The Sound of Silence: A Dream Daddy story

Chapter Three

You woke to sunlight shining down on you and an unfamiliar sound. As you blinked awake, rolling away from the sunshine, you realized the sound was birds singing. This really was White-picket-fence Lane.

"What the hell time is it?" You tried to go back to sleep, but the treacherous carpet, so soft when you'd first laid down the night before, had gone hard under your shoulder, your hip, your knees. Your whole body ached, no matter how often you switched position.

Finally, you rolled up, sitting up directly into a shaft of sunlight.

"Right. Curtains."

Without even a clock, you had no way of knowing what time it was, but you got up anyway. Might as well start the day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. It was probably that time, and the persistent ache in your back and shoulder meant you wouldn't be getting any more sleep.

Showering was an ordeal. You hadn't managed to pack any necessities--not even a towel--so you rinsed as well as you could without soap or shampoo, and then stood dripping for a moment before finally drying off with the t-shirt you'd worn yesterday.

The list of things you would need to buy just kept growing.

As you dressed while standing over an open suitcase, you mentally went over the list. At the top, in giant, imaginary red letters was: CURTAINS. Under that, you had Bed and Misc. furniture, and then, as an afterthought, Office supplies. That way you could write an actual list eventually.

It was shaping up to be a long day.

You amended your list to include Coffee, and then you made your way outside, where Jez waited. You needed her to help haul any of your loot back home. She revved to life after coughing for a minute, and you patted her steering wheel affectionately. She probably needed a tune-up after hauling your ass halfway across the country.

That would have to wait, though.

Shopping for furniture had always been a guilty pleasure for you. You knew you couldn't afford much, but even you had to admit you went a little wild when you set foot in the local discount furniture store.

You left with the receipt for a new bed frame, a tiny couch, a bookshelf, a coffee table, and a funky lamp. The next logical step was a homegoods store, where you picked up sheets and pillows, some basic home necessities, and, on a whim, a clock. Of course, you needed a mattress, and that put a nice chunk in your finances. By the time you'd bought a few of the less pretty necessities--toilet paper and shampoo, fun-- you could hardly think straight.

Exhausted, you remembered your promise of coffee, and your stomach growled at the thought of pastries. You'd need to buy groceries and eat at home soon, but for now you thought you deserved a treat.

Remembering that there was a coffee shop not too far from your house, you headed there. You had just enough time to grab some coffee before you needed to be home to meet the person delivering your new furniture. The name of the shop rang a bell in your mind, but you couldn't quite place it until you walked in and saw the menu. All of the drinks were clever references to songs or poems.

That was when it hit you. Of course, you'd studied T.S Eliot extensively in high school.

The man behind the counter greeted you warmly almost as soon as you stepped inside. "Hey, welcome." You nodded back at him, distracted from the menu for only a moment. The names cracked you up.

Finally, you stepped up to order. "Sorry, I was just taking some time to wonder if I dare." You shot him a sly look, grinning as he narrowed his eyes at you. Clearly trying to see if the jibe had been intentional or not. "You must get that all the time."

"You'd be surprised." A grin broke across his face, and you ordered the Godspeed You! Black Coffee. You wondered if it would ruin the effect to get it with cream and sugar instead of black. "You from around here?" He seemed genuinely curious.

"Just moved in down the street, actually." You shifted, wary of such openness.

He nodded, but seemed to take your closed answer in stride. Your coffee was ready in record time, along with a muffin he threw in with it "for getting the name." You turned away from the counter, wondering if you had time to sit for a moment. This was the kind of coffee shop you could see yourself spending a lot of time in. Probably too much time, truth be told.

Instead, you decided you should probably be home in time to meet the delivery person. You did stop by a little table where creams, sugars, and other coffee fixings had thoughtfully been laid out. Sending a guilty look at the barista, you added too much sugar and some cream to your drink.

You were so absorbed in this task that you missed the telltale tinkle of the bells on the door and another patron entering the coffee shop. So you were caught totally off guard when you turned around and found yourself face-to-face with someone.

You yelped and jumped back, your coffee cup falling to the floor as your fingers went limp.

Coffee splashed, and you yelped again as you managed to catch a handful of scalding coffee in your stupid attempt to catch the falling cup.

" Shit!"

The man from the bar stepped back, but not quickly enough to avoid a splash of coffee. The hot liquid touched his jeans, and he hissed in displeasure. "These are my buddy's jeans." You froze, staring from your own burning fingers, to the puddle of coffee, to the stain on the man's jeans, to his face. "These are the jeans Johnny Boy was wearing when he died in my arms. He fell in with a bad crowd after his wife left him. Got a call from him one night, and he sounded bad, wanted me to come over. It was too late by the time I got there. I did everything I could to save him, but there's only so much you can do to help a stab victim. So now all I have is this pair of jeans, so thanks for that."

You stuttered, totally at a loss. What did you say after that?

The commotion attracted the barista, and he hurried over with a mop. "Hey, lay off, Robert. Take it easy on the guy." He turned to you and, in the same breath, reassured you. "He's kidding."

The man from the bar just looked at you blankly. "Or am I?"

You stared back, your heart beginning to race again. Oh, you've got to be kidding me. What're the odds he'd have the same fucking name?

After the barista kindly offered to replace the coffee you'd spilled (and he'd cleaned up), you found yourself standing awkwardly at the counter beside the man from the bar while he and the barista chatted. You amended the thought--while the barista, Mat, chattered away at the man from the bar, Robert, who stood mostly silently. Apparently they knew one another.

You stood quietly while Mat remade your drink, and made Robert's order as well. Uncomfortably aware of the man standing close beside you, you flinched every time he moved. He still smelled of smoke and leather, but now the aroma of coffee radiated from his as well. You flushed with embarrassment as you realized that was your fault.

Finally, Mat handed you another coffee. "I put cream and sugar in for you." He said with a smile.

"Wow," Touched by the gesture, you managed a smile. "Sorry about the floor . . . and, uh," you shot a glance up at Robert, forcing the words out in a half whisper. "And your jeans."

Robert grunted.

Mat waved away the apology. "It happens. See ya around sometime, yeah?"

"Yeah,"

You left with the sour taste of fear coating the back of your throat. Was nowhere in town safe from that man?

Not too late to pack up and move again.

The delivery truck in front of your house said otherwise.