The Postman

"My God, it's freezing out there. I need some coffee, Pat. Give me a City Blend please" said Tim, as he and his friend Kevin entered the cafe and approached the register. "My God, it's freezing out there. I need some coffee, Pat. Give me a City Blend please" said Tim, as he and his friend Kevin entered the cafe and approached the register.

"I'll take a House Blend" said Kevin.

"You got it, gentlemen" Pat said and then he filled two black mugs of steaming coffee and placed them on the counter in front of the men. The two were postal carriers, formerly known as mailmen, and frequent customers of Cafe del Sol. They immediately picked up the mugs. Tim held his with both hands to warm them and then took small sips, blowing on it to cool it down. Pat rang them up on the register. They both placed their money down on the counter, which Pat picked it up and handed them their change. Tim then handed Pat his Javaholics Anonymous card, the frequent flier coffee card at the cafe. "Only one more and you get your free coffee and movie passes" Pat told Tim as he stamped the card and handed it back to him.

"I know; I can't wait. The wife and I went to the movies in November but the Ritz hasn't had anything we wanted to see lately."

"Next week "Shine" is playing at the Ritz. It got great reviews; it's up for an Oscar."

"I'll tell her about it. Mmm that's good" he said between sips of his coffee.

"Kevin, when are you going to start using your Javaholics card?" Pat asked.

"Some day but I can never keep track of those things."

"Back to what Kevin and I were talking about on our way here" Tim said. "Who do you think is going to win the Super Bowl on Sunday?" Tim asked, looking at Pat expectantly.

"Well, that depends. Who's playing?" Pat said with a laugh.

"It's the biggest sports event of the year and you don't know whose playing. You're kidding me, right?" Tim asked incredulously, shaking his head and with his hands up in the air, looking at Pat, then at Kevin, and back at Pat again.

"I have read a couple of articles in the Wall Street Journal about how expensive it is for companies to air their commercials during the game and how they are supposed to be funny but I honestly don't know who's playing" Pat shrugged nonchalantly.

"Get a load of this guy" Tim said laughing. "I'm in a Super Bowl pool at work for three hundred bucks and he doesn't even know whose playing."

"I'm surprised they haven't played the Super Bowl yet" Pat said. "It's the end of January. Didn't they used to play it earlier in the month or midway through?"

"Yeah, that ended ten years ago when they introduced the wild card games. Now the post-season lasts another couple weeks, pushing back the Super Bowl to the end of January" Kevin said.

"Wild card games? When I was a kid, I watched football but I don’t remember those. The Oakland Raiders were my favorite team."

"The L.A. Raiders" Tim corrected him.

"L.A. Raiders? They moved Los Angeles? What happened to the Los Angeles Rams?"

"They moved to St. Louis" said Kevin.

"Then what happened to the St. Louis Cardinals or is that baseball? No they're football, too."

"They're the Arizona Cardinals now" said Tim.

"They play football in the Arizona desert? So who plays in Oakland then?" Pat asked.

"No one" Tim and Kevin shouted in unison and the three of them laughed, drawing attention from customers who had been engrossed in their own conversations or their reading.

"Okay, okay, I guess I stopped following football when they started moving teams around and adding new ones" Pat said.

“Pat, you gotta stop listening to that National People's Radio and start watching football again" Tim said.

"That's public radio."

"Yeah, that's what I said" Tim joked.

A few more customers entered the cafe, a university student, and then a mother with her toddler son.

"We're gonna sit down, Pat. Watch the game on Sunday and root for the Cowboys or a combined score of 46 points. Either way, I win" Tim said enthusiastically, raising his hand and doing a thumbs up.

Tim was short and thin with curly brown hair. He enjoyed coffee more than most and had fallen in love with Café del Sol after his first visit a few months after it opened.


On each visit to the cafe, Tim would have two coffees, one City Blend and one flavored coffee. He told Pat he wanted to try every flavor the cafe served. He always chatted with Pat, the staff, and other customers. Tim and his wife Linda liked to travel and they would visit bars and coffee shops in cities they visited. They went to New York City a few times a year for day trips and once and a while for a weekend. Tim and Linda had been to San Francisco, New Orleans, Seattle and Cafe del Sol reminded him of the cafes in those cities. "Hey, Pat, this place is fantastic. I love it here. I gotta bring the wife in sometime. I keep telling her about it and she said if I don't bring her soon she'll stop by without me. But I told her I want to be with her the first time she visits." Pat nodded in agreement, thanked him for his kind words and said it would be great to meet his wife. This was a conversation they had several times but Tim never did bring the wife to the cafe. After one such conversation, Pat asked Tim if he was sure he had a wife. "I keep hearing about her but you never bring her around. I'm beginning to think she exists only in your mind.”


"Yes, I'm sure I have a wife. She loves going to places like this, too. On our honeymoon we spent all night in restaurants and bars and all morning in the cafes. Then in the afternoons we'd go sightseeing. Of course, we also saved time for...we'll you know" he said with a laugh and a big grin on his face. Yes, Pat knew and laughed along with him.


Tim and Linda married a few months before Tim began going to Cafe del Sol. He told Pat all about it. It was his second marriage at 42, her first at 30. Tim had been married the first time when he was 20 and was divorced at 25 and swore he'd never get married again. The first wife put him through the wringer. Linda and he dated just four months before Tim proposed to her. They were then engaged for only four months and got married. The two eloped, marrying on the beach in North Carolina. There was no point in waiting, Tim had told Pat. He was completely in love with her. He had found his soul mate. Pat smiled and nodded but didn't bring up his belief that the idea of soul mates is completely ridiculous. Pat thought that he and his girlfriend Laura might be soul mates when they first met. Reality set back in a few months later. Besides, Pat fell in love with women that walked into his cafe every week, maybe every day. As the main character in Barcelona, one of Pat's favorite movies that no one else who knew ever saw, makes a point of saying "I don't buy that there's just one girl who's right for you.”


