Tristan's Tale Pt. 02

I didn't want to scare Amber, but was worried she'd notice him too, so, panicking, I reached out to him with my mind, hoping that I'd find something there that I could work with. It came easily, thank God, and I held him in my mind. I was in a hurry, and didn't bother scanning or looking into him at all, and simply issued him a command to forget everything he'd seen in the park and to go about his day. He turned around, and walked away with his hands in his pockets. Wow, this was some really crazy shit I had going on. Even then I couldn't let myself be overwhelmed by it, I still had Amber near me.

She had her yoga pants on, stretched tight over her thighs and her voluptuous butt. And she was holding my boxers.

"Wait, why do you have my boxers?" I hadn't even noticed I wasn't wearing them.

"Well, you know," she said slowly, "when you cum inside me, it doesn't just, disappear, right?"

Oh. "Well, okay then. Guess you can just chuck them in the bushes," I said.

"A small price to pay, really," she said, tossing them into the park. She was so beautiful, standing there in the shade, that this incongruous act of tossing my underwear out into some bushes was simply the most hilarious thing, and I burst out laughing. She giggled along with me, and after I recovered from my fit I walked over to her and we shared a long kiss.

She broke away, and held my cheek with a hand. "Tristan, I'm going to go home now. I'd like some time to think."

I nodded. "I understand. Take all the time you need."

"Thank you. I really, really appreciate it. You're still cute and really kind of amazing, but, geez, we didn't even know each other really five hours ago. This is a lot."

"Agreed. A lot of good is still a lot, I totally get it. I think I'd do well with some time to myself too," I said, more to myself than to her. I had a lot to work through.

"Great," she said, beaming, and kissed me once more. "Don't make it weird in the hallway tomorrow, okay?"

"I promise I won't propose, if that's what you're worried about."

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah." I did. I definitely foresaw being unsure how to act around her in the future. Like, life doesn't just go on after such an intimate collision, does it? Of course it does, but the transition is a hell of a thing to deal with.

"Cool. Well, I'm going to walk away now. Enjoy the view," she teased, and then pulled away from me, her hand trailing on my body as she left, and then walked away. Her hips swayed as they always did, as naturally as waves in the ocean, like a dance only she knew how to effect with every step.

I enjoyed the view. I always did.

I waited for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow of victory, and then walked out along the path. There wasn't anybody at the park - 11 am on a weekday isn't really peak time, all the kids are in school and the parents at work. It was possible that somebody heard us but by all accounts and the lack of onlookers and police, we appeared to have gotten away with it. Now, time to figure out what the fuck was happening with me.

I walked vaguely in the direction of Maple st, the main thoroughfare of downtown. I find I have a much easier time thinking when I'm in motion of some sort - I think it has something to do with occupying parts of the brain that would otherwise distract myself from thought.

So - where to begin? With Mark, in the stairway, right as he was about to punch me. What had happened there? Just thinking about it brought about a small headache - I'd been standing there, readying myself to get punched when suddenly, what, I "got" who he was? A bit of an intrusion in a way, his being, or whatever it was, just appeared in my consciousness and I saw him in a whole new light.

As for how exactly I held it, that was a mystery. It was sort of like holding silly putty, or clay, I guess, a clearly distinct shape that I knew I could mold with the right amount of pressure. But it was different than that, because I wasn't holding him in my hands or even really holding him in my mind, he was simply there, and so, seeing him for who he was, damaged, hurt, and dreadfully alone, I sent him my empathy. Sort of like letting water flow down my arm in the shower and then shooting off my hands. The weirdest part to me was how akin the other felt to me - there was a really powerful sense of there being minimal separation between the two of us when I held their being, not like I "was" them or that I lost myself but that there simply wasn't much difference. My mind, their mind, the only difference appeared to be practice at controlling it.

I could move my body however I wanted but I didn't exactly have control over my mind - nobody does, thoughts and emotions come out of nowhere, who out there can say he chooses to feel lust or anger? Rarely is it so that people have perfect memory - our minds are very much autonomous from our consciousness. Sure, you can get a handle on your mind, make yourself focus or relax and whatnot, but it's far from absolute control.

