Like all the rest, it was in black and white, but
when he looked at it, it began to take on its color.
This image was the one that he was most proud
of. It was fortuitous that he had even got the shot;
he could still remember the circumstances surrounding it.
It was in the city, a year after he had finished
college. He was sitting in a coffee house, downtown, working on a presentation that he was
about to make. Across the street, he could see the
massive high rise, where the corporation that he
would one day own resided. Nervously, he read
and re-read what he was going to say, occasionally
looking at his watch to check how late his partner was, who had promised to show up an hour
earlier.
He remembered how a voice had interrupted
him from his work. “Would you like a refill?” A
young man in an apron stood across the table
from him,
holding a half-full pot of coffee.
He shook his head. “No, thank you.”
The man nodded and walked away; past him,
he suddenly saw her. A young woman, sitting at
a table across the way. She held a magazine in her
hand, and was looking down at it. He had seen
her here before; back in those days, he frequented
this coffee shop quite often, as she did. They had
never spoken, not really. Occasionally, they would
pass each other and mutter, “Excuse me,” halfheartedly, but other than that, their only contact
was the occasional smile across the room.
Just as he was thinking that, she looked up, and
of course she noticed him staring at her, and gave
him the same nervous grin that he had seen many
times before. He returned it, flushing, and looked
back down at his computer screen.
“Are you ever going to go over there?”
With a shock, he looked up, and the waiter was
back. Despite his earlier answer, he was filling up
his coffee cup with fresh roast. “On the house,”
the man assured him.
He thanked him, but the man didn’t go away.
“Seriously. Are you?”
“Am I what?”
With a huff, the waiter sat down in the chair
opposite him. “Look, I’ve worked here for almost
a year. You think I haven’t noticed you two? You
think we all haven’t?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever.” The waiter got up. “Your life. But
think about it.” He walked away with a small
smile on his face.
Absently, he began to stare past the girl, out
the front windows of the coffeehouse. He didn’t
remember if he was actually considering what the
waiter had said, or just resting his eyes from staring at a screen. It didn’t really matter to the story.
Suddenly, the sun passed from behind a cloud,
and the street outside was struck with brilliant
light. Everything in the front of the coffee house
was put in silhouette, and everything around was
lit in fiery orange. It was beautiful.
For some reason, he remembered the camera in
his bag, and he pulled it out. He looked through
the lense and snapped just one shot, the photo
that he looked at now. About a minute later, the
sun was covered again by another cloud. The
orange glow was gone, and with it, the Girl. She
must have walked out while he had been taking
the picture.
Soon after, his partner had come. The meeting
had gone well, of course; it had been the catalyst
that had propelled him to where he was now,
the day before a cross-country move to become
Executive Partner. His whole life could be owed
to that moment. The good times and the bad.
Closing down bars, stumbling home at three in
the morning. The money, his success. His car.
Relationships. It all came down to that day in the
coffeehouse.
And as he sat on his bare wooden floor gazing
at the picture, he realized that he had lived a good
life. Most men would kill for the luxuries that he
had experienced. He had reached the top of the
ladder, but there wasn’t much else there. The rarified air he lived in didn’t allow for others. A good
life, but it wasn’t good enough. As crazy as he
must have sounded, he was perfectly content with
giving it up for something else, even a cloudy
uncertain future.
He gently ripped up the tape holding the picture to the photobook, and sat down on the old
couch. Leaning back, he closed his eyes, unsure
of how this worked. After all, he had never tried
before. He thought back to the day, occasionally
opening his eyes to the picture he held. Breathing
slowly, he tried to get every detail of that little
coffee shop fixed perfectly in his mind.
It happened very quietly. There was no extreme
sound of rushing air, of the space time continuum
ripping apart like a cloth. He opened his eyes to
look at the picture again, and was no longer in his