Tim had dated several women in first few years after his divorce from his first wife but he never felt any kind of connection. "Then I gave up hope of ever finding someone and didn’t date for years. Then I met Linda. After that first date, I knew I wanted to marry her. I wasn't in love yet but it didn’t take long. She was so beautiful, with a great body and such a good cook. And you should see the work she does out in the garden. I thought she was a gift from heaven." He wasn't getting any younger and he and Linda wanted to have kids. So why wait, he figured. He had to get moving. He didn't want to wait until he was 50 to have kids.

The taller carrier, Kevin, seemed a bit uncomfortable in the cafe. It wasn't his type of place, Pat figured. He said they used to go to Granteed's Pizza, a block up the street from Café del Sol, most days before Tim discovered the cafe. Yeah, Kevin was more of a pizza parlor type of guy. But he went along with what his friend Tim liked. They stopped in the cafe two or three times a week, sometimes for lunch, other times for just an afternoon coffee break. Kevin was the mail man that delivered in Pat's neighborhood a few years back when Pat was in college, working part time at the Post Office and then later for a year after college. Kevin recognized Pat because Pat had left a Christmas tip for him one year--a plastic candy cane shaped tube filled with five mini bottles of liquor. He purchased it at the state store at Petersburg corners. Pat purchased several that year. He had read somewhere that he would get better service from people if he tipped them at Christmas time so he bought bottles of wine and the mini alcohol bottle sets for others as well--the mechanic who always fixed his 12 year old Subaru wagon, the woman who cut his hair, the older man who delivered his Sunday paper, and the waitress at Abe's Deli where he sometimes had Sunday breakfast. Mail carriers are not supposed to accept tips of cash or any other kinds but Kevin did accept Pat's gift of alcohol. Pat didn't drink then, except for an occasional glass of wine but knew most people did and would be happy to receive such a gift. If the recipient didn't drink it himself, he or she could always re-gift it.


Kevin didn't say much to Pat. He wasn't much of a talker. Tim must be the talker in this friendship. What opposites they were, Pat thought. Tim was friendly and outgoing and would talk to anyone who'd listen, often starting up conversations with other customers about sports or politics. Kevin was more reserved and quiet. He would order his coffee or lunch and talk about the weather and that was about it. He and Tim were old high school buddies and worked together for ten or twenty years so they had some things to talk about while they played chess or sat and enjoyed their lunches and coffee.

Tim was a smoker and would take his coffee mug outside in front of the cafe and have a cigarette. If business was slow, Pat would go join Tim and they'd talk over a cigarette. Much of the time, as most smokers do, they talked about how they wanted to quit smoking but also about how enjoyable it was having a cigarette with coffee, taking a sip from their mugs and then a long, deep drag from their smokes that they would let out slowly. Yes, they had to quit, they both agreed. Tim definitely had to quit. The wife didn't smoke and said she wouldn't consider getting pregnant and have kids with Tim until he had been off the cigarettes for at least three months. Pat told Tim about how he had been on and off the nicotine patch over the past six months, quitting for a couple days at a time and sometimes even for a week or two. Something always happened that would weaken Pat's resolve and he would find himself lighting up again. Then he would try to quit over and over, always starting back up again. Tim hadn't tried the patch but said he would give it a try one of these days. The best part about being on the patch, Pat told Tim, was the wild dreams he had while using it. Sometimes Pat couldn't wait to go to bed just to see what his dreams would bring him that night. Tim laughed and told Pat he was nuts. "I'm serious. It says so right on the package that one of the side effects is ‘lucid dreams.’ Every night Pat was on the patch, his dreams were like movies with intricate stories, including people from his life as well as people from books he read or from TV and movies. "I was fighter pilot with Tom Cruise in one dream and we went to war against Mexico, I can't remember why though. In another, I jumped out of a plane without a parachute and was flying through the air and rapidly descending, and realized I didn't have a parachute on and was probably going to die. Fortunately, I woke up before I hit the ground. Otherwise...."

"You would have died" Tim said. "If you die in your dream, you die in real life. That's what they say, anyway."

"Yes, that's what they say. But you should try the patch if you want to quit. It's effective. I guess I just haven't been really ready or motivated enough and I look for the slightest excuse to light up. I keep thinking I can quit again. Like Mark Twain said, 'quitting's easy; I've done it a thousand times.'"

"I'll give it a shot" Tim said. "Wouldn't mind having some good dreams.”

Late August brought the hottest week Scranton had seen in decades. It may be a great place to raise a family, if in fact that is actually true, but Scranton is a horrible place to be in July and August. The sun blazes in the sky and bakes the city. Unlike a beach town, there is no ocean breeze to provide relief. The heat decends upon the valley in July and stays until September . It had reached 92 degrees on Monday. On Tuesday it was 80 degrees at 7 AM. Pat was sweating by the time he got into his car to go on the morning ride to pickup supplies and pastries. The cafe felt like an oven when Pat arrived, even with the back window open for ventilation. Business was not going to be good that day, he figured, nor for the rest of the week. The air conditioner for the cafe was on overdrive but did little to help. He put the fans on the high setting, which only seemed to move the warm air around. Pat pulled the shade down at the large window in the front of the cafe to block out the sun’s heat. Still, the temperature inside the cafe must have been 75 degrees in the seating area and 80 or more behind the counter where the espresso and coffee machines, along with the fridge radiated heat in Pat's direction. His head produced sweat beads all day, which Pat wiped away with paper towels. His t-shirt and shorts stuck to him like glue.

Tim and Kevin walked in on Tuesday afternoon, complaining about how hot it was outside. "You overpaid, under worked government employees with your cushy benefits and pensions, always complaining" Pat razzed them good natured-ly. It was their running joke. Once in a while the guys would pretend they were offended and argue back that they were underpaid and overworked.
"You guys are too much." "Here you are with great jobs, you're living in the United States of America, the most prosperous nation on the planet, not a problem in the world, and a loaf under each arm"

"A loaf under each arm?" Tim asked with a confused look on his face.

"A loaf, yes a loaf, as in a loaf of bread. You've got two loaves of bread, as in you aren't hungry, you want for nothing while half the world is starving to death and you still complain."

"Don't give me that crap" Tim said.

"Okay then, what'll be?" Pat asked.

"Just give me a City Blend and glass of ice water today" Tim said. "It's too hot to eat."

Kevin ordered an iced coffee and a blueberry muffin.