With others, the gap between their minds and mine was even larger than with my own. Even so, I still felt them in the same way that I felt my own mind. Very strange stuff.

My feet had taken me to Maple, where there was a fair amount of foot traffic. I cracked my knuckles and cautiously decided to do some experimenting. If this feeling of controlling people didn't come so naturally I probably would have been freaking out, but it just felt like a skill that I'd always had and was now in the process of refining. It only scared me when I thought about it too much, and so I tried not to.

The city puts a good effort into making the streets look nice, the medians between both sides of the road were lush enough for a city, and spotting the sidewalks were large granite benches encircling dirt for a tree to grow. Kids often sat on these after school was out, but seeing as it was the middle of the day, most of them were open. I chose one closer to the bus stop, sitting down and looking around.

Standing still on a busy street such as this is jarring in a way, the sheer number of people impressed itself on me and I realized how surrounded I was at all times by strangers, all with something to do and somewhere to be. It was isolating, being so disconnected from everyone - not like I wanted to make friends with everyone I saw but the fact that I couldn't talk easily to any of them changed how I saw them, like they were stripped of something human, something essential.

Even so, it only took a little while to spot someone standing still. I figured it would be harder to track change in a moving target, and so when I saw a small, middle-aged Asian man, dressed all in black, resting against the wall of a grocery store, flipping through his phone, I figured he was a good enough target to practice on.

Focusing in on his person, I tried to call to mind the being-sense of him, to summon who he was into my mind. I stared at him so hard that my head trembled but, try as I might (and I did, staring so intently my head may have started to shake), I couldn't find anything there - he was as foreign to me as he would have been before the changes.

Damn. I couldn't get a handle on it. It didn't appear to be the sort of thing that I could will into existence, or, at least, the initial connection to the person wasn't. I recalled the times when it had worked - when I'd suddenly found myself holding the person in me. It happened with Mark, then the secretary, Lauren. I realized that both of those first two times, I hadn't tried to find them, in a sense, it had come to me. Of course I couldn't create this holding feeling, I hadn't known what I was doing the first time it happened. Maybe what was needed more was a state of openness?

Going over the events before each time, I noticed a pattern: common to each occurrence was a deep, usually emotional connection, or some sense of urgency. With Mark and Lauren and the man who'd been looking at me and Amber, I'd panicked, realizing that I really needed something to happen, and so I'd instinctively made it so. There wasn't any component of "trying", it had been effortless.

And with Amber I'd been overwhelmed by my desire, and so drawn into her, that I was clearly far outside the realm of thought - everything just came up and I went along with it.

That would explain why I couldn't get a feel for this Asian guy - I didn't really have a reason to, besides my own curiosity, and that was derived from my mind and then carried out in my thoughts, not the instinctual, emotive connection. There wasn't an urgency to the impulse.

Well, shit, how was I supposed to get a handle on my new power if I couldn't ever decide to use it? Frustrated and tense, I sighed. Oh well - I figured I'd just keep an eye out, then, and try and observe it when it came up. I had time to kill, my day had made an inadvertent turn toward truancy and indulgence to the highest degree, so I figured I may as well enjoy it.

There was a really nice coffee shop nearby that I used to work at, Dante's Coffee, and I decided to stop by for a visit. It was one of my favorite places to go downtown - I had fond memories of working there and the quality of their stuff was good. It was a little upscale, and a bit pricy, catering to the middle and upper class residents of the area, but even though I'd left about half a year ago, they still gave me the employee discount, and I could go behind the counter if I wanted to spice up my drink or just to say hi.

It was a nice place to unwind, well lit, without evoking the fluorescent reproducibility of Starbucks coffee stores. There were a few armchairs and a couch, outlets, free wi-fi, and the décor of the place was very pleasant - paintings both modern and antique adorned the walls, and there were even a few hanging metal sculptures which I found beautiful in an industrial way. I had a great relationship with the owner, a grizzly bear of a man named Jed who loved to tell stories. He'd taken a liking to me, probably because I love stories, and know how to shut up and listen. I hoped he was working today - it would be good to see him, it had been several weeks since we'd last spoken.

