I went to the café at the end of Concordia Street, across from the old, seemingly-abandoned Belgium theatre. There was a lingering feeling that I had forgotten something as my hand was trying to grasp the handle of a briefcase that wasn’t there.
I pushed open the door of the café and the little bell above the door rang, although nobody could hear it from the tumult of the crowd. ‘Lyin’ Eyes’ by the Eagles was playing in the background. I don’t know why I chose exactly this coffee shop; maybe it was that here the crowd didn’t bother me as much. And not only that every table but one was occupied; nearly every chair had a person sitting in it.
I snuck my way to the only vacant table near the window. It usually had two chairs next to it, but now, someone from the nearby tables had taken one. How fitting, I thought. Not so soon, a waitress came to me, wanting to take my order.
“A glass of milk. Warm, if you don’t mind.”
She lingered for a moment and then nodded.
“Quite odd, I know”, I said, although I didn’t know why I had the urge to explain myself.
She chuckled. “Trust me, after working here for five years, there’s nothing wrong with a warm glass of milk”, she smiled politely, like many people working in restaurants and at receptions do. “I’ll be back with your drink in a moment.”
She turned her back to me and walked to the counter where the coffee maker was, apologising to customers when they got in her way. Her name was Donna, although I never told her I knew that. Sometimes, she had a small silver bar attached to her white shirt, just above her left breast, where her name was written. But lately, she’s been refusing to carry it, as if she’s somewhat embarrassed about her job.
Donna was wearing a set of black, albeit slightly washed-out jeans and her white sneakers, as she always had when I visited this place. She had her dark hair tied into a ponytail and her face was accentuated with a hint of mascara and vibrant red lipstick. I loved her lips, perfectly curvy and soft, and yet, somehow intimidating.
I liked Donna, although I never made any moves to show it. Even after visiting the café so many times, I doubt she recognized me. Until I ordered a glass of milk, that is. I wonder what she thought about me after that day, about the guy who ordered a glass of milk.
About the lonely guy who ordered just a glass of warm milk.
About the weird guy who ordered just a glass of warm milk.
As Donna was minding her business behind the counter, next to her, through the door which led to the kitchen and pantry, Trey appeared. He had a cigarette in his mouth, slicked black hair, and a beard that covered both his cheeks and neck. Trey wore a white undershirt with a towel over his hairy shoulder and his hands were covered in white flour, which meant he was doing something in the kitchen. That was odd because this place was equally known for its good coffee as it was for its lousy food. However, I hadn’t tried either of the two. Normally, I had a cup of green tea, or if I felt worse than usual, black tea.
Trey said something to Donna, strictly and loudly, although I didn’t hear it. Donna furrowed her brows and then waved her hand through the air, which was an Italian way of saying leave me alone, I already have a lot on my plate. Then, as she was placing two cups of smouldering coffee and a glass of warm milk on a tray, she said something to Trey. I’ll do it after my shift, she said, although I didn’t hear it. I read it from her red lips. Trey sighed, looked at the contents on the tray, lifted his brow confusingly when he saw the glass of milk, and then went back to the kitchen.
I hated Trey. I hated that fifty-five-year-old man who had escaped from Italy and opened a café in my city. Donna was, presumably, his niece or maybe the daughter of a close friend, but he treated her badly. She deserved better. Not that I could give her that.
Donna came to my table, forcing a smile, although I saw through her façade. She was irritated. She placed the tall glass in front of me.
As she was to leave, I stopped her, grabbing her wrist, gently. Donna was startled, looking at me with confusion in her eyes. Her façade dropped instantly.
“Sorry, but would you mind switching to the news channel? I don’t need the sound, I can read the subtitles. I’ve forgotten my phone, you see…”
Donna took a breath, restoring the mask of a friendly waitress. “Oh, certainly”, she said, smiling, “Not a problem!”
Grinning, I took the glass and lifted it to my lips.
