The yellowy lemon sun was just starting to peak thru the trees, barley awake in its early morning rays. It was a quiet still morning, heavy with humid weight in the air. A slight girl walks down an old street, rhythmically walking, mind restless against the repeated commute. Her coppery curls winding down her back emerging from a homemade wool beanie that stored a brilliant brain holding a lofty collage education and a dangerously curious mind. A store bell rings brightly as the front door opens to a small specialty coffee shop, unlocking as it does. The humid air is hot inside the small cafe from the espresso machines sitting all night locked tight and from a late night roasting. Her body relaxes to the familiar routine. Pulling the first shot of the morning, adjusting the grinder. Turning on music to set the days mood, setting up the chairs and peppering the tip jar singing as she goes. She takes a sip of her first shot, drinks it in three sips, savoring every drop of dark liquid. Tasting the individual flavors that are almost indistinguishable against a sea of taste. With each sip the flavor changing so much it is startling. Today the espresso is tart and acidic with a cherry finish which suits her just fine. Coffee is a weaving of aromatic flavor, a tapestry to the tongue. A unconscious smile spreads slowly across her face, coffee is a passion more than a drink.
The door opens to reveal the first customer of the day. Early morning people are always so optimistic, grateful to be alive and up to see the first sun, first cup of coffee. The morning shift always went by fast, the lines never drying up but the orders always pilling up. The smell of steamed milk, corny jokes from old men, gossip whispered in scandalized hushed voices in corner tables. Students on computers racing against deadlines, the smell of toasted bagels. A small town opens its collective community eyes at its its local coffee shop, where is heart beats and morning begins. Her hands moved in a practiced dance, gracefully juggling milk pitchers, portafilters and tuning coffee grinders. Her refined hands knowing the weight gram by gram, the pressure perfect every time with the tamp unconsciously allowing the flow of her work to take over. Shift ends with bantering with the next shifts barista, who had spent the morning meditating with the migrating monarchs. Her glasses almost fell off her nose in excitement over the fact they traveled 3000 mile so she could smoke and chant Nepalese mantras with them. The penny hued Barista walked to the back and sat her hopeful self down, tucking herself in counting the mornings tips.
Something stood out from the ones and occasional five in the tip jar. A folded piece of torn paper, its corner sticking out of the wrinkled pile of cash. She plucks it out and unfolds it to unveil a ransom note.
(I have stolen your perception, with the intent of ransom.
Monetary value is not a valid currency
so it is not to be excepted in this exchange.
It is counterfeit and a repulsive representation of time.
time and energy are a valuable exchange.
So that is the only currency excepted.
If you wish to have your perception returned,
the request is that you, your perception and I,
sit in the same space.
To look openly and freely.
To allow some passing of time.
To allow some giving and receiving of thoughts between us.
And after the exchange has been done,
we will see if you want your perception back.)
Curiosity outweighing surprise, she glanced around looking for a suspicious looking face. None stood out. Her heart fluttered, the mystery making her cheeks warm to a blush. She hurried home her mind lingering on the contents of the ransom note.
She dreamed she was a shape shifting fox, morphing into an owl gliding through the dark night, peering into shadows. A coyote approached laughing, saying you will soon know the ways of the contrary warrior. A white buffalo blew fire welcoming her into the invisible dimension. Something was so familiar about the images, something strange musty and old.
The alarm went off signaling another work day another day, the beginning of sun seeping through the window. She began her morning routine with her unsettled mind on the letter and the impression of a strange dream. The espresso hit her tongue with a jolt pulling her back into her coffee flow, a favorite song came on an gentle reminder of her present place in time making her rock her tawny head, curls bouncing. She danced rosettes made of heavy microfoam into lattes, pulled creamy espresso and steeped fragrant teas. Usual customers sleepy orders came in, fumbling change, a sarcastic remark muttered. Normal weekday filled with familiar regulars. The next shifts barista comes in smelling of a mix of cannabis and lavender. Her blue heavily lidded eyes squinting in the mid day morning, she was talking about a some rare flower being sighted on a trail and the feds come in to shut its access. That's the way it is with the Man she muttered, mopping to the back of the room to punch in.
The mid day was as pregnant as a orange. The barista took the long way home and walked along the sea, the fresh salty air making her face feel soft. The ransom note was tugging on her pocket and mind. She could see dolphins playing on the horizon as the foamy ocean spray tickled her nose. Something was written in the sand up ahead. I small phrase or note, she picked up her speed to read it. It said,
The fools journey has just been begun. Proceed with great joy.
Ahead a small white dog disappeared over a sand dune holding a white rose in his mouth. The Barista knew something she could not stop had started. Good thing she had lots of coffee.
Part One End.
Thank you so much for reading the first part to my short story "Ransoming the Barista"
If you liked it let me know and I will keep writing and sharing.
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Big Love.
Ren