Oliver Benjamin
“Would you like some coffee?” Roy suggested. He knew in his
heart she would say yes.
“No,” she said, “I don’t drink coffee.”
Roy coughed, then tried his best to be diplomatic. “Health
reasons, huh? Actually, there’s no data to suggest…”
“I don’t believe in coffee,” she said.
Roy laughed uncomfortably. “Don’t believe…” he said, starting to
get up.
“It’s brings you up,” she said, “Then you get used to it. Then it
doesn’t work. But you still have to keep drinking it. Or else you end
up lower than where you started.”
Roy switched on the old espresso machine and listened to the
musical hissing and bubbling of steam, a lullaby hummed by a
submerged mermaid.
“How did you get in here?” he asked.
The girl slowly rose to her feet. She no longer wore the nude-suit
of the night before. She was outfitted in sloppy clothes unworthy of
her grace. “It was open,” she said.
Roy looked away. He knew for a fact that he had locked the door.
He always locked the door. He remembered locking the door.
Employing a cat as a watchdog had been a grave error. He glanced
over at the cash drawer.
Yak walked in the room, stirring his tea.
“Hey, I didn’t see you at all last night,” Roy said.
“I’m not good with crowds,” his friend replied.
She said hello and Yak looked at her for a long moment. Then he
nodded, turned around and left. It seemed the room was still too
crowded for him at that moment.
“Excuse me,” Roy turned back to the girl, “But I never learned
your name. Miss…?”
“Sprout,” she replied.
Roy said nothing. After a few moments of waiting she said
“Sorry. I’ll be leaving.” She started walking towards the door. Roy
saw the diffused early light play upon her form, watched her bend at
the waist as she ducked to leave. Quickly, he ran over to the cash
register, opened it and saw that it was still full of money.
He caught up to her in the alleyway. But when he reached her he
had nothing to say.
“Wait,” he said, “Um.”
“Um,” she repeated.
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