Crisp air, a cozy sweater, an orange and white knit beanie, a puffy vest, the best hot chocolate from his newly favorite cafe in Florence, Italy, Rivoire Firenze, in hand start his day. Jaunting about to find snowy streets. Filling his afternoons with exploratory travel, he finds himself in far away lands hopping as far as his eyes can see, anywhere from a mile or two to up to 50 miles, depending on his height when he poofs. Finding himself on the streets of Krakow, he fills in the footsteps in the snow with his own feet, walking the paths of locals as they make their way to work, home, to the shops or pubs. Sipping his hot chocolate dream he warms his lips and tummy.
Stopping in front of a small cafe, he notices an old man standing out front having a cigarette. Walking up to share a moment, he sips as the man next to him puffs. After a few moments, the older gentleman, wearing little more than an old work sweater, worn black boots, aged dress pants and a hat covering his head and ears, reaches into the front pocket of his pants and pulls out a small slightly smashed white box of cigarettes offering one to Diego. Smiling, Diego accepts. Extracting a match from the box of cigarettes, he strikes it on the brick wall of the pub and lights his cigarette. With a gentle puff, filling his mouth with smoke, and afraid to fully inhale, slowly blows the smoke upward filling the air with warmth of his breath along with the short puff of smoke.
Thank you.
The older man with a furrowed brow, sun worn skin, a stern face and cracks from age, pays him no mind.
Do you, do you speak English?
Silence abounds and fills Diego with boldness. Having met his capacity for emotionally coping with being the only person he knew with the ability to be anywhere at any given moment, having nearly lost his life in his kitchen, exploring the depths of the oceans alone, his eyes begin to well. With a quivering lip and a bit of a stutter, Can I, can I tell you something? I don't know if you'll even understand, but I was hoping I could tell someone and you look like someone. What I mean is, maybe you are trustworthy? Maybe I could tell you a secret.
The man peers at Diego through squints in his eyes, breathes in noticeably, puts out his cigarette and turns to head back inside, reaching for the door.
Oh, um, thank you for the smoke.
Stopping, he exhales softly. He allows the side of his mouth to creek upward into a partial smile hidden behind the collar of his sweater, popped up to hide his neck from biting winds scarcely passing through. Pulling back his outstretched hand, he dives back into his pocket and pulls out another cigarette. He expertly brings the pack to his mouth and with a jut of his hand, one pops its butt out of the box landing squarely between his lips. Striking a match against the brick he lights it and takes a massive drag. Blowing the smoke slowly downward and admiring the swirl as the smoke dances in the displacement of air as he takes his place next to Diego again.
Do you speak English?
The man doesn't even so much as nod.
OK, well here it goes. So, my name is Diego. Well, it's Nathaniel, but I don't like that name, so I go by Diego. Please, call me Diego. For all my life, I've wanted to be special. I took steps to separate myself from others. I worked harder at sports, I studied longer, I memorized trivia so I could win at board games. I just wanted, I really wanted to be regarded as special. For no real reason. I don't know why I was so unhappy with myself. My parents are still together, despite a short separation when I was a child, and they are so happy together. My brother and sister are fine. I'm the middle. I guess I fall into that middle child thing where they just want to be noticed.
I guess it's more important that I tell you what the secret is. The background doesn't really matter, I don't think. I don't think I have a secret because I deserve it. Because I earned it. Because I'm special. Maybe I just unlocked something in me that everyone else has. To be fair, I haven't met anyone else that can do what I can do.
The old man looks up, clears his throat, steps forward and spits out onto the street. Scratching his head and murmuring to himself, he steps back to his place and draws again.
I can be anywhere. Like, I can just think of a place and be there. I don't know if it's just places I've been or if I can go literally anywhere. I haven't tried going on a map app and just showing up somewhere. Though, I had never been to Poland, Krakow is really pretty by the way, I made my way here by just willing myself as far ahead as I could see. I didn't even get very high, I just looked ahead and boom, there I was. I kept doing that from Florence, Italy until I got here. Lifting his beverage, I really wanted to drink hot chocolate and be bathed in snowflakes for a little while. There's magic in filling your belly with warmth while you fight back shivers and look out on the blankets of white powder as far as the eye can see. Stepping away from the building, he kicks the snow, smiling to himself.
I have just felt really alone. I mean, yeah, I can go anywhere whenever I want, but everything I do is solo. I eat alone, I drink alone, I go for walks alone, I swim alone, I explore alone. I'm tired. I don't want to squander this, but nobody knows. I mean, I almost told my parents, but I chickened out. What if I got it from them? If I wasn't such a coward, maybe I would ask them. I don't know. Do I want to be alone?
Looking up at the old man, Diego notices him squeezing the pack. Stuffing it back in his pocket, his breathing has become short. Chewing on the edges of his thumb's cuticle, he looks up at Diego for a pregnant moment filling Diego with the dread that perhaps he just told someone that speaks English that he can teleport. Droplets of worry manifest on his forehead as sweat. The wetness in his chest and the beating of his heart mix with the shortness of breath and feign a heart attack. His mouth now dry, he quietly utters, Um, thank you, sir. It has been a pleasure. I appreciate the cigarette. Have a wonderful snowy afternoon.
