Café Life

Even though Charis didn’t own a television, she still saw her share of shows. ‘Saw’ is the operative word because the TV set in question glowed silently in the store window across the street from the café. Her father always said TV rotted your brains, but she felt immune to its detrimental effects as long as it was punctuated by the bustling street life of Grand Avenue. She could watch as long as real life played between them: other people driving by, smoking cigarettes, walking their animals, getting in cars, holding hands. Sometimes she imagined the characters in the shows were the ones milling around under its blue-grey light, like they were queued up for their turn on the screen. But she knew they were just ordinary people. Livin life. Being alive. This was Tuesday, and good old Eduardo—the only man she trusted to make her coffee right, set cup and saucer on the edge of the table and smiled down at her. She broke her gaze to let out a sheepish thanks, but he already knew, and went back to the countertops. That night the café was the last to close. Eduardo had the chairs up, and Charis gathered her things. The street had long since emptied, but as she walked home, the television still played on behind her. She would sleep well, she thought.

True Faith

‘And what can I do for you sir?’ Kim peeked out at the pony-tailed man over the tall reception desk.
‘I came down here to be evangelized,’ he said, shilling over an old pamphlet. ‘Someone put this in my pocket while I was passed out at ozzfest last year. I got your address here on the back.’
‘Oh,’ Kim said, and pushed some buttons hurriedly. She muffled something into the end of a phone and looked over at the man repeatedly as she listened, nodding her head. ‘Did you see the sinner’s prayer printed on the back?’ She asked.
Stu flipped the tract over. ‘Oh yeah,’ he tapped the bottom with his finger, ‘but I thought it might not be real unless I confessed to someone or something.’
She turned away. ‘He saw the prayer’ she said to the floor. More silence, more nods. She turned back and smiled. 'What's your name, sir?'
'Stu Jenkensen.'
‘I have good news Mr. Jenkensen. If you read the prayer you are actually already… Evangelized.’
‘Oh,’ he said.
‘I understand how that can come as a surprise to you.’ She hung up the phone. ‘But let’s not make your trip down here for nothing.’ Kim disappeared behind the desk and re-emerged with an armload of materials. ‘Mr. Jenkensen, do you like sports? Because first of all we have a brand new sports Bible filled with many inspiring sports stories. And here is the church directory, a guide to the rapture, and you also get to share your faith with this self adhesive bumper sticker.’
Stu flipped the sticker over. ‘Are you Saved?’ it said in bold red letters.‘Thanks, but don’t I need to believe or something?’ He asked.
Kim smiled the exact same smile, ‘You wouldn’t be down here without faith, Stu.’ She placed the tattered tract on top of the others and handed them tenderly into his outstretched hands. ‘The best thing you can do now is call one of those numbers and get your walk started.’
Stu could tell the conversation was over. ‘Oh, ok.’ He turned around, arms full, to the double glass doors.
The stuff got thrown in the trunk, but the sticker stared back at him from inside. ‘Are You Saved?’ It asked. Even though he knew he didn’t believe, he peeled the sticker, put it on his car, got in, and drove away.

Broken Elevator

Grady wondered if he could just stay right where he was: live the remainder of his life splayed out halfway down the last flight of stairs, clutching his seat cushion in one hand, with his chair toppled at the bottom, and his things strewn between them. At first he wanted to get away. Go somewhere. Slide back down these steps, snoop around until he found someplace easy, then push his way in and settle down. People did it all the time, they started over, they moved on, they got born again. But, as his mind visualized his escapes, he realized that he could never imagine a place without him in it, where those two little legs, that ever felt like strangers, weren’t dangling from him. So he laid there. The fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered. Two flights down, the door yawned and closed with a thump. He knew it was Laura by her footsteps, the same ones that always walked by his door to the flat at the end of the hall. There was no time to hide, and he knew he couldn’t pretend to be ok. She came around the corner, surprised then concerned. Her handbag slid smoothly off her shoulder. 'Are you ok?' She asked.
'The elevator was broken,' he managed to say.