I came up in front of the store - the usual sign was outside, a metal-frame folding sign with a wood board screwed on, italic lettering reading simply Dante's. Outside the large glass windows into which one could see the inside of the shop, a single small circular table with two metal chairs had been placed. That was new, I thought, and pushed open the door which read Dante's Coffee, and below that, Since 1957. It was something of a joke - that was the year Jed was born. The store itself was only maybe two years old, but had fast become a local favorite, easing over the 1 year hump which killed most of the entrants into the food business.

As I walked inside, I remembered why it was that this place had made it where countless other coffee shops had failed. Some people say it was the location, right smack in the middle of downtown, others claim the high quality of the drinks and the pastries, sandwiches, and sweets were responsible for its success. I knew, though, that the endurance of Dante's was due primarily and nearly exclusively to two things.

The first was the ambiance. From the incandescent lighting to the art on the walls (some of it local, and sold frequently, allowing for a constant rotation), the old redwood of the counter (Jed often liked to tell the story of how he'd chopped the tree down himself, a story he claimed was true) and the deep brown of the chairs, the place had nearly perfected a welcoming atmosphere which invited one to sit, and stay - a home away from home. When you walked into Dante's, you felt like it was your coffee shop, but in an open way which fostered community. That it was open late brought many people together, and lively conversations and debates were known to go deep into the evening, sometimes long past close if Jed was a part of them.

A large part of the setting of the place was due to the high ceilings - there were in fact two stories. On the ground floor were a few tables and chairs, newspaper stands and whatnot, and the coffee bar, of course. The stairs were on the right side of the room, leading up to a smaller, second story resting above the bar such that it appeared all your interactions with the baristas took place through a window of sorts.

Above was a lounge, primarily consisting of armchairs and sofas but spotted with a few tables as well. I'd had many a long talk up there, the close proximity of the chairs was such that it was easy to strike up a conversation with the people near you.

It's a tricky thing, creating a vibe, but Jed had done it masterfully. You wouldn't know it by looking at him, but the man's flair for the aesthetic was unlike anyone I'd ever seen. He would occasionally doodle on napkins, leaving behind marvelous landscapes or detailed renditions of birds. This is, in fact, a small part of the second reason why Dante's was so popular - Jed himself. He needs no explanation, every stranger to him is a friend waiting to be made, every beverage or treat a work of craftsmanship to be perfected.

And one never got a sense that his demeanor had anything to do with manipulating a customer, the employees weren't handed any of the dogmatic "customer is always right" nonsense. Jed treated you well on principle, I'd found, but if he found your integrity lacking, a judgment he made quickly and with precision, his interest in you plummeted. Even in the way a customer might ask for a coffee, just the intonation, if it was needy or rude, then Jed treated the interaction like business - and he did it well. It was almost unheard of that the suggestions box on the wall, which he checked twice a week, had anything but praise, you'd still get your coffee and it would be everything you wanted.

But if you acted human, and made so much as the slightest attempt at politeness, even a "how are you" could lead into a five minute conversation and a warmth in your chest that was the product of being truly, truly seen, and listened to. He cared, and in an age where appearances are paramount and being cool (which is to say, appearing not to care, right?) is the chief concern for most people under 65, that he cared, and that this quality was imparted upon his employees was enough for people to cough up the extra buck or two, and to come back regularly.

In part, this judgmental quality of his was why we became close. When I'd started working there, I was a real dick - consistently late, not showing much in the way of respect to the customers. I treated it like it was my shitty high school job. The thing I did so I had beer money. It didn't take Jed longer than a few hours to notice, I'm sure, but it wasn't until a few days had passed that he took me aside, and cut into me with complete honesty. It was brutal. But, he made me a bet - that if I cared more, and treated the job better, and put my heart and soul into it for two weeks, that I'd notice a distinct increase in my tips. If not, he'd give me a raise of a dollar and a half per hour, which when you're working for under ten bucks an hour, is pretty significant. I took him up on it, and I kept my side of the bargain. I wasn't so shitty as to fuck around for the two weeks, plus, he would have noticed.

