Script [Forest] (Hiatus)

[7] No Good Deed

I owe you one.

The text I had received from Chan earlier this morning made little sense until I found myself outside in my driveway. Alone.

Sundays were our days for our morning runs together and it wasn't like him to skip out. Even Gotham, his beloved onyx-coated Dodge Charger, was nowhere to be found. Chan often goes to great lengths to show me how much of a priority I am in his life, a fact that both warms and frustrates me at the same time. There are only two other people in this world that could cause Chan to skip out on our Sunday run.

His parents.

They must be back from their trip, meaning, Chan's on his way to pick them up and any time we were planning to spend together would be put on hold. Not that I minded. A solo run would do me some good, I think.

There's a heavy overcast that leaves a murky layer over everything. A stray breeze teases the unshaven hairs upon my lower calves. A podcast seems more appropriate for this run, I think, as I reach for the toes on my extended left leg while navigating the latest episodes of some of my favorite murder mysteries. The suave yet enigmatic voice of Rian Mencher is a welcoming melody to my ears.

I'm on my feet and down the street in just a matter of seconds, leaving no time for my mother to coax me into joining them for church today. It's been a while since I've gone and I plan to keep up my streak just a little while longer.

I make a sharp left onto E Union St and keep on until I reach 12th Ave. It's a normal Sunday with plenty of activity. Dogs being walked, joggers on their routes and plenty of bodies looking for a caffeinated source of fuel are just some of the many occupants out today.

My lungs are pounding though it's hard to distinguish if it's because I'm pushing myself too hard or if Rian's voice in my ears is working up that much anxiety as he leaks this week's latest grisly murder. The anticipation gets to be too much and before Rian reveals the jaw-dropping conclusion, I tug my earbuds free and make my way into Eltana.

The line is lengthier than I'd like but worth it for the delectables behind the counter. Warm aromas of bread and rich coffee fills the space along with light chatter and the sounds of pens scratching against paper crosswords or fingers prodding laptop keys. I unwillingly salivate under the duress of it all, paying for the usual cinnamon raisin with pomegranate berry cream cheese and 12oz Americano with unfiltered excitement.

There's a vacant seat that offers my weary legs a reprieve as I ogle the counter impatiently. I find that there are few things in this world that can capture my attention better than food, but the shuffling figure of an older gentleman away from the counter seems to be of interest. Nothing much about him stands out really: a blue dress shirt tucked into pressed khakis, a gray wool cardigan and brown loafers, thin wire-rimmed glasses with thick plastic tips and a head of short silver coils. He could be anyone's grandfather, including my own if I wasn't so sure he was six feet under in some funeral plot out in Georgia.

As much as I enjoy people watching, it's not the man himself that draws my mind away from my order but rather his empty hands. You don't walk into a cafe and leave the counter without at least a receipt. But there's nothing. He made no purchase and as he slinks into a corner, opening a tattered leather wallet, the reason why becomes all too clear.

I grab my order and join the line once more. With a silent nod, I inquire about the man's order and swipe my card without a moment of hesitation. I'm rewarded almost immediately for my small act of kindness, and softly place a tray with his everything lox bagel and tea in front of him.

I witness a transformation in his brown eyes, first confusion, then gratitude. His paper bag skin crinkles further with a smile and when he offers me a seat to join him, I take it. With me on my own today, I figured I'd just take my items to go but perhaps this little detour would do me some good. My social skills were in desperate need of some work.