The Palms & The People

"We're closing in twenty if you need anything."

"Yeah," Jay said, more breath than language. He sniffed and tugged on his nose. "Maybe another coffee, if you don't mind."

"Sure thing." The waitress paused and tugged on her apron. "Jay..."

"I'm good, I'm good. Thanks."

He offered what he hoped was a warm smile and looked back to the half-filled journal on the table. Jagged lines of black crunched together across the cream page, making it look more aggressive than the meaning behind the words actually was. He brushed a thumb over the dry ink. Maybe the story wasn't as soft as he thought.

It was his observations about the world after all. Couldn't be that soft with the way things had been. Couldn't be that bad either, he mused, with this strange little shop and its palms and people. Coffee at any hour, wine after noon, and opt-in servers.

His eyes trailed back up to the woman still standing beside the table.

"I'm fine, Cally."

She tucked a blonde curl behind her ear and twisted her mouth to one side.

"Naomi and I were talking the other day..."

"Not about me, I hope," Jay laughed. A swarm of bees rose in his belly. When he shifted, the chair groaned beneath him.

"There's more to the world, I promise," Cally laughed back. Her eyes didn't light. "But this time..."

"Cally. I'm fine."

"Jay, you've been coming here for fifteen years. That's three times as long as I've worked here. And you can't expect people not to talk about the regular leaving. It's gonna leave a sore spot when you're gone."

He folded the edge of a brown napkin over one way and then the other.

When he was gone.

He still hadn't thought much about it. After all, it had only been a few weeks since he'd gotten the letter about the subsidized housing closure. There was a need for larger developments. Something about single family homes promising more community growth than apartments for the elderly. Besides, the crack in the foundation had gotten worse in the last year.

There was logic to the decision. Sound, cold, bureaucratic logic.

He smoothed a hand down his shirt with a subtle sigh.

"Cally, the care is appreciated. Really. Thanks. But I'd just like to sit here a little longer. Alone. For another few minutes, if you don't mind. You're closing soon enough and I've got one last walk home. Think I'd like to hit it at dusk."

He smiled brightly at her, but he could feel the lead in his own eyes. "I'll come say goodbye before I go."

The waitress twisted her lips again.

"I'll be real upset if you don't," she said at last.

"Course. Who else will give you a two hundred percent tip for spilling coffee on 'em?"

Cally frowned, ugly and bare, and then walked away.

What he'd said was mean. Worse than that, it was mean-spirited. She was a shit waitress and they both knew it. But she needed the job, so she tried her hardest to serve the right drinks and he tried to get her to feel good about that choice. Ah, well. Maybe if he hurt her a little bit she'd miss him less. Jay rubbed his eyes. Maybe she'd just be more confused about the hurting.

Like he was with the letter from the State.

He sighed heavily and flipped his notebook shut.

It was a nice evening. Condensation gathered around the edges of the massive pane of glass beside him, letting him know that the day hadn't cooled yet. The drink shop was always chilled. And it always smelled vaguely of ice cream. He brought his drink to his lips and swallowed. Given that they hardly sold a dozen a day, the smell was surprising.

But he liked it.

Amber sunset light poured through the window, catching the long leaves of the palms occupying the space on either side of his lonely looking, single-chaired table. They'd grown since he first came by. Grown a lot. One crowded the corner, cozying up to a wall of blocked glass in a way that was suggest of mischief, while its twin rested in a more apathetic manner on its own, separating the table from the entrance.

He sketched an imaginary picture of the palm against the smooth, wood tabletop.

How much taller would they get?

Tall enough to touch the sky.

And then they'd be comfortable. Wrap their roots in circles and stretch out in each new pot they'd get thinking that the earth was theirs just like the sky. And then they'd crack one of their special concrete pots. It wouldn't be economical to fix it. You'd have to hire someone for that. Someone expensive. It'd be easier to throw the whole thing out and start with a smaller pot and a smaller tree. Something more manageable with a few less years on its shoulders. And the palm would sit there on the street in that delicious tropical humidity with nothing to do but hum with the excitement of being alive with prospect, never knowing it would die. Alone. Without tasting the real dirt.

Because of a crack in the foundation.

The pot, he corrected himself.

A bill slapped against the table, jerking him out of his thoughts.

"Thirty-two, thirty-three. Nice easy numbers. Hard to mess up," Cally snapped.

His gaze lingered on the palm fronds across from him.

"I settled the bill already with your manager. He's got your tip."

And six hundred extra, he thought to himself.

The entire room glowed with the sticky light of the sunset now. The clay tiles bounced the orange light around until everything burned, even the walls and the register. Cally's name tag flashed.

Jay swallowed thickly and got to his feet.

"Cally," he said, holding his journal lamely between wrinkled fingers. "Would you mind doing me a favor?"

"A favor?"

"A parting gift to me. If you'd rather think of it that way, that is."

Cally stayed quiet. Instead, she simply stared at him in that sharp way of hers that always made him feel bad that she was working at a place like this.

"Take care of the palms." He handed her the journal, holding it with a pale tremor in the space between them. "And you."

Cally's brow furrowed. "The palms?"

"Yeah, the palms. Hate to see something so full of life dry out because it got too big, you know? Nothing sadder."

He brushed against her shoulder as he passed.

"Ah. And don't forget," he grinned. "Concrete has a tendency to crack. But I think it's worth fixing."

Jay flashed her the brightest smile he could manage, bowing slightly as he did so. The palm caressed the side of his throat. Fronds fell across his shoulder in a soft embrace. He ran his fingers against the palm's bark.

The sunlight had grown weak with the shadows.

"Goodbye, Cally. And goodnight, it seems."