…
Frowning, I returned the milk to the table, realizing it was hot, not warm. I sighed with disappointment.
After fiddling with a remote for a moment, the TV flashed as a woman reporter was on the screen, voicelessly talking with a large crowd behind her. Donna turned and glanced at me, to which I responded by raising my thumb.
I looked at my glass of hot milk.
I didn’t like Donna anymore.
Feeling slightly anxious, I glanced at my wristwatch. The milk was still in front of me, now warm, but undrinkable. Absolutely undrinkable! A flash of anger bolted through me but I remained still. The café was half empty now, but there were still a lot of people around. And there were children, as well. I hated children, maybe as much as Trey. The person who had taken the chair from my table before my arrival hadn’t returned it. That also irritated me for a moment.
Donna was walking back to the counter, carrying a tray littered with filthy cups and filled ashtrays. Suddenly, a loud bang overwhelmed the café. The surface of my milk danced in a circular moment for a bit.
Stopping in her tracks, Donna said: “Fireworks?”. Again, I didn’t hear this as much as I had read it from her red lips. However, before she could take another step, two more bangs, one immediately after the other filled the café. The window next to me vibrated. A few glasses that stood at the edge of tables fell and shattered. Silence conquered the place for a moment. Only the “Lights Are On, But Nobody’s Home”, by Matt Schofield could be heard. They changed the radio station, I realised. When had they done that? I didn’t really like the Blues.
And then, after a moment of peace and unprocessed shock, panic broke loose. Someone close to me started yelling into their phone. Customers stared at the TV in shock. Hands covered their mouths. A few practically flew out of the coffee shop. They didn’t even pay. Idiots…
I glanced at the TV. At the same time, I felt excitement and anxiety intertwining within me. The pixels on the screen were rapidly changing colour. From grey to orange, red and yellow. My eyes, for whatever reason, couldn’t stand looking at the chaos depicted on the screen. However, the sheer chaos excited me. A sound of an ambulance and a fire truck reached me. Already? The door, left open by the fleeing customers, moved on its own, pushed by the wind. Donna was staring at the screen while still holding the tray littered with filthy cups and filled ashtrays. Trey appeared next to her, holding a landline phone, and punching numbers while his eyes were chained to the TV. There was a different woman on the screen now. She was still voicelessly talking, visibly shocked and afraid. There were some numbers next to her. They were constantly rising. Then a slowed-down video was depicted on the TV screen. Nobody had remembered to turn on the sound.
I again looked at my glass of milk. Its surface was still moving, like small tides. Emotions were raging throughout my whole body. I felt a sense of remorse, blaming myself for something horrendous, numbing the nerves in my hands and legs; Begging me to get on my knees and plead for forgiveness from God. It was threatening to tear my mind and my sanity to little pieces.
But then, that feeling came. It appeared suddenly, and it lasted no longer than a heartbeat. And yet, it felt like an eternity, crawling through my arteries and nerves, reaching my brain. It was a feeling of utmost euphoria and blissfulness, ruling all other feelings, such as the one begging me to cling on to my humanity, as redundant and non-important. It gave me power above my raging thoughts, and soothed my mind, giving me a purpose in this world.
The surface of the milk was calm and still again.
And just like that, that feeling was gone. It left no trace of ever being in me, except for the beads of sweat that formed on my forehead and my rapid heartbeats. Only the hollow feelings of wrongness and self-pity were present, gnawing at me. Donna had managed to lower the tray littered with filthy cups and filled ashtrays onto the counter, but she was still watching the TV. Trey was gone.
I sighed, feeling content. I longed for a cigarette myself.
Rising from the chair, I left what I owed next to the untouched glass of room-temperature milk. Looking back at Donna, I shrugged and left the café for the last time. Those awful feelings were still within me, silent but noticeable. I knew what I needed to do next to silence them, at least for a moment.
I didn’t leave a tip.
