Recollections
This is a short story I’ve been working on. Hopefully I’ll develop it further in the future.
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Nearby the western hills of Riverside County the massive sprawl of urbanization has eliminated nearly all farmland and left only remnants of the past in its wake. Shopping centers, business districts and suburbs have propped themselves in place where they serve as a somber reminder of what the city once was—not that Colin particularly felt it was better or worse now than it was ten years ago.
It was different, yes, but the citizens of Riverside have remained relatively the same throughout the entirety of Colin’s life, and he always thought perhaps it’s because Riverside itself serves as the rest stop for where people want to go, not where they intend to be. Of course, nothing prevented people from leaving Riverside, but Colin, a lifelong resident of the city—had spent the better part of his life watching people go only to eventually return. Their excuse, he noted, was that “It’s not bad here,” even though no one could explain what exactly this comparison entailed.
Riverside simply stood as the culmination of memories that had multiplied like bacteria in fermenting bread yeast. True, life hadn’t been the most interesting, but Colin did have memories he cherished—memories that he held onto tightly. It was those memories that confined him to Riverside even though those he shared them with had left long ago.
—
Back to the Grind was located in the center of Riverside, and its tall but narrow architectural style was reminiscent of the Victorian cafés of the 1860s. It was one of the few remaining buildings of old Downtown Riverside that had escaped eminent domain, and Colin had always thought its interior decor felt deadlocked between past and present, never quite sure which way it had swayed more.
It was 1:22 in the afternoon when Colin arrived at Back to the Grind. The rear entrance was closed off to the public by an aluminum “Private Property” sign to deter customers from using it, but Colin generally ignored the sign since all of the new art displays were kept toward the back. The café was bustling with young college students discussing daily events or simply studying, and though Colin often hungered for such a life, he was now rapidly approaching the age of twenty-five and felt that it was too late though he himself knew this wasn’t true. He approached the café’s long, wooden counter where he could smell the rich, chocolaty scent of espresso flooding the air. Lisa, the café’s afternoon barista, could be seen hand-pressing the beans on an aluminum slab, first arching her right hand then slamming hard like a blacksmith forging wrought iron. Each strike would jostle the counter which always surprised Colin when he considered that Lisa couldn’t possibly be taller than five feet.
It wasn’t long before Lisa noticed Colin, smiled at him and asked, “Same thing as usual, sweetheart?” before returning to the order at hand.
The question was rhetorical. Lisa had known Colin since high school, and she knew better than most people that Colin was a creature of habit and that those habits weren’t easily broken, so she wasn’t surprised when Colin repeated his order as he had always done.
“A double-shot Back to the Grind, over ice with no whip,” Colin said as he examined the pastries inside a refrigerated display case.
“You know, we have other drinks that you’d probably like just as much. You don’t always have to order the same thing, darling.”
“I know,” Colin said as he smiled at Lisa.
Lisa took the metal spoon she was using to stir a drink, and wielding it like a conductor holding her baton, pointed it toward the front patio informing Colin that “Cory is waiting for you, sweetheart. I’ll bring your drink out to you when it’s ready.”
Colin thanked Lisa before walking toward the front door. The walls of the patio had large glass panels that welcomed its downtown patrons where the café was located on a long, thin strip of road right in the center of town. The little bell over the door rattled against the glass as Colin opened it, and he saw Cory leaning against the green patio table, finishing a cigarette as he gazed out into the horizon. The heat had begun to rise slowly in the summer, increasing a few increments each day, and the light breeze caused Cory’s thin, black hair to rustle with each passing. When Cory noticed Colin standing before him, he put out the remaining cigarette into a black ashtray and stood before Colin. The two examined each other, and the other patrons probably felt what they thought was tension, but it wasn’t long before Colin smiled—then Cory. There, the two embraced each other causing the patrons to return to their original conversations. Each took his corresponding seat, Cory to the left and Colin to the right. A pack of cigarettes lay between the two, and Cory
picked it up, tapped the pack twice, and pulled out a cigarette before lighting it.
When sitting at the patio of the cafe, it was possible to see both spectrums of Riverside. The residents, Colin had noticed, had a tendency to look away from the east where the growth of the city had declined and stood as a haunting reminder of the failing economy that the country faced. It was the physical embodiment of the city’s past, and it was a hard sight to swallow since it tended to remind people of their own shortcomings, so it didn’t surprise Colin that people often looked away when given the opportunity.
Cory placed the white, filtered end of his cigarette between his lips and inhaled slightly, letting the smoke swirl with a little air before again inhaling then smoothly exhaling. “It’s good to see you,” Cory said.
“You too. It’s been like a year already?” Colin replied. This was more of a statement than a question, as Colin and Cory were both aware precisely how long it had been. “You look good, Cory.”
