What's worse than seeking the easy way out religiously? Expecting, as if it's your God-given right, for someone to hand you an easy out. Follow the yellow brick road as they say. Or, in this case, the line of yellow highlighter on an out-dated map.
My apologies. I'm supposed to be compelling and relatable while telling a story, and instead, I'm hosing down my audience with sarcasm thicker than pulp filled orange juice.
Why don't I restart?
My name is unimportant. Seriously, just pick a name you like, and before you ask, my appearance is equally unimportant. So, moving on.
I'm sitting in a little cafe. This little shop is the proverbial Emerald City at the end of the yellow road. I managed to snag the best seat in the house: table for one equidistant from both the trash cans and the bathrooms. I'm sharing my quaint table with a medium latte and a full spread of notebooks, sketchbooks, and a small nation of pens and pencils. In short, I probably look like I'm waiting for the cast of an office max commercial to show up so we can start filming.
"Oops."
A dainty, manicured hand all but accidentally sends my latte toppling over.
"Hello to you too, Bea."
I deadpan my greeting and calmly set my latte back in place.
Now, you know who inspired my hatred of entitlement.
"I'd love to stay and chat, but I have a mess to clean up."
With that, I stand and head for the counter to ask for all the napkins the workers can legally give me.
This is the point where I'll press pause and do some rewinding. I'm new to this whole "being-compelling-and-relatable" thing, and the storytelling part too it turns out. So cut me some slack, please and thanks.
Anyway, you're probably wondering why the hell I'm so calm about my things being ruined, my coffee being wasted, and Bea subjecting me to her incredibly shrill voice.
You see, three weeks ago, was the last week of summer for me. I'm not going to say my grade because it has little bearing on the story and only serves to give you expectations that will almost certainly not be fulfilled.
The point is, everything, and I do mean everything, changed for me in that week.
It all started in the very same little cafe where I'm being harassed by Bea now. I dare say, three weeks ago it was a whole different place. . .
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A/N
I'm doing a bit of sn experiment with this story. It's a tad out there just like our corky hero, lol. So please bear with me! 🖤
Thank you so much for reading!
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Beans Café
Ficção AdolescenteEvery now and then life goes against its nature and decides to be kind. It does something unexpected and gives you the chance make something good out the little surprise it gives you. In my case, life gave me a lot more than I bargained for. Here's...