"Where'd you get that anyway, a loaf under each arm crap?" Tim asked.

"I probably read it in a book for one of my history classes in school, taught by those pinko commie professors you like to complain about so much" Pat said

"The professors are the ones with two loaves and the cushy jobs" Tim replied. "Didn't you say they were a bunch of commie pinkos?"

"No, you did. I said they were flaming liberals, not communists. Okay, a couple probably were. Some of their ideas were out there but others were right on, like health care for all and a livable wage."

"Socialism and communism are no good. They tried it in Russia and look what happened. The Soviet Union collapsed. Didn't they teach you about that in your history classes?" Tim said.

"Yes, I read all about it. But it didn't fail. Communism is alive and well in France. They just got in wrong in Russia.


"So you are a communist?" asked Tim.


"No,” Pat laughed. “That's a joke about France being the most successful communist country. I believe in democracy and capitalism. I am a business owner, after all. But I think everyone should be entitled to health care. Is that Socialism? If so, then sign me up."


"Why should everyone be entitled to it?"


"Health insurance is expensive when you have to purchase it on your own like I do. I pay 170 bucks a month for my insurance and I've got a thousand dollar deductible. As a well compensated postal worker with good benefits, you wouldn't know what that's like, would you? I had to go to the doctor for water on the knee, which is really blood on the knee, two months ago. He got a syringe, sucked it out and sent it down the sink drain, which I thought was unsafe and probably illegal, and he charged me 75 bucks. A week later, the water on the knee was back. So instead of paying another $75, I did it myself. I sterilized a pin, stuck it in my knee and squeezed and the blood squirted out."


"That's gross." Tim said.


"Yes, it was and I could have gotten an infection. That's what my ex girlfriend Laura said. But I didn't want to pay another $75. Basically, I pay thousands a year just to be covered, for nothing really. It's only worth it if something happens to me and I end up with a bill above $1,000. That's why people go without and end up in trouble because something always happens in the end.

"Fine, let everyone have health care but it should not be run by the government" Tim argued.

"It's funny that you work for the Postal Service, which is run by the government, and you oppose government sponsored health insurance. And I'm surprised you hate socialism and communism so much. You'd fit right in. Under communism, everybody works for the government. Not just you postal workers. I'd be a government employee, too. Then we'd practically be coworkers if this were a communist country."
"Yeah, then I'd get your ass fired."

"Gee, thanks."

"Wow, I'm burning up. I need to sit down and cool off" Tim said as he walked slowly over to a table and put his head down for a few minutes. Tim looked pale, Pat thought, but didn't think anything more about it.

Kevin sat down with Tim. They complained about the heat and talked about the Phillies game that was on TV the night before. Other customers streamed in trying to escape the heat, looking for an iced tea, bottled water, or iced latte. Pat was happy to oblige them. The unexpected surge in business was very welcome. If he was going to be sweating his ass off, he might as well be making money.



On Friday of that week, the temperature reached 95 degrees by noon. With the heat from the concrete and exhaust from the passing vehicles, it seemed like a 110 degrees in front of the cafe. It was stifling. Inside the cafe, the ceiling fans sounded like helicopters as their blades cut through the thick, humid air. The morning went by slowly. Only about half of the regular customers stopped in for their morning drug of choice. It was too hot outside even for the morning cup of coffee. Who wants to be sweating on their way to work and drink hot coffee to add to it? Jeremy, Pat's best friend since childhood, stopped in on his way to his jewelry store. "You look like shit. Late night?" Pat asked as Jeremy pulled a large bottled water and orange juice from the Snapple cooler.


"I'm so hung-over and dehydrated. How about a large House Blend and a plain bagel with cream cheese" Jeremy said and then gulped down half the bottle of water. "I met a girl at Tink’s; we danced for a while and then went back to my place. I was up until four."


"Wow, man, you continue to amaze me. How do you pick up all these girls?"


"You can, too. I keep telling you, you just have to try. You've got nothing stopping you now that you and Laura are broken up. Do it while you can. We're still in our twenties, dude. Once we hit thirty, it's all over."


"You're right" Pat said and rang up the items on the register. Jeremy paid and left to open his store.


Courtney arrived at 10:00 and she and Pat began to prepare for lunch, though Pat let Courtney do most of the work since he didn't expect it to be busy at lunch and therefore, not much prepping was needed. Courtney just returned to the cafe that Wednesday after having the summer off. Pat thought about sending Courtney home since it was so hot and business would probably be so dreadfully slow that it wouldn't justify having two people work the cafe that afternoon. But this was the first week before classes at the University of Scranton began and Pat wanted Courtney to get her back into the groove of working and be ready for the next week when things would really pick up. He didn't want to be unprepared like he was the previous year when classes resumed and he hadn't hired or trained enough help. Besides, you can't send your employees home every time you have a slow afternoon, Pat thought. How would he like that? He wouldn't. In fact, he didn't. Pat had been through that himself while in high school when he had a job washing dishes and busing tables at Le Club Restaurant at Petersburg Corners. On weeknights there was only one dishwasher scheduled to work; on weekends the manager had two dishwashers scheduled. But if it was a slow night, the manager would send one of them home, which the employees hated because it meant less money in their paychecks the following Friday. If employees can't rely on regular work and pay at their job, then they'll find another job. Not only is it unfair to the employee, its bad business. So Pat kept Courtney on the clock. He gave her some busy work to do, though it did need to get done. He sent her upstairs to the loft to stock up on paper cups, fill coffee containers with the beans, and go over the inventory of supplies in stock so he wouldn't have to do so on Saturday before he made his run to Sam's Club on Sunday. He also asked her to update the menu on the computer. "Update the prices based on what I wrote on the note on the table. Add the new coffee flavors and roasts. Then print it out so I can take it to the OfficeMax tomorrow and get copies made. Thanks."


A few minutes before noon, Pat looked up from the book he was reading and noticed a lot of people leaving the Houlihan-McLean Center across the street. That was odd because he hadn't noticed people going into the center earlier that morning. Of course, he had read the Wall Street Journal from cover to cover and started reading the latest Anne Tyler book since it was so slow. With Courtney handling all the busy work, he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to take it easy before business ramped up next week. "Hey Courtney, it looks like it's going to be busier than we thought. C'mon down" Pat called to his assistant.


