Coffee Carver

In the early hour of six o’clock, the bells tinker from the old coffee shop on East Street. Autumn’s cold breath blows a freezing wind and tickles the hairs of the incoming patrons. Every year around October, the store owner buys baby pumpkins to decorate his coffee shop. He spends nights curling ribbons and tying them to pumpkin stems in order to add Halloween cheer.

“Lanny! Where is my pumpkin macchiato? It’s been more than three minutes!”

“In a minute, dearie. Don’t get sour on me!”

Lanny Miles swirls the frothy milk into a styrofoam cup, the creamy golden browns dancing with the white bubbles. The salty smells of caramel and pumpkin waft into the dawn air of the coffee shop. Lanny beams, his high brown curls bouncing as he spins to the aid of Mrs. Lee, a heavy set woman with a heart of pure iron.

“You know what you remind me off?” Lanny smirks, dangling the coffee in front of  the heavy set woman. “An expresso, because you’re strong and bitter.”

“One day, you’re gonna bite that tongue off and wish you never spoke!” Mrs. Lee curses, swiping the coffee from Lanny’s hands.

This earns a laugh from his audience: a group of construction workers sitting at the bar stools in front of him.

“Remember, Lanny. It’s wichin’ season.” One of the men cackles. “She might actually curse ya’.”

“Don’t talk like that!” Another one guffaws. “Ol’ Lanny is the last person ‘ere to get cursed!”

Lanny shakes his head as he goes to fill another coffee filter with rich coffee grounds. He watches the men play with the tiny pumpkins decorated with purple and green ribbons.

“You may be twenty-six, Lan, but you’re still a child aren’t ya?”  

Lanny turns around to see Marty, a friend who comes in every morning with his son. The boy climbs into a barstool and starts to make the pumpkin waddle across the table.  

“I can’t help it, Mar” Lanny smiles, pushing another pumpkin towards the boy. “Once a kid, always a kid, as the saying goes!”

The two men exchange a laugh, when suddenly there is a loud crash from the bells. The coffee shop falls into a hush as every patron turns slowly towards the door.

Someone has entered--someone uninvited.

The ringing of the bells linger as a man tucks himself in a corner booth, alone. His matted gray hair sticks to his forehead, wet without rain. A black overcoat drapes across his back like the wings of a raven. He presence pulses with a menacing aura, like an undertaker in a graveyard. Lanny dries his hands with a rough towel and peers at the man, inconspicuously behind the counter.

“You see that, Mar?” Lanny hisses.

“Yeah, I do.” Marty replies, putting an arm around his son. “So, you know him?”

Admittedly, Lanny has never seen such a ominous being. His look alone sent chills down the barista’s spine. The man stand out from the rest of the customers, yet blends nicely with the Halloween spirit. However, it’s too early in the morning for anyone to get scared.

“He could be homeless, Lan. I’d leave him alone if I were you”

Lanny fills a mug of coffee for Marty and a hot chocolate for his son, peeking over his shoulder at the man in the booth. Marty presses his lips to the rim of the mug and sips, gradually. The way Lanny looks at the man, like a cat at a bird, unsettles Marty. The barista was ready to pounce at any second.

“Lanny, whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it!”

Lanny’s hand smacks against the scalding cooking tray, and he yelps. His hand twitches a throbs a brilliant red as he drowns it in the cold sink water. Marty notices the clock and sees the school bus pulling up to the coffee shop. His son pulls on his jacket, anxiously.

“Don’t worry about it, Mar.” Lanny sighs, as he watches Marty fumble in his pocket for his wallet. “It’s on the house. I’ll just figure out what I’m gonna do about this fool.”

“Don’t bother him, Lan.” Marty asserts as he is pulled from the store. “Just don’t.”  

~

Evening in the shop falls quick. For the rest of the day, the man sat in stone cold silence and Lanny never bothers him. Now, as the clock chimes eleven, Lanny has no choice but to disturb the man’s stillness.  He sighs as he dries the last coffee cup, looking into the Halloween Eve moon casting its soft glow upon the ground. His lips puckered into a frown as he walks to greet the ominous customer.

“We’re closed,” He snaps, his fingers twitching on the cream colored table. “Sorry, I didn’t put up the ‘closed’ sign, yet.”

Still, the man avoids Lanny’s eyes.  

“Did you hear me at all, si-”

The light of the moon casts beams across the man’s shiny black coat and the material sparkles. He holds the pumpkin with a Shakespearean grasp, studying the paper thin ribbon tied around the body. Disgusted, he unthreads it and flicks it to the floor.

“You seem like a judgemental type.” The man tilts his attention to the frustrated barista hunched over the table. “Tell me something--what do I look like to you?”

Lanny moves his hand away from the table, and takes a step back.

“If you want honesty,” Lanny says. “You look homeless.”

“And?”

“I dunno, sad? Depressed?”

“Depressed.” The man’s lips make light popping sounds as he juggles the new word in his mouth.

The moonlight shifts, casting shadows across the faces of the two men. The moment grows colder with each silent minute. Lanny lips twist into a scowl.

“You’re making me uncomfortable, sir.”

The man’s eyes sink deeper into the bags underneath them as he continues to focus himself on the pumpkin. One by one, Lanny takes the condiments and napkins off the table, till the only thing that sat on the table was the man’s crinkled sleeves. The man is persistent, much to Lanny’s dismay. Now, armed with a spray bottle and towel, Lanny decides to take a crueler approach.  