“I’ve been out west a lot, mostly in San Diego. You’d be surprised the kind of people you’d meet out there. A lot of artists and musicians, but it’s not the same kind that you’d meet down here. It’s hard to describe. It’s kind of like that feeling of breathing cold air at night after a long, warm day. It feels so clean.”
“I know what you mean.”
Colin knew the feeling well. It was roughly four years ago, and Colin hadn’t yet dropped out of college. He had been attending an intermediate figure painting course, and it was during the middle of the semester that his professor led an art excursion to San Diego to see the recent Mark Ryden exhibit. Truthfully, Colin didn’t have much interest in the exhibit itself, but Cassie, Colin’s now ex-girlfriend, had convinced him that the trip would be well worth the time. She was definitely right about that. Colin could still recall holding Cassie’s hand as the two of them stood in front of that masterpiece of a painting as an unbelievable sense of contentment sent a jolt through Colin, resuscitating a part of him he no longer thought to be alive. And while the attention to detail in the painting was simply mind boggling, Colin had come to a simple, yet clear understanding of his life—he loved Cassie more than he thought himself capable of loving another human being, and he hoped that one day he could have a life with her in San Diego where that sense of contentment felt tangible like malleable clay that could still be worked upon. But that was two years ago, and to Colin, that now felt like another life—one that was no longer his own.
Colin leaned against the armrest of his chair before asking, “So what were you doing in San Diego, Cory?”
Cory took another drag of his cigarette. “I’ve been thinking of moving out there with Jessica,” he indicated. “We were supposed to be apartment hunting. But we mostly spent our time just checking out the sights, mostly in the downtown area. A lot of the art scene is in that area, and you know Jessica. She loves that shit. You’d probably like it too,” he said as he smirked at Colin.
The little bell over the glass door again rattled, but this time it was Lisa who opened the door. She glanced over to see Cory taking another drag from his cigarette and immediately pulled a seat next to Colin who she knew didn’t smoke. She handed Colin his iced coffee, and she kept another for herself. The whole act appeared so natural that neither Cory nor Colin said anything.
“I’m on break,” Lisa pointed out. Apparently the way Cory glanced at Lisa indicated to her that he was curious although he had never said anything to that effect.
“Are you now?” Cory responded sarcastically.
Colin chuckled at this as Lisa made smiled partway before snickering at Cory.
There was a brief silence as the three of them gazed off into the distance, Cory and Lisa to the west and Colin to the east. How many times in their lives had they sat together like this and gazed out into the horizon? Except that Cassie was with them back then, back when she was still together with Colin.
Colin took another brief sip from his coffee and let the flavor linger on the back of his tongue before swallowing. “Cassie called me recently,” he said rather quietly. “She invited me out to dinner.”
This came as a surprise to both Cory and Lisa, so they said nothing as Colin told them about that night.
—
In she walked with this sultry disposition that gave her a natural grace that eluded even the most confident of women. Colin’s back was to the door when Cassie had entered, but he could still see the faces of men sway as she brushed past them, the sweet scent of her perfume wafting in the air, intoxicating each and every person in the restaurant. She wore a creamy, chiffon one-piece dress that stirred against her pale, milky skin each time she took a step with those black faux leather thigh-high boots she sported—she damn near killed every man on sight. It was a marvel, a perfect image of God’s ultimate design if there had ever been one. And for the first time in his life, Colin conceded that God must exist.
There that night they sat together as if years of absence had never transpired and like they’d so often done in years past, discussed the events of their daily life—the good and the bad. The soft, fluorescent light lingered above them, a beacon illuminating what appeared to be lovers cherishing each other’s company. Laughter flooded the table and they felt the smiles of other patrons directed at them as they, in return, smiled at each other. It had all felt so comfortable, and for the first time in many years, Colin was able to forget those restless nights when he desperately craved to hear the simple sound of Cassie’s voice.
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;”>Nights such as those, as beautiful as they are, tend to be rare and short lived. Time had been fleeting for Colin, and he couldn’t help but feel disheartened as he stood there in the restaurant’s parking lot only to again be separated from the girl he had spent so many years adoring. That night, Cassie had informed Colin that she would be leaving this city they had grown up in, soon to head out west. She seemed choked for words for the first time that night, and while it appeared to Colin that she wanted to say something more, she stood there silent in the moon light—and so they lingered there. Colin brushed the bangs of her hair behind her ear and gently kissed her forehead. He held her there momentarily before finally letting go.
—
Colin’s voice had receded into himself as he thought about that night, and Colin, unsure of what to say next, looked out into the distance. It was time to leave.
Cory had finished his cigarette and stubbed the remnants of it into the ashtray as Lisa downed her remaining coffee. The three of them sat there together like they had so often done in the past and there, they gazed out into the west, past the horizon, past the failing economy and past the city of Riverside where time and life had forever remained deadlocked between past and present.