"Here's the updated menu, captain" Courtney said as she handed it to him. She started calling Pat captain as a joke when she learned he was a die-hard fan of Star Trek and it just stuck.


"Thanks" and he looked at the menu. "What's this...and this?" he said pointing to different areas of the page. Courtney gave Pat a questioning glance. "You changed the font in different places."


"I thought I would just spice it up a bit. You've been using the same font on the menu since you opened the cafe. Remember that time you said to me 'give me what I need, not what I want?' This is what you need, a new menu style."


"The menu doesn't need a new look."


"Yes, it does."

"In this case, give me what I want and not what I need. Yes, I use the same font because it's classic and looks fine. You've got three or four different fonts and sizes. It's inconsistent; it looks like a ransom note, Courtney. Jesus, it's awful" Pat said laughing. Pat heard the door open and turned around and looked to see who was entering. "All right, here they come. I'll think about a new menu style but this definitely won't work."


The first of about 25 people began flowing into the cafe from across the street. Some customers just wanted bottles of spring water or soda; others wanted iced coffee or lattes and a many wanted sandwiches. Some stayed for a while, asking the usual questions about the place--when did you open...what are the hours...are you the owner? Others grabbed cold beverages and left. Still more were leaving the center making their way into the cafe from across the street after chatting outside with colleagues for a few minutes. Pat and Courtney worked as quickly as they could to keep up, considering the heat. It was good to be busy again, even if it was hot and sticky and Pat didn't feel like moving fast. How strange that on these hot days when he thought the cafe wouldn't do much business, things were hopping.


In the middle of it all, some regular customers stopped in for lunch or drinks to go. Regulars were sometimes annoyed by crowds of new customers. The regulars, it seemed to Pat, felt like they were put out and that they should get priority in service because they are regular customers, after all, and support Pat and the cafe all the time. Here they were being loyal customers all along and these interlopers show up when there is a nearby event and make them wait. The women from the child care center and the library stopped by for lunch, then the lawyers and secretaries from around the corner. The young slacker customers stayed away during the hot days of summer. They were usually out drinking late on summer nights didn't get moving and productive before noon or 1 O'clock in the afternoon, if at all.


Tim and Kevin, the mailmen, limped their way into the cafe that Friday and leaned against the counter to hold themselves up. Their shirts were soaked from sweat around their collars, underarms, and down their back. "It's hell out there," Tim said. Pat didn't have the time or energy for the usual banter with the mailmen. Pat did have to give them credit. Carrying heavy bags of mail and walking for miles in these temperatures couldn't be easy, especially for guys in their forties. Tim ordered a City Blend and a glass of water. "Man, I feel lousy." Tim sat down at the table nearest the register before Pat could pour the coffee for him. Pat placed the coffee and the water on the counter. Kevin carried them over to Tim. Kevin returned to the counter and paid for a bottle of spring water and a muffin. He also handed Pat money for Tim's coffee.


"Remember when you guys complained about how cold it was in the winter? I bet you can't wait until winter now" Pat said to Kevin.


"No, not winter but the fall can't get here fast enough." Kevin said. "It's way too hot out there and Tim's been struggling all week in this heat. The smoking don't help."


"No, it certainly doesn't. He really should quit. All that walking in this heat and still smoking?" Pat reached his left hand over his right shoulder and felt the nicotine patch on his back to make sure it was still there. "I've been off the smokes two weeks now--again--but when I did smoke I cut down in heat like this. It's just too hot and unpleasant."

"Yep, you gotta talk to him again about that nicotine patch thing. We'll, I need to sit down and relax before I go back out there."


Kevin sat at the table with Tim. Pat looked over in their direction. Tim drank from his glass of water and put his head in his hands, his elbows on the table, propped up his arms and hands. Pat didn't think much of it. Tim got up from his chair and walked past the counter to the bathroom. More people entered from the McLean center. Pat worked the register, the espresso machine and poured coffees, even in this heat some people ordered hot coffee. Courtney took care of the sandwich orders that kept coming in. After waiting on several customers, Pat noticed that Tim had emerged from the bathroom and was leaning against the side counter near the Espresso machine and coffee grinder. Tim groaned a little about not feeling well. "No having heart attacks in the cafe. Take it outside" Pat joked. He quickly realized it wasn't funny when Kevin walked over to help Tim sit down in a chair opposite the counter the side counter, between the Snapple cooler and the stairs to the loft. Tim slumped over in the chair, with Kevin holding him from completely falling out of it.

Kevin kept asking him if he was okay and if they should call an ambulance. Tim said he was okay. He was just tired. Don't call an ambulance. Definitely, don't call an ambulance. Pat and Kevin looked at each and shrugged their shoulders and had the "what do we do?" look on their faces. A few seconds later, Tim groaned again in pain.

"I'm calling an ambulance" Pat said and walked over to get the phone.

"No, don't. I'll be fine."

"You should call, Pat. I would" Courtney said, grimacing, which eliminated any doubt from Pat's mind about what to do. In his experience, women seemed to have a better handle on what to do in these cases. Men might say not to call an ambulance, for fear of embarrassment, until their dying breath.

"Courtney's right; I'm calling. We can't take any chances. You've got health insurance. This is what it's for" Pat said as he dialed 911. An operator picked up right away.


"911 emergency services" said a female voice. "Please state the nature of the emergency."

"I need an ambulance at Cafe del Sol in Scranton. I believe one of my customers is having a heart attack."

"Are you located at seven-one-three Mulberry Street?" she asked, basing the information on computer and phone records, Pat presumed. Looks like that $1.50 tax on everyone's phone bills for the 911 center is working.

"Yes, yes, I am."

"I will dispatch an ambulance right away. It should be there in a few minutes."

"Please tell them to hurry. Thank you. Thank you" Pat said and hung up the phone. The operator's calm confidence eased Pat's concern if only for a moment. Pat noted the time. He would call 911 back if the ambulance hadn't arrived in exactly five minutes. He went over to tell Kevin everything that transpired over the phone even though Kevin was in earshot of the call. Pat was worried and he could tell that Courtney was worried by the look on her face. Kevin, holding Tim in the chair, had a horrified look on his face. "What can we do until the ambulance gets here?"

