In the Cafe
by Emily Chan

"Wait," She cried out from behind the counter.
The one, two, three, click, clack, clink.
And then the sweet jazz soaking in the air.
The bitter fragrance of coffee numbing all our senses. Sip.
Listen, it's happening again. The door swung open. The people who frequent this subdued milieu laughing and sipping, sipping, sipping. Do you remember him? The man over there with his glue and his scissors cutting out tiny words and pasting them back together again? Or her? The dreamy college student who slyly cracks open a leather bound book to jot down a quick sentence or perhaps just a few unrelated words? The two retirees that come after their daily walk for their morning coffee? The two women in the corner sipping tea while laughing and sharing anecdotes that hardly seem to be as funny as their laughter would suggest? Or maybe just the others who come and sip their coffee not doing anything else in particular.
And then the door swings open one more time to let in a stranger. A strange and foreign wind seems to push everyone back a step and silence the voices. But this only lasts for a second and everything returns back to its normal state. The swooning of the jazz music seems to have everything back in rhythm. Sip. The only dissonance is the stranger, dressed in business attire and a strange hat that seems to belong on a mannequin. The conversations continue but not without a few quick glances and curious stares.
He orders his coffee, a double mocha iced espresso, light on the cream, heavy on the sugar, a strange drink for Cafe Sienna frequenters. He sways back and forth waiting for the barista to create the strange concoction he has ordered. A tune begins to escape from his mouth. The whole coffee house shakes anxiously as the whistling becomes more forced and begins to follow the tune of the jazz playing in the background. Bum, di dum dum, do dum.
Then, silence. Everyone seems to have stopped breathing as the stranger reaches into his pocket. I can hear my heartbeat; it beats to the music. I can almost hear the heartbeat of the man with the scissors that sits completely still. The girl in the corner with the ragged leather book nervously runs her fingers along the binding. The coffee has turned cold. Sip. Everyone is ready to jump. Everyone is ready to fly. Stars are circling in the air. The stranger whips out his wallet, pulls out a crisp five and grabs his coffee.
Listen, you can hear the calm returning. The conversation picks up and everyone is laughing and sipping, sipping, sipping once more. "Uh-hum," the stranger clears his throat. Everyone pauses for a moment, but everything rushes forward once more and time does not seem to have been affected.
Dun, di dum dum. The jazz plays its soft, soothing tune. Sip. I blink my eyes. Sip. The stranger is now standing right near me. The espresso glass in my hand shakes and I blink my eyes a few more times. In one hand, he carries his glass of coffee. His other hand is thrust deep within his pocket. I look him over a few times. Nothing is familiar at all. A stranger, a stranger. He pulls his hand out of his pocket. I draw in a deep breath.
"A charming little place, isn't it?" he smiles and lifts his hat slightly from his head with a little bow. "Good day."
The door swings open. Nothing moves. Everyone is still for a moment watching this stranger wander away.
And then we come back, dragged right back to the beginning. "Wait," she cried out from behind the counter. And the jazz singing sweetly to our senses.