The Backrooms

When Mary moved to the Bronx she knew the most important thing, after finding a good apartment with decent sunlight, was to find her signature coffee. It was her routine: she needed the mixture of caffeine and aromatics to run on, and to stay awake through those pesky overnight shifts.

So, she embarked on a daily adventure of waking up at 6 A.M., trying a café on her way to work, rating it by taste, quality, heating, and sweetness; she then set up a small list and pinned it on her front door.

As she stepped through the busy streets, going to her secretary job, she began appreciating its energy. In every alley and borough, the uplifting beats of hip-hop or disco resonated through the lively atmosphere. It was culture, it was authentic. Music brought neighborhoods together, and they shaped tight-knit communities. Mary was especially pleased when hearing one of her many favorite songs, like Ain't No Sunshine by Michael Jackson, or even Burning Love by Elvis Presley.

By May, around three months after she moved to New York for a new life, she successfully filled a decent amount of information about the dozen cafes each at least 700 feet away from each other. With colorful magnets pinning the scribbled page, she quickly added all of the individual scores each café had achieved, and with a smile, after finishing the rankings, she stepped back to take in her hard labor's result.

Dewlight Pavilion took the medal, it seemed.

To better explain how good their coffee is, one would have to test both their americano and their latte. The chief barista had gone to Italy a few years back to study lattes, therefore the perfected a ratio of milk to coffee almost identical to the one she tasted back in Milan.

Not too hot, not too mild. Temperature is handled at the most precise degree.

Their coffee beans are nothing short of exceptional. The roast is just delightful and can be customized depending on the mood: citrusy and bright with lime undertones, sweet and spicy with chocolate and chili powder, or even deep and gooey with brioche and caramel scents.

Overall, she and Dewlight Pavilion really found each other perfectly.

So, she finds herself going back for seconds for the first time on a chilly Tuesday morning during spring, at around 6:30 A.M. Clouds had made their way for purple and blue skies, as lukewarm breezes raised chills on her naked neck—her metal necklace making this worse. The sun barely makes itself known while workers and wives enjoy a cup of hot, fuming coffee. Mary studies the menu a bit better than the last time. She now has all the time in the world to perfect her daily order.

The place, as all coffee shops, is pretty quiet at this time of day: small whispers escaping the mouths of those that jumped out of bed for their quick fix, clinking dishes and boiling milk disturbing the peace of sunrise snoozing.

Entering through the door, the bell jingled blissfully in warm greeting. The aromas immediately enveloped her, an earthy reminder of the last time she was there. Time stopped for a moment and wrapped her in the saccharine and bitter scent of brewed coffee.

It was just for her.

A few deep inhales and exhales of joy later, and she stops in front of the counter.

Today it seems like smoothness calls to her, so she decides on ordering a latte. With a twist, of course.

Looking around while waiting, she softly thrums her long fingers on the counter. She adjusts a piece of freshly dyed blonde curly hair behind her ear, adjusts her clinking, colorful bracelets and notices from the corner of her hazel eyes—a woman, sitting down, serious and focused on reading her book while sipping her black coffee. Her eyebrows are kept, she has slightly dark makeup on that makes her eyelashes look ten times their size, beautiful cascading brown hair and a posture that betrays a refined childhood.

Mary's eyes got a quick glimpse of her muscular build, but when she saw her, she had to do a double take. Did she just find her soulmate in a random coffee shop, or was this just an alluring woman she had no chance of seducing?

Damn, she's hot.

Mary takes a deep inhale and exhale to calm down.

It's just a woman. You're going to be fine. You may be a raging femme that can now apparently legally flirt with any woman, but it doesn't mean you suddenly have a chance with them. More than before, at least. But she's so pretty I need to make a move or I'll explode also. Or maybe not. No, be friendly. Be normal about this, Mary, be normal, so normal and so hetero.

Finally receiving her latte, she decides on casually noticing the book the woman is reading, reading the title out loud.

As Mary begins to fast walk towards the exit, she lets out a giggle of soft embarrassment and finally takes a sip of her own coffee. Georgia doesn't even have the time to say "Good day" back, so she quietly smiles and lets out a short breath through her nose in amusement. She stops by the service counter to pick up her receipt. She collects them, they serve as a kind of keepsake for her.

She sounds fun, she thinks as she continues reading her book.

It's finally Friday., Mary thinks as she opens her eyes, coming to herself in stretchy yawns in her freshly washed sheets and fluffy sunflower pillows. The week-end meant finally some time for herself to do what she originally wanted to do in her life. Paint.

In her small flat with a creaky wooden floor, she installed her painting corner next to the windows facing the street, getting the sunlight it has to offer from 5 A.M. to 10 A.M. Unfortunately, as she takes a moment to get her radio going and to gaze lazily at her window, it will remain untouched until at least evening. Though, to make the day ahead better, she remembered about the coffee place on the way. And about her.

It has now been a week and a half since she saw this woman, and been a week and a half of hopelessly coming back to the coffee shop, not only for their absolutely exquisite cups of hot drinks but also for her. Her, she sighed as she began dreaming awake to the sound of Let's Stay Together by Al Green.

After a few minutes of lazing around, seeing the time on her trusty yellow radio, she decided to get up and let her feet embrace the cold parquet, going straight to her closet and choosing today's outfit.

Now, don't get her wrong, she loves a good flowy dress, but today feels a bit more idle, so she decides on comfy flared jeans with a flowery blouse shirt, letting her blonde hair out of her rollers. For makeup, definitely keeping it light, pale green eye shadow and black mascara, light orange blush and a hydrating clear gloss for her lips.

She puts the gloss away and steps in front of her full length mirror, thrifted in a tiny dilapidated shop down the street, fluffing up her hair, passing her longer through her curls. She then smiles to herself. A smile saves the day, her mom would've said. That, she missed dearly. Oh, well, time to go to work. There isn't any time in the world to reminisce on the past when you're in desperation for caffeine to get you going through the day, it seems.

Mary slips on her shoes—brown, chunky heels—and takes her keys and purse from her front door's catch-all, making them scrape on the metal lightly. She unlocks her door, letting it lock behind her, and immediately soaks in the half-busy, half-sleepy air as people pass with small to-go cups in hand. Cars drift by, and the smell of exhaust fumes remind her of home.

Her first encounter of her soon-to-be wife went by perfectly, don't you think? Mary, so naïve in her nature, always falls head over heels for the rugged type. She would later go on to meet her continuously over the span of a few years on these coffee dates. For now, in this moment, she feels she's right where she needs to be. The sticky smell of her gloss, the air swaying her bangs, and the bottoms she meticulously color-matched to her outfit. The coffee she held in her hands, clasping around her palms to cool the cup, would soon be one of the many pleasures she would be denied in the fracture of spacetime she would go on to traverse.

A part of me feels bad for what's to come.