"Here's a cold damp cloth" Courtney said handing it to Pat over the counter who handed it to Kevin to put on Tim's forehead.

"He should take aspirin" Courtney said. "I saw it on ER. Give a person an aspirin if they are having a heart attack."

"I don't have any aspirin here."

"I do, in my purse" said Courtney as she reached for her purse and searched for the aspirin. Women always have aspirin in their purses, it seemed to Pat, who couldn't remember the last time he took one. What didn't they have in those purses, he wondered. Pat would never know. Even on the rare occasion when Laura had asked Pat to grab something out of her purse, he hesitated. He was afraid of what he might find in it. Plus, the mere thought of holding a purse made him feel emasculated. Courtney handed two tablets to Kevin who persuaded Tim to take them.


Several more customers came in and Pat and Courtney had to wait on them. Pat hated to leave Kevin to tend to Tim by himself but the chairs where they were sitting and the other side of the counter where Pat and Courtney were was only about eight feet away. They would be right there. Besides, the show must go on. This was a business and it won't stay in business if I close up shop every time someone is feeling a bit under the weather, Pat told himself trying to justify not dropping everything to be there with the suffering Tim. What do you really owe a person, though, who is rude enough to have a heart attack in your business? Couldn't he have done it somewhere else? Fuck! What an inconvenience and how terrible for business! God, I'm so insensitive, Pat thought. Tim moaned every 30 seconds or so while Pat and Courtney waited on customers, causing Pat, Courtney, and Kevin to all look back and forth at each other and at Tim.

The ambulance pulled up in front of the cafe, blocking the alleyway. Greenberg, the old lawyer next door, is gonna bitch about that, Pat thought. He's always complaining about cars blocking his firm's parking lot entrance. Pat checked the time. It had taken nine minutes for the ambulance to arrive. He had been too busy to notice that five minutes had passed since he called 911, not that it would have done any good to call 911 again anyway. The EMTs entered the cafe and Pat motioned to them, saying "over here, over here" pointing to Tim. They asked what happened. Kevin and Pat told them. They then spent about a minute taking Tim's vitals. They said they had to get Tim on a stretcher and to the hospital right away. They both walked out quickly and retrieved the stretcher from the back of the ambulance. Before they returned with it, three university students entered the cafe and were standing in front of the cooler, between the ambulance EMTs and Tim, trying to decide which drink they would like to purchase to quench their thirst on that hot day. They didn't get out of the way for the EMTs bringing in the stretcher. They were oblivious to the situation. They had walked in the cafe, engaged in a conversation about how hard their fall semester was going to be and how unfair it was that they all couldn't be in the same chemistry class while the EMTs had walked back to the ambulance to get the stretcher. They didn't know there was a man having a heart attack just three feet to their left. For whatever reason, the EMTs did not say anything to the students and stood there waiting for them to get out of the way. Perhaps EMTs were quiet and unassertive. Maybe that's why they were not doctors, who were supposed to be more assertive. A doctor would not have waited for people to get out of his or her way to treat a dying man. A doctor would have barked at them to get out of the way or to make themselves useful by boiling water and grabbing clean sheets and towels. Then again, the EMTs in that old Emergency show on TV had no trouble taking charge of a situation. In any event, Pat, who watched this in disbelief for just a few seconds but it seemed like an forever, yelled "hey, can you get out of the way and let the ambulance crew by?" And they did. They practically jumped out of the way and apologized for being so clueless. "Sorry, we had no idea" said the young women with a Jersey accent. She was painfully cute in her little white summer dress so Pat immediately forgave her. "It's okay, you didn't know."



The EMTs brought the stretcher to Tim and quickly lifted him into it. He tried to resist but his protest was as weak as his barely audible voice by this time. The EMTs whisked him out of the cafe as Pat opened the door for them. They packed Tim into the ambulance. The ambulance pulled away, doing a 180 degree turn up Mulberry Street; Kevin followed in his mail truck. They must be going to the CMC, Pat thought. He heard a car horn and looked over. It was Greenberg, raising his hand in a fist, displaying his anger. The ambulance had blocked him in his parking lot. That figures, as if a guy having a heart attack and an ambulance parking where it did was Pat's fault, he thought as he walked back into the cafe, shaking his head.


The last of the rush from the McLean center was finishing up lunch, some of whom inquired about the man taken in the ambulance. They hoped he'd be all right. After the crowd had left, Pat and Courtney cleaned up the cafe in silence. After they were done, they talked about what a crazy scene it was and hoped that Tim was going to be okay. He is such a nice guy, they agreed. He just got married in the past year or two. How horrible would that be if he didn't make it? They talked about it some more before it was time for Courtney to leave for the day. "I feel so sweaty and disgusting; I have to take a shower. Call me if you hear anything on Tim. See ya, captain."

The phone rang and Pat answered it as always, "Cafe del Sol" but with less energy and enthusiasm than usual. He touched the nicotine patch on his shoulder again; making sure it was still there and as if touching it would help release some extra nicotine into his system immediately to satisfy his cigarette craving, which was stronger than it had been since he quit two weeks ago.

"Hey Pat, what's happening?" It was Jeremy.

"Too much, way too much. A guy had a heart attack here and I had to call an ambulance. It was just, I don't know, shitty."

"I told you that coffee is too strong and you'd kill a customer one of these days" Jeremy said, busting his balls.

"Funny, very funny."

"C'mon, I'm just joking with you. You're coffee is great. It might give someone heart palpitations but not a heart attack. It was probably all the sugar in those cookies you sell. It probably put the guy into sugar shock or maybe..." Jeremy began to add, not letting up.

"Yeah, just wait until someone tries to rob your store again. We'll see how fucking funny that is" and he slammed the phone on its hook.

Jeremy called right back. "Sorry, man, you're right, it's not funny. This is serious. I thought you were exaggerating. He really had a heart attack? Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes, he did. I hope he'll be alright but he didn't look so good when the ambulance guys took him away. He was as white as a ghost and then grey. What if he dies? Can I get sued?"

"Sued? No, no way; what are you talking about? It's not your fault if someone has a heart attack in your cafe" Jeremy said.

