Dying Wish

[14] M.M. (pronounced Double M)

Brrrrriiinnnnggg!

I should've run when I had the chance.

"Oh, Gray, hang on there," Miss Batch called to the exit. Her voice was like a harpoon to the back of the head. I casted a pained sigh to the ceiling. Salted over my misery were the cackles of my classmates.

"Good luck, Gray," they said as they abandoned me.

"Hang in there, pal!"

"Don't take it personal. She got me the other day!"

"Wow, I feel so much better now!" I shouted after them. I stepped toward Miss Batch and the desk she was leaning against. That pit in my stomach was back. "Miss Batch, what do you need?"

"Well," she fidgeted, "I wanted to ask you a question. It's a personal thing. And if this makes you uncomfortable in any way, please, you don't have to answer it." Believe me, I gave up hope a long time ago Miss Batch knew what a comfortable question was. In other words, I was ready for anything.

"...It's just. I met this guy. Conrad. He's Black. And you're Black—"

"Then we probably know each other," I interrupted flatly.

"Right! Oh, God, that's what I thought!"

"...More than once, I bet."

"...And I," she continued, "ugh, I just feel sooo—" the word "Stupid" was floating around the air, but she went with— "unequipped. Culturally, I mean. I know this is a little confusing. Being your teacher and all, you probably look at me and think I've got it all together."

"If you say so. Miss Batch, I have to get to my next class, so..."

"Right, right. Next class. Real quick, then. Do you have any tips? Conrad's such a great guy. And not just handsome either. He's... different. He listens. And that's great for me, because I can go on and on about you guys. We've been together for a while. I'd like to think things are going well. I know I shouldn't be asking you this as your teacher. I'm just... scared. I don't want to lose him."

That very last bit... Terrifyingly, my heart resonated with hers.

Not too long ago those sentiments would've been lost on me. Never to be found in the weeds of talking to her. But I was different. If only a tiny bit. I knew what it felt like to want someone so deeply. The way, I think, we all want to be wanted.

"Alice," I mumbled. 

"What's that, Gray?"

"Nothing. Miss Batch, I think you should be exactly you. Can't pretend to be something else forever." Her neck craned back. She smiled. A swift study, my teacher accepted my advice in record time. If only, you know, it didn't end with her rising knuckles.

A fist bump and the words, "Thanks homie." I sighed. You know, she almost had me. We almost had a moment. Then, she added, "Don't leave me hangin'... dawg." Yeah, ok. Time to go now. I did. I left.

For some reason, an uneasiness followed me to work. I kept checking my watch; kept spacing out; under normal circumstances, I could get away with this. I mean, going to the dumpster will make anyone daydream. Too bad this happened on a Wednesday. I knew how bad Wednesdays were. Everyone on the afternoon "sit-down" shift did. 

He was here. 

I'll provide some context.

See, the barista has the toughest gig. Waves of names, faces and orders. Every single day. Things can get dangerous. How come? Well, because coffee is a drug. And every drug addict, well, they love their drugs. Crazy concept, I know. Don't let the ones in the suits fool you. They're the worst. And they will try to yell at you, curse you or even fight you if you mess with their daily fix. The simplest mistake will set the junkie off. Signs of caffeine dependency include headaches and crankiness. The "I want to speak to the manager" kind of customers. Or the "My mouth was all ready for..." complainers.

Hence, why Linda chose Gary to helm the morning rush. Although it gives me an ulcer to admit this, he was incapable of error. The thrash and jerk of the waves never got to him. A different candid photo went up each month as proof of his abilities. Meanwhile, Eli sailed the calmer afternoon waters, where he'd find the Monday Mahjong Grandmas' Club. A Friday meant the Gymrats' Association was coming.

Eli could set his watch to those clusters, their coffee orders always being the same. And in this way, he too could experience perfection. Wednesdays, however, were different. A cluster of one entered. Known in Smiley's as the "Mysterious Man" or the "Miserable Man", he went by the moniker M.M (pronounced Double M).

The first time I saw his skeleton-slim body and learned his name, I asked Eli, "What does that stand for? M.M." Eli shrugged. He said he didn't know. Nobody knew. Apparently, he'd been coming here for years, always on his day off. "Days off from what, Eli?"

"Some kind of doctor," he said. "Must be a good one, too. Check out that car across the street." My face turned. A two-door, tarry black beast slumbered. I couldn't see the gold logo, but I knew a Porsche from a Honda. "His," Eli said. That explained a lot, actually.

Few people have in this world what you might call an "aura"— the ability to project themselves beyond the cage of their flesh. Some auras were inviting. Others were repelling. His was neither and both. Trust me, it makes sense.

I never saw a customer within a table's reach of him. Not once. Not ever. But it was the opposite for the employees. In one way or another, everyone working at Smiley's wanted his validation. This smart, successful doctor. To get him to like you, a modest apron in a modest coffeehouse. For them, it would've been like being knighted. It just never happened. His bored eyes and sophisticated silence strangled charming double talk. I looked across Smiley's that first Wednesday and wondered when it'd be my turn. 

M.M. wore reading glasses on the tip of his nose. He flipped through the files he kept in a thick, manila file folder. He took mild sips of his drink. A simple espresso, according to Eli. No milk. No cream or foam. A ristretto, I believe was the precise name.

The first time I spoke to M.M. was on that ominous spring day. It all started when Eli said, "Gray, do me a favor. I've got to talk to Linda for a second. When the light comes on—" he pressed a tiny LED bulb on the machine— "give the lever a pull. It's for M.M. Walk it over for me. Thanks."

"Sure," I said without thinking. Before I could find a plausible way to back out, the doors to the back were swinging. I hoped Eli would return before that light flashed. M.M. was more polite to Eli than anyone else (probably because this apron made his coffee without error).

I felt like a kid in a grocery store checkout line, holding the spot, waiting for their mom to bring the money. Knots twisted and twisted in my gut. Then, the light came on. Eli was nowhere in sight. I was on my own.

I grabbed the marked cup.

I placed it under the spout.

I cranked the lever.

Brown fluid spewed from the machine. I placed the cup on M.M.'s table, away from the white landmines. "This is yours," I said. "Enjoy, sir." I went to get back to work. My mind also went back to preparing for Alice. She would be here soon with news about tryouts. I had to be prepared for anything.

M.M. removed his glasses. He had terrible news for me. I'd never forget it. "Thank you," was how it started. So deceitful. To thank me and sip the hot fluid, before saying, "...I'm afraid it's game over, kid."

I stopped. Game over?

"...You have cancer," he added. "You're dying."

My mind went blank.

YIKESSSSS. CHAPTER 6 HAS NOW BEGUN.

WE NEED TO PICK THIS UP TOMORROW.