I was contemplating whether or not I wanted to share this piece with you. I’ve decided why not for the fun of it? During my last week of college when friends were still taking exams and I was finished with mine, I entertained myself with the concept of writing a novel. I’ve never really written anything creative in the past, so this was a new experience for me. I know it isn’t the best work of literature, but I reread this the other night and actually found it amusing. My sister and I have always joked about opening a coffee shop that sold books and held coffeehouses in the evenings for musicians and poets as a means of creating a career out of our Liberal Arts degrees. This way we would have careers that incorporated my English major and her Music major and kept us from living in cardboard boxes on the streets. So, out of this lifelong dream, I started writing what could some day become a novel or may just remain a wholly unfinished product. I give to you my VERY short novel:
Plot: Two sisters open a café bookstore coffeehouse.
Samuel walked through the door everyday with a suave gait, sleekly running his fingers through his hair. He would then look over to the girls at the register and nod his head in greeting with a small smirk pasted across his face. The girls would look at each other with wide eyes in amusement, wondering if this man would ever break out of his predictable demeanor. After greeting them, they knew Samuel would grab a chair in the left-hand corner of the room, put his slick, brown leather bag down to the right of him and draw his laptop out of the bag with one clean swoop. He would then continue writing poetry from the day before while enclosed in his own thoughts. The girls would giggle at the pensive faces that he exhibited as he wrote, without even a glance from Samuel.
Trina always prepared a Cappuccino with a double espresso shot for Samuel. As she walked over, she wiggled her bum in the most ridiculous way while pretending to walk the runway. Samuel never noticed the different walks Trina employed. She tried walking with a hop in her step, overemphasized for the greatest effect. Or even grapevining across the bumpy tile floor with a spin upon arrival at Samuel’s table. He would just mumble a thank you or something of the sort, reach over slowly and grip his Cappuccino, take a sip, and go about his business.
Now, Madeline thought it would be a great idea to dress Samuel up as a jester and bring some liveliness to the café. Business was slow in this time of the year, the weather being rainy and cool and all. Hot coffee and iced mochas simply weren’t as appealing as sleep at this time of the year. So, to draw some attention to the fun that could be occurring in the café if people actually came in, Madeline thought she would create something out of Samuel. She scurried to the back, searching for materials that could make a hat of some sort. The old aprons of burgundy and beige lay by the stove, covered in burns and stains. That would do, she thought, as she reached for some scissors and cardboard. Ten minutes later, Madeline came barging out of the backroom with the most ridiculous jester hat Trina had ever seen, and if Samuel had noticed he would’ve felt the same way. Samuel was sitting in the corner minding his own business, biting his lip in struggle over words. Trina stared as Madeline boldly placed the jester hat on Samuel. Samuel glanced up at Madeline with his mouth hanging open.
“You know, I have been visiting your coffee shop, coffee house, bookstore, whatever you want to call it, for 2 years now without avail. Why do you find so much amusement over my strong degree of concentration?”
Madeline jumped with surprise.