"Yeah, you're right. My mind is just racing. Shit, some more people are coming in. I'll call you later" Pat said, as three people walked in--two iced coffees and an iced mocha. Then two more customers entered the cafe, an iced latte and a bottled water.

At 5 PM the heat was unbearable outside. It still wasn't much cooler inside the cafe but unlike earlier, the moving air, forced around by the air conditioning and the ceiling fans, felt refreshing. As Pat cleaned the table in front of the window, Kurt The Protester stopped his bike in front of the cafe and looked in the window. He had to put his face up to the window and put his hands around his eyes, binocular style, to block out the glare and see into the cafe. This amused the tired and weary Pat. He waved to Kurt. Kurt waved back and made that big, cheery yet mischievous grin of his. Kurt locked up his bike to the 15 minute parking sign, to which no car owners paid any attention, tying up all of the cafes parking spots, and headed into the cafe; Pat noticed it was odd for Kurt to stop in at this time of day. He usually went to the cafe in mid afternoon when it wasn't too busy and he and Pat had time to talk about the latest news and events.
"Were you out protesting today?"
"Sure was," Kurt nodded his head up and down a few times too many.
"Man, you are dedicated"
"Yes, I am and I had a great time," still nodding his head up and down. "It's hot out there but I had a big umbrella for shade, brought plenty of water, and tried out my new sign--'Republicans Are Pro Death.'"
"Republicans are pro death, as in the death penalty?"
"No, not that. Yes, that too, but I was thinking about how the Republican Congress run by that Nazi Newt Gingrich is cutting funding for health care and hospitals. They are cutting Medicare fees for doctors and other medical services for the poor. I just read an article that says since the Republicans took over the House and Senate, the death rate has gone up in the inner city for treatable illnesses and diseases like pneumonia and the flu because there aren't enough doctors or enough funding to treat the poor"

"I had enough of health care today, Kurt. A guy had a heart attack in here today or at least it looked like he did. Let's talk about something else."

"A heart attack...it doesn't get much more serious than that. Who was it?"

"It was one of the mailmen that comes in at lunch time and in the late afternoons. You've probably seen him a few times--a guy in his early forties, a nice guy, smokes, hangs out with that tall mailman."

"Him? Yeah, I talked to him a few times. I gave him a hard time about smoking a couple of weeks ago.


"Kurt, we talked about that. Don't hassle customers who smoke outside. They can't smoke in here, which is bad enough for them. They don't need to be harassed for smoking outside."


"He blew smoke in my face as I was walking in. He didn't do it intentionally but I was pissed all the same."


"Yeah, well, he's in bad shape" Pat said. "Let's hope he lives."


"Just goes to show you. That's why the tobacco companies market to teenagers and oppose bills to restrict cigarette advertising. Their customer base is dying out and they need to constantly recruit new smokers."

"Yes, I know. Anyway, I don't want to talk about it. Got any good news?"

"I do, oh yes, my brother, I certainly do. Take a look at this" Kurt said excitedly, pulling a small wooden box out of his backpack. He handed it to Pat who looked at it, turned it around to see all sides. Pat was puzzled and looked at Kurt who smiled wide, showing his big white teeth. With his shaggy, dirty blond hair, Kurt looked more like a surfer than a left winger who went to the Lackawanna County Courthouse Square everyday to protest. Pat looked back at the box, which was about four inches wide and long by two inches high. On the back were two small brass hinges. The left side had a small round hole between the lid and the bottom. On the front of the box were a lock and a clasp with a small padlock, about the size found on a piece of luggage.

"So what is this...a jewelry box?"

"No" he laughed. "Better than that. A lot better than that. You know how Clinton signed a law to require that TVs come with a V chip so parents can program the TVs to prevent their kids from watching inappropriate TV shows?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with a small wooden box?" Pat asked exasperated.

"Everything!" he practically yelled. "They are making this V chip and putting it in the TVs to work with a TV rating system that is incomprehensible. People can't even figure out how to set the time on their VCRs. How are they going to be able to program their TVs so their kids don't watch adult programs? Besides, those ratings take nudity and sex into account far more than they do the pervasive violence on TV, which, as you know, is the bigger problem. But that's America, we can't show nudity but we can show people getting shot or stabbed over and over with blood splattering all over the screen." There he goes with that TV violence is worse than sex stuff again. Sure, Pat agreed with him but it was such an overused, tired argument he read in the news and heard on NPR all the time. Violence on TV is worse for children and society than the sex. Okay, so maybe it is but isn't it bad for children to see sex on TV as well? Christ, actors on TV are already shown in bed, pumping away under the sheets. Before you know it, you'll have full blown hard core porn on network TV. That would be fine for adults who want it, Pat thought, but not for kids.

"Yes, Kurt, I hear you about the TV ratings. I still don't see what this little wooden box has to do with TVs, parents, and V-Chips?" Pat asked, annoyed and impatient after Kurt's political speech.

"Allow me to explain."

"Please do, my friend" Pat said in an obnoxiously polite manner.

"Unplug that coffee grinder for a second and give me the cord" Kurt asked Pat.

"Okay," Pat sighed and unplugged the coffee grinder, handing the end of the cord to Kurt.

"See what happens when I open this little box. Imagine that this is the cord from a TV. A parent unplugs the TV from the wall before he or she leaves the house in the morning and takes the end of the power cord, sticks it in the box and locks it in there. Here on the side is a hole so the lid can close around the cord sticking out. The kids can't watch TV because they can't plug the damn thing in. The plug is locked inside the box. It works a hell of a lot easier than a V-Chip and it's more effective because every parent can figure this out. Few will be able to figure out how to use the V-Chip and won't be motivated enough to use it if they can figure it out. Anyone can figure this thing out. I'm calling it the boob tube blocker or maybe the TV locker. Whaddya think?"

"Wow, Kurt, I'm really impressed. You may actually have something there. It's so simple it's brilliant."

"Great. I thought so myself. That's why you are the first business owner I'm talking to about it. This is my prototype. I want to begin selling them and I thought we could try selling them here to your customers. We could put a couple on the book shelf here," Kurt said, pointing to the small two foot high display of small philosophy books like the Tao Te Ching, The Art of War, The Book of Questions, and others.

