Chapter Text
Anthropology is the scientific study of the development of human societies. That was my major at the Brunel University of London, and I loved every minute of it. I loved the classes and the intense study. I loved the labs and the essays and the studying. However, I didn’t like the tests. But who in their rightful mind likes test? Probably those weird kids that squats in the neighborhood library (for whatever reason) or those weird kids whose only friends are books.
Probably more the latter than the former. My major, though, wasn’t the only thing I enjoyed at Brunel University London. I had two friends there that I shared an apartment with. Marcella Simmons and Alicia Blake. Marcella aka Marci (me and Alicia called her Mozzarella) was a journalism major, and she was always looking for a story. And I mean always.
Whenever I got home from working at the cafe around the corner (or from class), new post-it notes were posted on her side of the wall. But this came in handy for note taking. Alicia Blake was in the music program, and she could play beautiful music. I think when we met one another, she said something about playing over six instruments, but the only ones I can think of is piano, ukulele, violin, and flute.
And her music was beautiful to listen to.
Anyways, this story starts when I was working at this small cafe. I loved working here. It was quiet, and most people that came in actually wanted to talk to me. But then, something weird happened. Actually, I think something strange or weird happened, but I’m not one hundred percent sure though. You know? Well, I think I was imagining things (because that’s what my co-worker told me).
But I thought for sure, this strange man that ran inside was being chased by something. Something or someone I’m not quite sure. But he turned around and looked around before walking up the cash register (which I was behind).
“Can I get a cappuccino, please?” the man asked.
“That’ll be two pounds.” the man handed me the money and I put it in the register before getting out a cup and a Sharpe. “What’s the name for the order?”
“John Smith.” he told me.
And I wrote the name on his cup. I handed the cup to my co-worker, Adaline, who made the cappuccino really fast (since there were only like five other people there). The man, John Smith (or whatever) took the cappuccino, looked out the window in both directions, and bolted out of there. Huh? Strange right? Well, to me it is. And that is part of what I told my two friends when I was out on break.
But the same man walked into the cafe once more before taking a seat and asking Addie, for a coffee. I assume it was a coffee. Because I could not hear him from how far away I was. I sighed before pouring the cup of coffee (that I bought on my own) into a to-go cup. This evening was going to be a very long evening. Well with a paper I have due on Tuesday (it’s Sunday, and I won’t have time to write it tomorrow), I’m going to be pulling an all nighter once more.
Curs-eh-ed me for whatever is in me that causes me to procrastinate everything that is important to me. I looked over to Addie to see her giving side glances to the man. Something about him was compelling and charming. I just didn’t know it. The same man came into the cafe at the exact same time everyday for a week. And he always ordered the same thing: a cappuccino to go.
And he would sit at the counter (which was sort of set up like a bar) waiting for his drink to come. I had come to notice that he had a lost and lonely look on his face as he waited. I wanted to ask him what the look was about, but I was neither a therapist or a free one (bartender), so I didn’t feel that it was in my place to ask. On the seventh day of his coming to the cafe, something strange happened.
I was currently making his cappuccino when suddenly it became eerily cold. Like we were heading towards the arctic and we were very unprepared for the trekk. But then, I looked outside. And we weren’t in London anymore. We were somewhere else.
“Where are we?” Adaline asked. I didn’t have a clue either.
“It would appear we're inside of a Black Hole.” the man, John Smith, commented.
"Thanks for stating the obvious." I replied. Wait. How did I know that?