Coffee Opens My Third Eye
“What do you have there?” My eyes were deceiving me. So was my mind. I was under the effects.
“Hm?” I mean, a detached café floating in the cosmos?
“The thing. The one you got in your hands right there.” And a licorice-haired, ebony-skinned beauty? I almost snort (which I did). It’s fine, delusions make my life interesting.
“Oh, that’s a gift for my niece.” I unfold my hands; a small blue bird pops out. My ‘niece’ will love the blue bird way more than the small blue tomte I secretly bought for myself.
The waitress sways her hips, scintillatingly white, over on my table and sits. I realize she is stark-naked under the white veil. “Oh, how sweet. I have a niece, too. What’s she like?” Great. Now, I have to pretend like I have a niece.
A tendril of her hair shut me up before I could speak. “Vad ska du göra när den lilla blå fågeln dör?” She asks, and suddenly, I’m in Rydaholm again. But I’m not, still in the diner, in the country of red, white, and blue. Or off-planet, if you like feeding into fantasies.
I would take a closer look, but I’m nervous her shiny feline eyes will catch it. But I didn’t need to. She knows. My blue bird died.
She raises an eyebrow and smiles, showing her overbite. “So?”
Entertainment. An otherworldly being chooses a 30-something Swedish woman to entertain her. What a headline. Better than anything I’ve come up with.
She begins to play with her fingers and keeps her focus on me. Lofty, dainty fingers intertwine with each other. My coffee spills. I spilt it. The pressure of her eyes was too much for a woman who watches Golden Girls in her free time.
There’s a ringing in my ears, and I believe it’s from Mars, my wingman, scolding me for fumbling. My eyes flicker to the window for almost a second. I knew it. Mars really was there. No stars, but there was Mars. I didn’t know what I was expecting.
“…up for you,” she said, as I’ve missed the first half of her sentence. The mistress leaves to pick the shattered glass up from the floor. I’m sorry. I thought I only spilled my coffee. I was supposed to. Hm. I’m losing my reins, and this reality is fluctuating. Too bad, I wanted to hear about the lady with tan spots and blue blood. Blue blood. I know that. More proof that this will end soon.
Just then, the waitress pricks her finger on a shard, blue blood trickling out. An explanation to my new-found information. “Kronos!” She yowled. Figures, I’ve been interested in Greek mythology lately.
I couldn’t watch anymore and bent down to help. It dematerializes between my fingers, the same way the blue bird’s soul had; its corpse lay on the table. “Already cleaned.” When she got up, some of her features were not there. I rub my eyelids. I’m too tired.
The coffee machine whirs, the woman who never skipped leg day handling it. “Black?” I nod. In that instant, she resembled the dark side of the moon.
While she stood by the machine, emitting noises I believe coffee machines usually make, I sat on one of the black leather stools that smelt of cows and fine wine. A familiar smell.
Didn’t Papa own a farm?
“I believe in people, but I don’t about God.” She stated suddenly. By her face, I said something; I just don’t recall saying it, only the fact that my lips were moving.
“Well, I do,” my finger stretched to the sky, “I believe someone’s up there.” A tailor who sewed the very fabrics of the universe. They meant fabrics scientifically, but as a shabby box-house writer, I took it literally. Life was fun that way.
“Are you sure? You wouldn’t be talking to me if you did.” She turns to me fully and stares deep into my eyes. I realize now why there weren’t any stars. I put them all into her eyes. Its intensity is unfathomable, so I do not try. A century passes. It would continue to do so, but the bird is now alive. And it flies around, chirping. My ears strain to hear its supposedly loud chirping. Everything dissipates.
I hadn’t even finished a cup of coffee yet.
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