"Yes, we can do that. You make them. I'll put some on the shelves and we'll see how they sell. Keep in mind that people aren't looking for that sort of thing here. You might want to try other stores as well. But I like the idea."

"Good, yes, I will do that. I'll make a few more over the weekend and bring them in on Monday. Okay, I gotta go check on my urban gorilla garden. The guy who owns the empty lot we're using across the street for the garden stopped by the other day and told us we can't use it anymore. I told him that he gave up his right to the land since he wasn't doing anything useful with it. That pissed him off. Then I told him that the tomatoes are ready to pick and that he could have all the tomatoes and anything else he wanted from the garden as long as he'd let us keep it. We went back and forth for fifteen minutes, finally agreeing to think it over. He is supposed to stop by later to let me know what he decided. Peace" and with that Kurt turned and headed back into the heat.

"Okay, see ya. Good luck with the garden" Pat said as Kurt walked out. The cafe was empty now. The customers that had been there left shortly after Kurt arrived. Pat stood at the counter and looked out the window. He watched Kurt unlock his bike, hop on, and slowly peddle up Mulberry Street, probably with a big toothy smile on his face, Pat imagined.

Pat locked the cafe door about ten minutes after 7 PM, just after the rush from the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting goers, who stopped in before their meeting at the Elm Park Church a block down the alleyway. The phone rang and Pat answered it. "Cafe del Sol."


"Let's go to Mickey Gannon's tonight" Jeremy said. "There' this girl I want to meet who is supposed to be going there."

"Another girl? What happened to the one from last night?"

"This one's a red head and drop-dead gorgeous. Just come on. You going?

"Yeah, okay, I could use a beer"

"Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"First time for everything, Jeremy," then Pat heard a beep on the phone. "Hey, it's the other line. I'll call you back."

"Don't forget."

"I won't." Pat clicked over to the other line. "Cafe del Sol."

"Hey Pat, its Kevin." Pat never talked to a Kevin on the phone before so it took him a few seconds to realize that it was Kevin, Tim's friend, the mail man.

"Kevin, yes, how is Tim? Is he okay?"

"He didn't make it. Tim died shortly after we got to the hospital. I was going to call earlier but I've been tied up here with calling his wife and people at work. It's been a bad time."

"That's terrible. I...I don't know what to say. I'm sorry."

"It's sad. He was such a good friend. I'll be alright, though. It's his wife that I'm worried about. She's taking it pretty hard. Speaking of wives, I gotta go home to see my wife and eat my supper. I'll be seeing you, Pat." Pat said goodbye and hung up the phone.

Pat sat in the chair at the sandwich prep table behind the counter and thought about everything that had happened. He saw it over and over in his head. Tim coming out of the bathroom and leaning against the counter. Pat telling him "no heart attacks in the cafe. Take it outside." What an awful thing to say to a man who is having a heart attack and dying before your eyes. What an insensitive fuck he was sometimes. But how was Pat to know? He was just joking around. He didn't know Tim was really sick. How could he? If he had, he certainly wouldn't have said what he did. He ran this over and over in his mind for several minutes. What a shame. Tim was such a nice guy. He wished all his customers were as nice as he was. And he spent quite a few bucks in the cafe. Between the coffees and lunches and the occasional pound of coffee, Tim probably spent about $20 a week at the cafe. That was $80 a month and almost a thousand dollars a year. That's real money that wouldn't be flowing through the cafe anymore. Listen to me thinking about how much money he spent at the cafe, he thought. Think of his poor wife. They were just married in the past year, or was it two years now? They were older than most to get married but madly in love like young newlyweds. What would her life be like now? How would she get through this? Thirty year old women don't often lose husbands. She will have no frame of reference for handling the situation. When people get to their fifties and sixties, they expect and prepare for the death of a spouse, Pat supposed. Not being married, he didn't know what married people thought for sure. She was 30, a few years older than Pat; she couldn't have been ready for this. I'm going to miss that guy he thought to himself. Wait, wait, did he wait too long to call an ambulance? No, he only waited 30 seconds, maybe a minute. Of course, 30 seconds can mean the difference between life and death. Had he not delayed, perhaps they would have been able to save him. And the ambulance crew...they took forever to get to the cafe. He could have called them back to get them to hurry. What good would that have done? They would have been on their way already anyway. Maybe they got stuck in traffic or one of the EMTs wanted to finish his smoke before hopping in the ambulance. All of the EMTs he ever knew or saw smoked.


Speaking of smokes, Pat thought about the nicotine patch on his shoulder and the urge he had for a cigarette. It was overpowering now. Urges always went away if Pat waited long enough but this one had been with him for most of the afternoon. Pat felt the nicotine patch and then reached under the shirt and pulled it off and threw it in the garbage. He then got up and washed his hands in the sink and dampened a paper towel and wiped his shoulder to remove any remaining nicotine and adhesive from his skin. Pat then reached up on top of the refrigerator, his hand felt around, and then he found it, a pack of cigarettes, his emergency pack, Newport Lights 100 Box. When he quit smoking it was always easier and made Pat less anxious about quitting knowing there were cigarettes nearby if he desperately needed one. Otherwise, he thought constantly about the fact that he didn't have any smokes. He opened it up and was relieved to find it still had four cigarettes. His hand felt the top of the fridge again and found a pack of matches. Pat knew there was a lighter on one the shelves but liked the ritual and formality of lighting a cigarette with a match. Place the cigarette in your mouth, pull a match from the pack, hold it with your middle finger and thumb while pressing down the head of the match with the index finger, and then strike it against the lighting strip and behold the beautiful small blue and red flame it produces, and take in the smell the sulfur. Then slowly bring the match to the cigarette, puffing gently until the end of the cigarette is evenly lit. Then blow the match out and put it in the ash tray. That was Pat's favorite part of the smoking experience--lighting up. He inhaled from his first cigarette in weeks. His lungs resisted and contracted. It tasted like the first cigarette he ever smoked as a teenager, awful, really, but he knew it would get better. By the fifth drag on the cigarette, it tasted like it should, full of flavor. He exhaled slowly, blowing smoke rings. He felt the rush in his heart and then it raced up to his head, making him feel mildly lightheaded. Pat saw the irony in what he was doing; starting smoking again after a man had a heart attack in his cafe, most likely as a result of smoking. No, it wasn't ironic, just stupid. Like so many others, he was caught in a cycle, too weak and undisciplined to quit permanently. At least it was a cycle where he harmed only himself and not others.

