Sunflowers & Sunshowers

‘Dreams are for the sleeping,’ I once heard someone say. I can’t remember who or where or why, but those five words stuck in my 10 year-old brain and, nine years later, it still bounces around in my head. Not by choice, of course.              “Dreams are for the sleeping,” I whisper to myself. No, dreams are for the waking too, and I aim to prove it.             In the old-fashioned mirror, I meet my gaze for the first time today. The familiar wide, green eyes stare back over my freckled cheeks. My mess of dark bangs and waves frame my face like one of those cheap wigs you’d see hanging around for Halloween. But Halloween is still five months away and the only horror I can see is my bedhead.             My reflection and I smirk at each other. As much as she startles me some days, I do appreciate her. She’s gotten me this far and she’ll continue to be the face – and the force – I can meet the world with. I just hope she’ll be enough.             After washing up, I tie up my hair into a messy topknot and turn out into the darkness of the hall. I make my way to my room at the end. Suddenly, something catches my foot. A loud crack and then a crash interrupt the silence, followed by me huddling on the floor clutching my precious, poor foot.              Creeeak.             Click.             Bright light floods the hall from behind my younger brother’s silhouette. I don’t have to see his face to know he’s seething. I meet his shadowy glare.             “You know, Hannah,” he says, a sharp edge in his voice, “if you want to wake me up, you don’t have to break down my door.”             “You know, Shiloh” I reply with a cheeky grin, “If you didn’t want me to wake you up, you shouldn’t have left your backpack in the hall.”             No remorse shows on his face. He points. “Not my backpack. That’s my gym bag. And I was gonna pick it up in the morning.”              “It is morning—” But he starts closing his door in my face.             “April Fools,” he whispers with a hostile grin, shutting the door in my face.             I check my phone and the lock screen flashes.             [Thursday, April 1, 20XX     5:09 AM]             So Shiloh wasn’t just being sarcastic.             Pushing myself up, I limp to my room. Who knew 14-year-olds were so… grumpy?             From my room, I hear my dad already fixing breakfast downstairs. A smile tugs at my lips. Every morning I leave for work in the city, he wakes up just to make me breakfast. “I was already awake,” he tells me. But who is already awake at five o'clock in the morning?             Pulling on my ankle-length black jeans and a floaty midnight colored blouse, I step over to my closet and settle on a pair of sleek flats. I’m not in the mood for stares today. Tall and spindly, if I wore any of my heel or boots, I’d stand out like a scarecrow in a cornfield. Seriously. As I slip into the shoes, I gaze out the window. Still dark outside. The forest has yet to awake. The sun won’t rise over the ocean for almost two more hours.              Maybe there will be clear skies today?             Here along the Oregonian coast, blue skies and sunshine are a rare blessing. Heck, my skin probably hasn’t felt real sunlight for almost a month. I won’t lie, though… It’s beautiful here. These beaches, woods, and rivers are all I’ve ever known. Once I can afford the tuition of my dream college, maybe then I’ll learn what it’s like to live somewhere new.             Hah… That’s why I’ve been waking up so “freakishly” early, as Shiloh calls it. Ten months ago, I got a part-time job in the city at it’s largest bookstore. Four days out of seven, I work from 8 am to 4 pm. The problem is, it’s two hours away by bus – and my dad uses the car. But it’s decent, peaceful work with good pay and I’m still not sure how I landed such a goldmine job right out of high school. Come to think of it, I remember my new boss mentioning something about someone "important" putting in a good word for me. They never said who... I'm definitely gonna spend too much time thinking about it now.             Looking in my bedroom mirror, I cinch my delicate silver necklace around my throat and straighten the bright sunflower pendant. I then attempt to arrange my bangs in some sort of order. With a dissatisfied huff, I grab my heavy canvas bag and hurry down to the kitchen. The wooden stairs creak as I rush down and, sure enough, I find my dad leaning against the counter, a slice of toast in hand.             “Good morning, Sunshine!” He says, handing a full lunch bin to me. It’s followed by a fresh breakfast sandwich wrapped neatly in a napkin.             “I packed I yogurt in there for the bus ride.”             “Thanks, Dad.” I plant a kiss on his cheek. “But you really didn’t have to.”             “I was already awake, so I thought ‘why not?’” He munches on the toast.             “Heh. Sure.” I narrow my eyes at him, taking a large bite of the sandwich. “Mmm… tastes delicious, though.”             “Of course, it does,” he answers, chuckling. He gives me a nudge. “Now go and get out there!”             “You’re right. I’m late! Love you!” I stuff my lunch into my bag and rush to the door. Grabbing my long, wool coat, I halt and call back. “I almost forgot. Mrs. Perry is leaving today instead of tomorrow. So I’ll be watching her place from tonight to Monday instead.”              My dad gives me a thumbs up and I run off. I reach the bus stop and check my phone. The time reads 5:24 AM. The bus arrives minutes later. An early start already. Perhaps I won’t have to stress about being on time today?              The commute is quiet, and I pull out the notebook and pencils and begin to sketch. Even though it is a bumpy ride, I try to draw whenever I can. It’s calming. The rain starts halfway through the trip. We arrive in the city and I exit with several other passengers. It’s pouring around us and we all rush under the cover of our umbrellas. I hurry to the subway as I get there, the train I take is just arriving. By the time I’m on the street again, I still have enough time to grab a drink from the café near the bookstore.              