And, the son of a bitch was right. My tips increased, nothing ridiculous, but certainly noticeable. After the two weeks, he pulled me aside, and gave me the biggest compliment I'd ever received from an adult: "I'm impressed, Tristan, by how much you committed to our little wager. You're a damn fine man, or at least you're acting like it, and it's an honor to have you on the team." And then he gave me the raise anyway.

Confronted with such a man, what choice is there but to embody the values he espouses? There wasn't much to it, he was just right. Life is a lot better when you give a shit about the people in it, and treat your responsibilities with respect. I found that, almost immediately afterward, I wasn't even thinking of the money, I had simply changed because it was making me happier.

Leaving the job was a tough call, but I realized that it was taking too much time away from my schoolwork, my friends, and most important, my family. I felt really keenly the imminence of my departure to college in a little over a year, and figured I could cut back on my expenses enough to warrant losing the job. Besides, I could just get one in college once I was there. Looking back, I am eternally grateful for my decision to quit, because the time I got to spend with my parents, the trips we did, the wonderful times we had, well... It will never leave me. And now, it's all I have of them. For some reason, even though he was practically family, I hadn't told Jed yet, that they'd passed away. I didn't quite understand why, but in part I think I didn't want to burden him with my own pain. The man had done enough for me, and leaving the job was hard enough.

It warmed my heart stepping in through the door, and the smell of coffee hit me in an aromatic rush, the hints of leather in the couches underscoring the bitter smell of the beans. The newspapers right where they'd been when I left. It's a strange thing, the comfort that can be found in the persistence of small things.

Thomas, a co-worker who'd only been working there a few weeks before I left, was on, as well as a girl I didn't recognize who was working on an espresso. Thomas smiled when I walked in.

"Tristan! My man, good to see you."

There's a certain kind of person, the kind who is excessively friendly and acts as if they are much closer with you than they really are, and Thomas is one of those people. It's a double edged sword of a quality, which has immense benefits in surface level social interactions, but which proves irritating in the long run. Thankfully, I didn't ever spend much time around Thomas, so our interactions were only ever pleasant.

"Thomas - good to see you too. How goes it?"

"Not bad, not bad. Pretty slow today, but that's alright, haven't quite hit rush hour yet." He glanced at the clock. "Ooh, somebody's a badass. Too cool for school, eh?"

I chuckled. "Hardly. It's a long story."

"Well, shit, I got time," he said.

I shook my head. "Maybe some other time, man. Sorry. Jed around?"

"All good! And yeah, he's out back on a phone call. Stick around, I'm sure he'll be back soon. He'd love to see you. Oh, by the way, you met Maddy yet?"

A tall, skinny blonde girl, she turned and nodded at me, then finished off the espresso and put it on the bar, calling out the name and then coming over to the counter.

"'Sup, I'm Maddy."

"Hey, I'm Tristan. I used to work here a while ago."

"Oh, cool. Jed's mentioned you. Nice to meet you," she replied, smiling, and then heading back in the bar to start cleaning.. She was pretty cute, not necessarily my type of girl - a little more skater-chick than I usually go for, but she had a confident charm about her. She was wearing all black - jeans and a t-shirt tucked into the waistband.

Jed came inside from the back door behind the bar, and, upon seeing me, beamed.

"Tristan! So good of you to come by." He walked out from behind the bar and wrapped me in his arms in a huge bear hug, lifting me off my feet.

"Urg - good to see you..too," I stammered, barely able to speak. He set me down and ruffled my hair with his head.

"Hey, you're looking more like yourself today! What's going on, eh? Where's that sad, mopey Tristan that's been putting his nose in Nietzsche all alone in the corner?" he said, smiling. The man was all love.

I'd missed the guy, his friendly demeanor and his hugs. "Well, I don't know, actually. I woke up feeling great today, and it just, didn't go away," I said, rubbing the back of my neck, "I'm trying not to think about it too much."