What would happen now? Pat wondered. What if it came out that Pat took too long to call the ambulance? Would Tim's wife, now his widow, sue Pat? What would she get from him? Not much; the cafe only had $25,000 worth of insurance. They wouldn't bother. Tim probably had plenty of life insurance through the Post Office.
There would probably be a viewing for Tim and then the funeral. Pat should go to it. Then again, it might be better if Pat didn't go. He didn't want to upset his wife. Maybe he should just send flowers. That, of course, may upset her also, knowing that they came from the place where Tim had had the heart attack. Pat finished the cigarette and immediately lit another one and filled his coffee mug. He decided to change the CD to play something to match his mood, "Freedom Sound" by the Jazz Crusaders would be right just about right now. It had that dissonant, struggling feel to it. He turned it up.

So what did it all mean? What would become of Tim and his life? Did he leave behind a legacy of any sort? Pat looked at the burning cigarette, almost hypnotized by it and thought about when his father died. A few months after his death it was time to take his clothing to the Goodwill. Once the clothes were gone and the bills were paid and the bank accounts were closed out, there wasn't much left of his father. When you strip all that stuff away, he was just a driver’s license, a couple of photos and papers in a box. The file box is where everything worth keeping went. And there wasn't much. That's probably how it was when most people died. There was his business card and a few awards his father had won for writing for the newspaper. There were some photos of him with local politicians and family photos. But that was it. He wrote for the newspaper but he didn't write books. There was nothing on the shelves to keep or statues for him or historical markers that said his father had lived on planet Earth and here was the mark he had made. True, there was the house that he and Pat's mother had had built and where they raised their children. But someday, Pat imagined, it would be sold. Nothing would be left but a few pieces of paper. Is that all a person's life amounted to--a few pieces of paper? And where were those paper's of his father's life now? In the attic or basement. Hopefully, they weren't lost forever. What papers would be left after Tim's funeral? How funny, you work your entire life, you struggle to make ends meet, you raise a family, you grow old and one day you die, leaving little trace of yourself after six or seven decades of existence. What a waste. Why do we struggle so hard? What was the point and who cares after we're gone? Did Tim have kids from the first marriage? Pat remembered that he had been married once before but never mentioned kids. He and the second wife were planning on having one or two. She was young enough even if Tim was pushing the age limit. Perhaps if Tim didn't leave a legacy, his kids would. Pat lit another cigarette and continued to sit at the cafe thinking about how Tim died. He didn't want to remember him that way. Instead, he wanted to remember him when he was alive but the only image of Tim he could call up was that of him dying, slumped over in the chair, his skin sweaty and turning gray. Instead, Pat wanted to remember Tim the way he was when they first met. How did he first meet Tim? He couldn't remember. Yet Pat always remembered how he first met people, especially customers at the cafe. He remembered what they ordered on their first visit to the cafe and what they liked even when the customers themselves didn't remember. Pat would amuse customers with the information sometimes. Still, he could not remember Tim's first visit to the cafe, just him dying as they waited for the ambulance. God, I hope it comes back to me, he thought. I have to get that image out of my head. Is this part of the process of the grieving process--beginning to forget the person that died? Pat finished smoking the last of the cigarettes in the pack and then got up and finished cleaning up the counter and left the cafe, locking the door behind him. Another day, he thought. Made it through another day.


Kevin never did return to Cafe del Sol. Pat did see him again months later as he was walking out of Bangkok Kitchen with his lunch takeout. Kevin had just walked out of Granteed’s Pizza. They said hello to each other and asked how the other was doing. "Sorry I haven't been back to the cafe. After what happened with Tim, I just couldn't go back."

"I understand" Pat replied. "Take care of yourself, Kevin." They both continued on their way, Kevin back to his mail truck, Pat back to the cafe. Pat looked up as he walked slowly down Mulberry Street. What a beautiful fall day, he thought to himself. The sun shone brightly and the sky was a dark blue with large, puffy white clouds moving quickly over West Mountain. The air was crisp, cool, and smoky. The leaves on the trees were gold, orange, and red. Pat stopped at the street corner, waiting for the cars to pass through the intersection, and took a deep breath. That's when it struck Pat that it was a day like this a few years ago when Tim and Kevin first walked into the cafe. He felt a pang of nostalgia. Yes, it was a day just like this. It was a happier day, shortly after Pat had opened the cafe and he was full of hope and the cafe was full of potential. Tim entered with Kevin a few steps behind him. He looked around and smiled and went right to the register.

"Hi there. This is my first time here. It smells great in here. Is that Jazz I hear playing?"


"Yes, that's Keith Jarrett."


I like this place. Are you the owner?

"Hi, yes I'm the owner" Pat said. "My name is Pat."

"Nice to meet you" Tim said as he extended a hand. Pat reached out and they shook hands. "I'm Tim and that's my friend Kevin, sitting down at the table. "What kind of coffee do you have?" Tim asked.

"Today we have House Blend, as always, then the flavors of the day are Chocolate Raspberry and Cinnamon. I've also got another blend I just brewed up. It's called City Blend" Pat said and then took a sip from his cup of freshly poured coffee."

"I don't want a flavored coffee. Maybe later if I have a second cup. But right now I need a regular coffee. Which one are you drinking, the House Blend or the ah...what was the second one called? Tim asked him.

"I'm drinking City Blend. House Blend is excellent; it's mellow and smoother. City Blend is different. It has an edge. I just got it in yesterday" Pat said.

"Then I'll take a City Blend" Tim said.

"City Blend it is" Pat said and poured Tim a cup and set it before him.

"Cheers!" Tim said as he lifted his cup.

"Cheers" Pat replied and they both sipped.

"Hmmm, that's some good coffee."

"Yes, yes it is" Pat said and they both smiled.

* * *

Copyright © 2009 Gregory P. Halpin