Coffee Shop in an Alternate Universe
It was the sun on his eyes that brought James out of a dream
that was already escaping his grasp. Something about a forest of green sun
dappled leaves and overpowering fragrance. He awoke with a sneeze.
Recovering himself, he felt warm hard concrete against his
back. Turning his head he made out the edge of double yellow lines. He was
lying the road. What? He rolled to his feet, dodging over to the pavement in
order to avoid whatever cars or traffic that was coming his way. It took him
only a moment to realise that there was none. All the cars he could see - the
range rovers, the aston martin, the fiesta – all were still, inert, but not
parked, just stopped, a queue of traffic with no drivers and no humming
engines.
This was London, he knew it was London, but it was so quiet,
so dead. He looked up at the buildings rising overhead, shielding his eyes from
the sun. Buildings that literally scraped the sky and that should have been
full of commerce and activity. He saw no movement and somehow knew they were just
as empty as the street he stood upon. He was alone.
Turning around he saw his favourite Starbucks waiting for
him. The same Starbucks he spent every lunchtime with a coffee and a book
listening to jazz. Brushing down his dishevelled suit, he walked over to it and
pushed through the door. The cold breeze of the air conditioning greeted him
and then something else, someone else.
“Hello James.”
It was Tracey, his normal server, dressed in her starbucks
uniform, she appeared to be waiting for him.
“Tracey?” he mumbled.
“The usual?” she asked.
He strode up to the counter. “The usual?” He rapidly gestured
outside, “What’s happened?”
She followed his gaze, her expression more tired than usual.
He normally saw her with a smile on her face, always a smile, a beautiful
plastic smile for all her customers.
“This is where I come to be by myself,” Tracey explained. “You
followed me here.”
James blinked and opened his mouth. “I didn’t follow you. I
always come here.”
She sighed. “Not here, here,” she gestured with a sweep of
her hand. “Here. A sidestep away. I’m on my break.”
“Break?” He found it hard to understand the ramifications.
“Now that you are here,” she pulled out a cup. “The usual?”
James shook his head and rubbed a chin that was no longer as
clean shaven as he would have liked. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“Just sit down,” Tracey said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Slowly he felt his limbs respond and took a window seat
looking out onto a beautiful summer’s day in the centre of the city of London.
Beautiful, but so empty. He loosened his tie and Tracey delivered his Moche.
“You’re the first to follow me here, James, the first ever.
How did you do it?”
He heard jazz and blinked rapidly as she mouthed more words
he couldn’t hear.
“Did you just turn that on?” he asked.
She replied again with words he couldn’t hear. The jazz was getting
louder. It was playing a horn solo he had heard so many times before.
“Don’t go back yet!” She cut in abruptly.
“What is this?” He asked, scrambling from his seat and
knocking his coffee cup flying with a stray hand. The cup flew through the air
and then fell in vivid slow motion, the brown liquid spilling upward. Then it
smashed, the whole episode over in an instant.
“Calm down, James,” Tracey said. “Only a few people can do
what we can do. Just a very few. I never thought I would meet another.”
“Do what?” he asked. “What?” Suddenly it was very hot.
“Travel between,” she whispered. “Distant and close at the
same time.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” he mumbled.
Tracey laughed. “I’m not alone anymore.” She stared at him,
studying his grey suit and his even greyer hair. “Oh...” Then she was gone.
He blinked, she was gone and he was alone in an empty
Starbucks, in what appeared to be an empty London. An empty world? He stood up
and wiped the sweat from his brow. He had to go outside and find out.
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