Garden of Eden Cafe

This town has a loop problem. It’s like the programmer who created this part of the matrix got lazy with the background and just rendered the same strip mall corner over and over, only bothering to change the signs between different retail chains.

It’s been more than 12 years since I lived here. Like any growing city, there are lots of new restaurants that are too expensive. Breweries, cafes, clubs that change their name every year or so, and plenty of students in and out for the semester. There’s new luxury apartments going up and turning the streets into a Stonehenge of sorts. It’s a temporary town, not really known for settling down, but I found myself back here after a decade of living in another city. Lots of old favorites have been done away with, by rising rent prices, by the pandemic or by time.

There is, however, still one place that I remember. It’s a tiny cafe hidden in a back corner of one of the strip malls. It’s a bit dull on the outside and has dentist’s office art on the walls. As far as cafes go, it’s bland, but it’s where I fell in love with Cora years ago. Most everything else in the plaza has become something else, but it’s still here, and so are the chairs where I sat with her.

There’s a two-piece jazz band in the corner nook inside the cafe; a piano player and a saxophonist. The music is unobtrusive by design and it sounds like a coffee muzak mix that can be found on YouTube. None of the handful of customers walking in and out give them much of a glance, but there’s a woman sitting near them who appears to be the partner of one of the players. Her expression says she’s seen the set at least twenty times, and she’s more concerned about scrolling through a phone.

It was a sweltering summer when I first came here and met Cora. We were both brand new to the town and brand new to each other. In those first few months, it was uncomfortable to be close in bed at night due to the summer heat, but we couldn’t stand being even inches apart.. We’d wake up drenched in sweat.

As the months wore on, we drifted further apart on the bed, and by the end of three years, we couldn’t stand to sleep within a foot of each other. Some nights, I gave up and moved to the living room couch. It’s not that I didn’t want to stay close; I did. We were just so young, we didn’t know how. We didn’t know how much the small annoyances start to add up to big chasms, or how small changes in how we saw things would take us different directions. Our adoration for each other eventually turned into a annoyance at best and loathing at worst. Only later did I learn about the secrets Cora was keeping, too.

I’m all finished moving in my new place in the old neighborhood. I had really only come back to save some money after finding myself twenty grand in debt. It’s the old cliche story about someone returning home after being gone for a long time, about how they’ve grown in their love for the friends and family they left, how they’re so elated to be close to them again.Those stories never mention the pain of coming back and finding yourself at odds with surroundings you half recognize and that don’t recognize you.

Feeling both restless and drained, I close my eyes for a moment. I give up fighting and just let this weight take over me. I muster the energy to stand up and drive back to my bare apartment and maybe nap before trudging to work, but as I stand to go, I spot a small black book out of the corner of my eye. It looks like someone’s pocket journal left near the edge of the table across from me. I’m surprised that I didn’t notice it before. I glance around to see if anyone’s missing it, and half think to possibly find its owner or give it to the barista inside, but I’m the only one who’s been out here in the last half hour. I have no idea where it could’ve come from. I feel a touch of shame that I want to snoop on someone else’s private thoughts, but something urges me to read it.

I quickly step to the table and grab the book. I get back to my seat in a flash and act as if it had been mine all along. I open it and read the first few lines. What? This feels like a joke. I look around, half thinking that someone’s messing with me, but there’s still no one else outside. A woman walks out the door of the cafe and steps towards the parking lot when she pauses and glances at me in a brief moment of recognition. I start to panic. Is it hers?? Or is she the one toying with me? I can already feel my skin getting hot when she just smiles briefly at me and walks off to her car. I must’ve looked dumbstruck to her. I get up, quickly stuff the journal in my bag and walk quickly to my car.

I wake up just as the morning light starts to sneak in behind the blinds. Without really trying, I got into the habit of waking up with the sun and sometimes a little before. There’s something beautiful about being up when the city around you is still quiet. I breathe the morning into my torso, filling it up and holding it there and imagining that I can feel it tingling all through my body, and then I let it tumble out and into the room around me. It’s been a month since the day I found that little black book at the cafe and I had no idea that the words inside it would be so powerful. I’ve read them over and over again since that day, and I’m discovering that I don’t want the old heartbreak story, and the bitterness I once carried like weight on my back has gradually started to dissolve.

I’ve become a regular at the tiny corner cafe, and even have plans to meet Melody there later today. We met there on a breezy Sunday morning a few weeks ago. We were the only ones who braved the cold to sit outside that day, deciding that being outside was worth the slight discomfort. She walked up when I was already sitting down and with a smile, asked me how tolerable it was. I could immediately tell that she was easy-going and warm, like she’s used to wearing a smile on her face throughout the day. She sat at the table closest to mine, but after fifteen minutes of chatting, she decided to join me at mine. We talked for four hours that morning, but it felt like only fifteen minutes had passed. She told me all about her move, her career path, her thoughts on life, and I told her all about mine and left out a lot of the gloomy stuff that suddenly seemed irrelevant.

I’ve also filled the blank walls of my apartment with art I’ve found or art I’ve made. It turns out the space breathes a lot better than my old crammed downtown place. I also just received notice that I won a contest that paid out exactly the twenty grand I owed! After a couple of online transfers, the debt will be a thing of the past, like it was just part of a dream. I arrive back to the cafe and have a seat in the cool morning air. Melody will be here shortly, but I’m content to breathe in the morning air before she gets here.

There’s an old chiche of people’s lives changing in an instant. It sounds like fairy tale material. The thing is, I’ve always known that life can change so fast, but usually in painful ways, like through the loss of a lover or death of a family member. Anyone who’s lived through that knows full well that it can be jarring, but there’s another way that life can change, and it’s not so much circumstances that change, at least not at first, but perspective that changes. That can happen in an instant, and sometimes, it just takes the right words to open doors that lead us out of nightmares. The little black book contained words like that. This is what it said:

"If you are reading these words, you are on the verge of something great. You are here because you brought yourself here. This is a signal from the most lucid place within you, telling you that you are in a dream, and navigating this dream is far simpler than it seems.

Trees bear fruit in their seasons. As sure as the sun sets after it rises, the day runs its course. Apple trees bear apples and orange trees bear oranges. Plant and nourish the trees you would see grow in your garden, and do away with the weeds.

You are your higher self. It has never been somewhere else. It’s just your awareness of it that makes the difference. When you rip out your weeds, do so lovingly, like you’re breathing fresh air they can’t stand into them. That way, you’ll never detest anything you’ve ever been.

You are pure love, and never need to earn it. You only need to act from what you are, and see how the sunlight you are causes your trees to grow. Tend to your garden morning noon and night. This is how you will nourish your Garden of Eden."