A Peculiar String of Bizarre Dreams

Chapter 3: Words Haven Cafe

There it stands in front of me, one of my many sanctuaries.

Wide windows showcasing books in all hues of the rainbow and more; hardcover, paperback and graphic novels stacked in individual neat piles, inviting passersby in. Not to forget the wooden panels and wooden floors; or the smell of coffee and tea mixed with the perfume of musty book pages.

The sign atop reads in capital calligraphy 'Words Haven Cafe'.

I head in through the entrance, making my way to the counter, and plop myself softly in one of the cushioned stools that look like old fashioned woodstone ink-bowls.

Within seconds, Vazouk is behind the counter with his usual frown, "What can I get you, Jemma?"

Vazouk is dressed in his usual blue sweater and his dark green eyes strike an angry contrast against his black-brown hair. Fun fact: he and my father went to high school together.

"Hey Vazouk, how're you doing today?" I ask while grinning at him.

There's an old adage that goes — people who see happy people around them, vibe off each other, and in turn start feeling happy too.

"Aah not so good, I hate summer. This group of crazy kids got some junk and tried to respell the cafe's name on the sign out at the door, to make it look like 'Words Have Coffin'. I mean, what is that? It's not even funny, it doesn't make sense. Why can't more kids be like you? Clearly they can't be like you, so why can't they go to school or something? Summer makes people think they're invincible. That has to be it, the sun rays pass through their foreheads and go to their brains, where they melt common sense that makes them normal people, and all that brain melting just makes them so...SO..SOOO stupid!"

Vazouk takes a split second to catch his breath and finishes off with a loud sigh.

I try to stifle my laughter. I try to look like I agree with what he's saying, I fail though. I giggle along his frustration, because Vazouk is incredibly entertaining when he's frustrated and I can't help it.

"One day those kids will grow up and leave this place, Vazouk, just you wait! And then there will be no more shenanigans for you to deal with! Oh and I'll have a white chocolate mocha please."

Vazouk nods but the expression on his face says 'you might be clever enough to keep the storm at bay...but storms inside my head do not take pleasure in being contained'.

As soon as he disappears to get my order, I hear a voice laden with age old wisdom call from behind me.

"Jemma, is that you?"

I twirl my woodstone ink-bowl around and find Marion Sanders looking elated to see me.

Marion is a retired court judge, who started working as a private investigator six months ago. She always inspires me. Even now, way into her sixties, she constantly has great success with solving the odd crime that takes place in town.

"It is me, Marion, good to see you here! I didn't know you were a regular at Vazouk's." That was the other name for 'Words Haven Cafe'. Some people don't like quirky names for cafes. Those brain-melted kids definitely had fun messing with the cafe's sign. And the town seniors? Well, they can be quite firm with their notions about what's considered proper.

My Dad often says, "Some people prefer traditional phrasing. We shouldn't be afraid to oblige. It's not something that requires going out of your way, unless you're a pre-programmed robot that is equipped with minimal vocabulary." I agree with the man, because the generation I come from, we jump at every opportunity to make an acronym.

I break from my ten-second mental lesson on the etiquette of using appropriate lingo and consider resuming my conversation with Marion. Because Marion is not the kind of town senior who is 'firm with her notions about what's considered proper'.

"Oh Jemma, I didn't know I was a regular at Vazouk's. Am I? I guess I am, since you just pointed it out. You know, some days I find myself working on auto-pilot...when you get to my age, that starts happening a lot. I don't personally think that's a good thing. Especially now that I'm trying to figure out who stole the high school's concert tickets for Coldplay. It's best that I start doing things 'manually'."

Marion chuckles to herself as she speaks and is still laughing when her words sink in my head.

"What? Who is going to a Coldplay concert!" I almost yell at her.

Marion replies matter-of-factly, "They were going to hand out brand new acoustic guitars to students who won the grand prizes at the science fair. But turns out, acoustic guitars are more expensive than the combined price of three tickets to an unexpected concert by Coldplay."

I'm surprised to learn this because I usually kept track of such events. My childhood best friend Yuna and I, like to pretend we're renowned audiophiles.

"They're playing in the city next month on the 13th, I believe." Marion adds carefully.

I compose myself now that I know the specifics.

"Sorry, Marion. I guess you caught me off guard. I usually know who's playing where. Tell me more about this case, it sounds interesting. Can I help?"

"I don't think so, Jemma. Lately, I'm starting to think a Cloak of Invisibility would be really useful to a person in my trade. If only Harry lived in our town; if only he would lend me his cloak from time to time, I'd be able to slip in between suspects and see if they were responsible for the crime."

That's another reason why I look up to Marion. She read the book series when I read them — as and when each book was published. Not many adults in their sixties casually reference to Harry Potter in their conversation.