Psst!

“You usually spray when a customer is still seated?” The man smirks, casting a sly eye in Lanny’s direction.

“Only when their being a nuisance!”  Lanny seethes, smacking the towel across the table. “Sound familiar?”

Psst!

“Watch it, ya idiot!” The man swats at the spray bottle.

“Oh sorry, am I being annoying? Again, that sounds mighty familiar!”

Psst!

“Knock it off, Ossie!”

“Wait, what did you just call me?”

The spray bottle and towel falls to Lanny’s side, his anger dripping away like the last droplets of cleaner. Did he hear that correctly? Ossie? His lips pucker and a tiny spitting noise escapes his lips.

“What?” The man stares at him confused.

“O-Ossie.” Lanny chokes out the hilarious word. “What’s the hate on Australia, mate?” Lanny bursts into laughter, his knees buckling as he crumbles to the floor.

The man grits his teeth. “That’s not what I was referring to-.”

“Oh, Australia, please don’t spray me.” Lanny wheezes, cocking the nozzle at the man towering over him. “Don’t shoot! I didn’t steal your kangaroos!” He mocks an Australian accent as he rolls around on the floor, crying from his own joke.

“Shut up! That’s my son!”

“Who names a son after a continent? Man, you’ve gotta be the worst dad I’ve ever met.”

The two of them lock eyes for a moment. Lanny eyes twitch. The man’s face rests on the collar of his coat and held a somber look that resonates with Lanny. Blues and golds dance in the iris of the older man, subtle yet brilliant.

“Worst dad....me?” The man chokes on these words. His voice strains to speak. “My son’s name was Oswald...”

“I didn’t mean to say that. I joke a lot. It’s my curse.” Lanny hurries in his apology, cringing at the man’s sensitive state.

“It was my son’s too.”

Lanny squeezes into the booth, shocked by the new information. The man has a son? He should be home with him, not lofting in a coffee shop.

“You know, you don’t deserve an explanation.” The man replies after a minute of silence.

“My son was driving home on Halloween night two years ago. A carpool of  drunkies blindsided him on the right. Killed, instantly” The man’s eyes cast upon the bar table and Lanny’s shoulders slump.

“I-I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” Lanny chews on his knuckle, discomfort rising in his chest.

The man turns back to the pumpkin resting on the table.  “Since then, the month of October has always been a struggle to get through.”

“Do pumpkins remind you of him?”

“Kinda. It’s associated with the stupid holiday that killed my son. I can’t look at them without wanting to squash it. No pun intended, wiseguy.”

Lanny picks up the pumpkin, twirling it on the palm of his hand. He studies it, noticing a lack of exterior on the little gourd. This sparks an idea.

“How long has it been since you carved one of these?”

The man avoids eye contact and stares at the floor.  

“Not since he was killed. So, a while.”

Lanny ducks behind the counter, pulling out a box cutters from a drawer. He walks back  holding it out to the man.

“Why don’t we start a new tradition?”

“I couldn’t.”

Lanny places the box cutter in the man’s hand and bends the fingers around it.

“Consider it my punishment. For disrespecting you.” Lanny smiles, sheepishly. “I have to carve a pumpkin in your son’s memory every Halloween. It’s my curse.” He winks.

“Don’t talk smart. That’s my son we’re talkin about. He isn’t a curse.” The man flicks the box cutter open and starts to scrape against the pumpkin skin.

“He seems to be a curse to you.”

The man’s body tightens and the knife digs into the pumpkin skin. Lanny covers his mouth and lets the silence fill the awkward tension he created. After a moment of silence, the man laughs. His laughter fills the walls of the store and his cheeks flush red. Lanny looks up, and notices the man’s soaking cheeks. Lanny is confused. Why would he be laughing?

“You know. I wondered why I even bothered to stay.”

The man wipes his cheek and breathes at the ceiling. He bites his lips, holding back any more tears he stored. Lanny heart sinks, sympathy building in his chest. He extends his hand across and hesitantly places an arm on the man’s shoulder as the clock chimes twelve. It rings like church bells and echoes through the walls of the coffee shop.

“I didn’t mean to joke, again. I-.”

“No, no you’re right.” The man gasps for air and sets the poorly carved pumpkin on the table.  “He is a curse.”

Lanny picks up the cut up pumpkin pieces and sweeps them into his arms. He takes the box cutter and starts to fix some of the mistakes.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of that.” Lanny says as he cuts an “O” from the pumpkin.

“Really?”

Lanny stops cutting and smiles.

“Not all curses are bad.” He carves an “s”, a “w”, and an “a” into the pumpkin. “If a curse is what it takes to keep him with you, I’d say don’t get rid of it.”

“I suppose.” The man sighs.

Lanny carves the final letter, “d” into the pumpkin.

“I’m Lanny, by the way.”

The man looks up from his carving.

“Lloyd. And Oswald has only one “L” in it.”

Lanny looks down and the pumpkin, seeing the extra “L” he so carelessly added to Oswald’s memorial pumpkin. He bangs the table with his fist, and throws his head back, roaring with laughter. Lloyd joins him, putting a hand on Lanny shoulder to control him. With a final sigh, Lanny shakes his head down at the table, now soiled with pumpkin pulp.

“Dammit.”