Handing the half smoked cigarette back to the old man, he purses his lips and half bows his head. Diego lifts his head up and heads back to the street. The old man, half smoked cigarette in hand, through a filter of suspicion and malcontent, watches the young man saunter through the snow down the street and vanish before his eyes. Depositing the butt in the ash tray, he kicks his feet against the building to shake loose some of the snow and heads back inside. Throwing the door open, he shouts in Polish, “I JUST SAW AN ANGEL! He smoked with me and spoke to me in a foreign tongue and then just disappeared back to heaven. Right out front! Angels drink coffee. He drank coffee. I'll have a coffee.” Much to the chagrin of the other patrons inside, who swiftly go back to their drinks, conversations and meals.
While sauntering down the street he chanted to himself in reassurance, He doesn't speak English. He doesn't speak English. Looking up and around, he poofs regardless if the coast is clear. He closes his eyes and makes his way home. Upon opening, however, he discovers he is standing outside his college dormitory. Confused, he finishes his hot chocolate, and tossed the empty cup in a bin a few feet away.
“Riviore Firenze? That's Italian, right?”
His eyes widen, dread rises in his belly. The pleasant warmth of the chocolate treat is gone. He can feel blood draining from his now pale white face.
Um, yea. You, you speak Italian?
“Oh, no. I just don't recognize any coffee shops nearby that have that name. Are you staying for winter break?”
Diego turns around to see a bright eyed student standing before him. Her curly orange hair escapes downward from the green knit cap on her head and flows over the beige knit scarf wrapped expertly around her neck draping in front of her. He notices her bright green eyes and full eyebrows. Recognizing the color, looks more deeply at the young lady trying to place her. Um, no. I'm just visiting. Carefully placing every word before him, scrutinizing his tone, timbre and posture, he explains, I went here. I just happened to be passing through and decided to stop by.
“Where did you come from? I didn't notice you walk up. I've been out here admiring the snowy quiet for a while. I didn't see you.”
Nervously smiling, Well, I guess I'm just that forgettable. Scanning for foot prints in the snow, he sees a trail leading to the building and points, I came from there.
Lifting here eyebrow suspiciously, “From the field? Nobody is playing anything there today.”
Diego begins to nervously fill the air with sound, trying to change the subject, I'm just walking around reminiscing. I never thought all the money I spent here would prepare me to work in the bakery I do.
“Are you a baker? Oh my god, I've been watching that baking show from the UK. I love it. Everyone is so sweet and they're all so creative and they do such adorable things. I had no idea there were that many biscuits. Why do they call them biscuits?”
No, I'm not a baker. I haven't seen that show either. I will check it out though. Streaming?
“Yeah. That's how I watch it.”
Thanks! Well, You have a good one.
“You too.”
With that, Diego heads on his way. Burying his hands in his pockets, chilly from the air and emotionally exhausted from being vulnerable, he walks along. Assuming she is watching him leave, he slowly makes his way through campus. Loathing every step and every memory conjured by them, he meanders through the walkway between the buildings. Deciding she is also following him, without looking over his shoulder to verify, he heads over to a fast food restaurant and immediately heads for the rest room. Hiding in a stall, he clenches his fists, closes his eyes and says aloud, Home. Breathing heavily and frustrated with the detour, he opens his eyes to the battered wood of his front door. Closing his eyes, he sighs heavily in relief, and reaches for the door handle.
Jamish is on the inside heading out. “Oh, hey Diego. Where'd you go this morning?”
Oh, just for some hot cocoa. I ended up talking to this old man that I am 90% positive didn't speak a lick of English and then I got accosted by this college kid. It has been a morning. I think I'm gonna take a nap.
“Already? Dude, you were gone for like 3 hours? It's 10. On a Sunday. Come get brunch with me. Us. I invited this girl from work. The one I told you about.”
Carolyn? The one from accounting?
“Cathryn. Yeah, from accounting. I don't know if she's bringing someone, but I think she just thinks of me as a friend and I don't want to show up hoping it's a date and it's not and it'll be awkward. If you're there, at least I will have someone to talk to if it's not what I think it is.”
Did you say it was a date?
“Not in those words. I mean, I said, 'Hey, I'm getting brunch on Sunday, would love it if you came.' She said she'd like to come, but I dunno, the feeling I got is making me second guess things.”
Uh, yeah, sure. I'll go. If it's a date though, I'm gonna leave.
“Yeah, obviously you leave if that's the case. I mean, I like you, but I want to date her, not you.”
But... but I love you. Forget her, brunch with me only!
“Oh, Diego, were it not for the stars above beckoning me home, I would be with thee. For all the days and for all the nights. Our souls entwined.”
That's beautiful.
“You mispronounced 'You're'.”
Oh, my bad. 'You're' buying.
“Ha ha. That's fine. Let's go.” They head down the street to Jamish's Honda Civic that he bought in cash from the dealer after he saved enough money interning at the chemical engineering company the summer before his last year in college. Pristine on the outside, he refused to vacuum the insides during the colder months. Otherwise well kept, it reflected Jamish's approach to the things in his life he used every day.
“Where'd you end up getting cocoa?”
Long story. I'll tell you later.
“OK. Remind me to ask about it.”
Will do.