The Coffee Shop ( MINDOSCOPE COLLECTION)

                                                                                                                       

Those posts are written by the Author Onyekachi Nwogu . Her works are geared towards the excitement and exploration of the realm of short stories. Her stories allow readers to experience thoughts through a kaleidoscope of colorful ideas from the creativity of authors herein. Everything in life from the quantum realm to a  conversation is an endless cycle of dialogues, scenes, plots and climaxes. Thus, everything is a living story. To tell a story is to express which already exists naturally within the quintessence of reality . Let us come here together to exploit The Mindoscope  collection.


                                                          THE COFFEE SHOP

I closed the book with such vigor creating a loud thunderous clap which attracted a myriad of stares from the other customers in the coffee shop as I said under my breath “such a waste”. I looked around and my attention was drawn to the lady who works the cash register. She had pasted on her face one of those fake smiles that somehow displayed all your central incisors but carry no real depth behind it, which unfortunately after years of having to smile at every customer for a living had sadly become permanently paved onto her face. I felt slightly sad for cashier lady, aside from the fake smile she is always so sweet and amenable towards me. Then again there is no way of telling if she secretly harbored feelings of punching me in the throat on days I made extra demands. Like the day I demanded fresh bagels as the ones on display looked oddly like what was on display the previous day.

As my eyes floated a little far east I sighted sneaker boy. Sneaker boy is a mystery to me, I come here every other morning of the week and sure enough sneaker boy can always be found on the far east corner of the coffee shop, wearing the same All Star sneakers he wore 14 months ago when I first walked into the shop. I sometimes fantasize about the adventures those sneakers have been on. Have those sneakers walked along an inclined path way on its way to an all-night concert rave? The well-fitting fashionable jean trouser sneaker boy has on along with the long hippie hair might propose he may be an all-night rave kind of person. Or rather have those sneakers danced out in the street at midnight as it rained, all the while in the company of feminine ballet shoes worn by a lady sneaker boy was once in love with? Maybe sneaker boy is an international student from London enrolled in a university nearby and somehow his luggage which got missing at the airport upon he’s arrival still can’t be found months later. I like that sneaker boy is a mystery, I like fantasizing of where and what those once white but now muddy brown All Star sneakers have been up to.

I finally reluctantly let my gaze drift north, and sure enough it was caught by Mr. B. The smile which he offered to me as a gesture of acknowledgement of some deeper understanding between us was returned with what felt on my face like a grimace of disapproval. Mr. B I knew far too well. Next to Mr. B sat Mrs. B who looked to hang on to every word coming out of Mr. B’s mouth like a patient on life support. You see Mr. B is the type of man who puts his best face forward in public thus he is loved by everyone. Even cashier lady once gave Mr. B what could almost have passed as a genuine smile. Just the other day as I walked out of the coffee shop along the route I commonly patronize on day’s I decide not to take in the beauty of the town but rather get to my apartment sooner, I saw Mr. B with another lady who wasn’t Mrs. B. The usual how is it going Mr. B which I had gotten accustomed to saying to him was quickly withheld as I saw Mr. B’s hands go to places a married man’s hands should not on another lady. I heard Mr. B brag about he’s accomplishments and promising to take this naive young lady on a private trip, I noticed that Mr. B’s ring was missing. As I was about to change my route, it was too late as Mr. B had caught sight of me and uttered an overly cheerful “how’s it going” to which I muffled a reply and quicken my steps to get as far away from the awkward situation.

I too was once deceived by the two-face nature of Mr. B, but after that faithful morning the veil in which he had over my eyes drifted away and I realized that although Mrs. B hangs onto every word of Mr. B, Mr. B hardly ever pays attention when she speaks and I have sometimes caught his wavering eyes staring seconds too long as a lady walked by he’s and Mrs. B’s table. I pick up my book and head towards cashier lady to pay for the overpriced coffee and biscuits I had just consumed. As I acknowledged cashier lady’s fake smile and walked out the shop, I wonder about the new customers I may come across next. One thing was for sure, sneaker boy would be present serving as the constant mystery that he is.

BY ONYEKACHI NWOGU
E-MAIL:  KACHIBUNNY@GMAIL.COM

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