Shelter From The Storm

It was one of those breezy, humid mornings when nature seems to be considering scaring the bejeezus out of local inhabitants with a hell of a wicked thunderstorm.

"Better stay home. Nobody wants to play bumper cars downtown in a biblical flood." The words echoed from Princess Amy's command and control center deep in my brain, or so I'm told; I wouldn't know the mid-brain from the suburbs.

"Sorry, Amy," I said. "I need to get out of the house. I feel like a balloon with more than the recommended dose of atmosphere, if atmosphere is the word I want."

Wind Horse purred smoothly as we crossed the Memorial Bridge. I spotted the thunderhead rolling upriver from the stormy Atlantic, making its way downtown. Lightning bolts danced in the depths of the darkness. It looked wicked, and I didn't like it. 

"Faster, faster!" urged Amy. She was talking to me, not the storm. "Castle Street's going to be a river by the time we get there."

"Easy, Amy," I said. "Don't get your knickers in a wad." Her warning had no effect on me, because Castle Street rises several feet above river level by the time it gets to Cafe Luna. We would find safe haven there and wait out the storm.

As I parked, the floodgates had opened, and the downpour was so heavy it obscured vision. I walked quickly through the rain with a bowed head and a heavy heart. 

I was fed up with all the nonsense Life was throwing my way, but I refused to feel hopeless and forlorn. That's what I told myself, but I was at a loss as to what I would do about it exactly.  

Pausing halfway through the cafe door, I saw that several people were ahead of me in line. Not good, I thought, and I could feel Princess Amy taking it big too. 

"I told you!" she said. "We should never have left home. Maybe you'll pay more attention to me next time."

Rather than getting in line, I signaled the barista in a way to say that I was desperate for an infusion of Jah’s mercy, and pleading for her to do her utmost to do something about it.

She nodded and lifted a cup in a sort of salute that told me she would begin preparing the concoction of espresso and oat milk that served me well. 

"There's nowhere to sit," said Amy.

I scrutinized the room, and what to my wandering eye should appear but my old pal, Island Irv, with a peculiar look on his face. It was a look usually seen on the faces of dog walkers who, on rainy days like this one, seriously reconsider their career choices. 

I crossed the room and, as I took my seat, I asked, "What's wrong with you? You look like...well, never mind what you look like. I probably look the same."

"Mine is a tragic story," he said, "full of heartbreak and grief. It began on a day much like this one. I thought I'd connected with Lilly."

He paused to simplify and clarify, and I thought a preux chevalier, like myself, should allow him to finish his sentence before being interrupted.

"You know Lilly," he said, "the barista with the tattoos. I thought we'd become pals, chums, and I thought I could speak freely. But I took too much for granted; I got my signals crossed, and now there's a wall between us. I feel something beautiful has been lost.”

I've heard newborn babies wailing, and I've heard dogs howling for their masters, but that pales to the whining of someone who’s been scorned by a newfound friend. 

Still, who wants to spend a rainy Sunday morning crying over spilt milk, especially in a caffeine emporium? It's an absurd thought.

"Well, mine is a tragic story too," I said, "although I'll bet it shares nothing in common with yours. Still, a warm, friendly environment and a bottomless supply of steaming brew-ha-ha help to make a fine day for it. Don’t you agree?”

And just at that precise moment, the barista arrived with my cappuccino. Her timing was perfect.

"You're the genie from the lamp," I said, "who's granted my wish. Maybe you can offer something to cheer Irv up."

It was a risky move, inviting her to soothe the Islander, because the barista who had delivered roasted comfort to my table was the one and only tattooed Lilly.

The look on Irv's face told me that if my gamble didn't work out properly, he was going to collapse into a heap on the floor.

Lilly looked at Irv and said with a smile, "All you need to do when you're feeling hopeless and forlorn is come into Cafe Luna. We'll give you shelter from the storm."

And just like that, Irv's day was reborn, and I was able to enjoy my coffee in a cafe safe and warm, sheltered from the storm.

Each day is a special and unique gift. No matter what comes with it, it's the same day--good or bad, happy or sad. It seems that wherever life leads us, we might as well accept it as it is and get on with it. 

Thanks for visiting The Circular Journey, my friends. It's always a pleasure to have you here. I wish you a beautiful, rainy-day kind of morning—cozy, thoughtful, and somewhere safe and warm.