caf¨¦, ¡°maybe the rules need to change for the betterment of this place.¡±.
¡°It¡¯s ok Mae, It¡¯s entirely my fault. It was dangerous, and reckless, and selfish. As soon as I started hearing about people¡¯s lives and problems, I felt compelled to help them but lost my way in the excitement of it all. You don¡¯t have to change the rules if you¡¯re not comfortable doing that.¡± I look up at her, and I don¡¯t realise how much I¡¯ve missed her smile until it grows across her face again.
¡°Tomorrow, come in early. We¡¯ll write the new rules. Together.¡± She walks over to the sign and takes it down. I¡¯m reminded of the outline of the sign I saw during my interview, and how kind Mae was to me then, and still is. My body moves on impulse as I rush behind the bar and wrap my arms around her. I look up to her so much and I never want to disappoint her again. I feel her reciprocate the hug, and I begin to gently sob.
¡
I gather my things, as well as my composure, and get ready to leave. I¡¯m putting my coat on when Mae pops her head in the staffroom.
¡°Mrs. Leuchtenberg is leaving and would like to say goodbye.¡± I freeze. I drop my coat and desperately try and wipe away any trace of blubbering from my face. I leave the staffroom to see her standing at the nearside of the counter. I smile at her.
¡°Thank you so much, you really didn¡¯t have to do that, but I appreciate it nonetheless.¡± The blubbering returns.
¡°Tsk. You¡¯ve done this place a favour, just you wait.¡± She winks, turns to leave, but hesitates. ¡°The future is bright because you are as pure as light. Never compromise who you are, Josie.¡± She squeezes my shoulder and begins to leave. I watch her weave through the mostly empty tables, transfixed. Her aura is almost visible it is that mesmerizing. She doesn¡¯t look familiar, but feels familiar.
As she raises her hand to push the door, her black sleeve falls down her arm. I squint my eyes and see, tattooed circling her wrist, the words ¡®¡also a love of Humanity.¡¯.
THE END