Strolling under my umbrella, I have to say it seeming like it a good morning. Rain and all.             The artistic little coffee shop is unmistakable as I approach from down the block. Pink and yellow roses detail the grey exterior and white panels trim the large, bright windows. The sign reading ‘Sweet Cup Café’ hangs merrily above the door. The bell dings as I enter and the smells of coffee, spices, and fresh pastries greet me. A trio of old men chats around one of the tables, sipping their coffees. There isn’t a line and one barista mans the counter. I think it’s the new guy my friend Cassie told me about. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a black apron and a black ball cap over his short ginger hair.             I’m surprised he’s by himself. But, keeping to tradition, I order my usual: a large, half-sweet London Fog latte. It takes a little time to order and he apologizes, but soon I’m waiting for my steaming, hot tea. I mull around a little and watch the cheery city bustle through the windows. The rain has stopped for now, but men and women stride by, still under their umbrellas. A young man in a yellow jacket hunches at a table under the café awning, staring at the grey sky.             With a chiming bell, a petite girl with a curly brown bob pops through the door.              “I’m back, Isaiah!” She hustles in, tying her apron behind her. A second later, her sparkling brown eyes meet mine.             “Hannah!” A big smile brightens Cassie’s already glowing face. “Where have you been?”             “Headed to work, as always,” I reply.             “You mean stressing about getting to work on time, right?” Stepping behind the counter, she gives me a knowing look as she bustles by the other barista. She watches as he sets out my freshly made tea, and her brow furrows slightly. We both notice its shorter than normal stature.             “Hey, Isaiah…” Cassie trails off then looks to me. “You ordered your usual right?”             “Yeah, but it’s fine,” I answer, waving a hand. “I probably don’t need that much caffeine anyway.”             “Nah…” She nudges her coworker. “He’ll make you a new one. But I gotta clock in!” That said, she heads around the corner.              I smile. I’ve known her since middle school and with her easygoing friendliness and attention to detail, she makes quite the shift lead. If I didn’t work at the bookstore, I’d be happy to work alongside her.             Isaiah looks back at me awkwardly, his wide shoulders sagging. “Sorry... I’ll get right on it.”             “Don’t worry about it,” I say. Except I am worried. I check my phone and the clock says 7:54AM. I was already cutting it close but now I’ll be right on the edge.             After a few minutes of shuffling around —more nervous than I needed to be— the proper drink is placed on the counter.             “Thank you so much for your patience.” The barista’s eyes say it all.             “You’re totally fine,” I reassure him, taking the cup in hand. Even though I look calm on the outside, I can feel my heart racing. I hate being late. I hate being anything that draws unnecessary attention to myself.             “Hey, take both,” Cassie commands as she rounds the corner. “You’ll need it.”             Before I protest, she looks me straight in the eyes, her eyebrows raised, and lips pursed.             “Fine,” I laugh. I manage to get both teas in hand, tucking my umbrella under my arm and hanging my bag from my shoulder.             “Bye friend!” Cassie calls after me. I catch a glint in her eye and she winks. “Make sure to say hi to you-know-who for me.”             “Oh, you know I will.” I wink back.             Her eyes widen. “Don’t you even—” she starts, but I push myself through the door. As if on cue, the sky brightens and a few rays of golden light pierce the heavy sky.             Leaning my head back, I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. I can afford one moment. Just one moment to breathe.             I exhale slowly, then open my eyes. My moment of freedom is finished. I’ve got to get going.             I’m about to head out when I catch the yellow jacket from the corner of my eye. I turn and the young man still sits at the table, alone. It looks like he too is taking in the moment, his face turned to the sky and his eyes shut tight. But beneath his black hair, his clenched eyes seem shadowed and his hands are tense fists. Something tugs at me.             I step toward him.             What the heck am I doing? I’ve never approached a random stranger like this.             “Hi,” I say softly, offering a small smile.             He startles and his dark eyes open to meet mine.             I hesitate.              “They gave me an extra drink,” I begin, holding up the problem beverage. My self-confidence wavers and I laugh awkwardly. “Would you be interested in a medium half-sweet London Fog?”             He stares at me for several moments. My confidence whispers goodbye and floats away. Finally, he blinks off the confusion and glances at me again.             “S-sure,” he stammers. “Why not…?”             I set the tea on the metal tabletop. “Perfect,” I say, turning. “Have a nice day!”             I rush to leave, but in turning, I somehow stumble over my own foot. I plummet to the ground, barely catching myself. Ahead of me, my cup lies on the ground, crying tea flavored tears out of its crushed form. Blood rushes to my face as I pull myself up again and brush myself off.             “Are you…?” the guy starts to ask behind me.             “I’m fine!” I say laughing, but desperately hiding my burning face.             I speed away, shaking my head in disbelief. What was that? “Good intentions” or whatever, that was a disaster! I shiver at the thought. When I’m a fair distance off, I peer back at him. He scrutinizes the drink then takes a cautious sip. He doesn’t seem disappointed.              Maybe he’s happier now? Maybe he’s laughing at my embarrassment, too.             Suddenly, a gleaming waterdrop plops on to my nose.             Is it a sun shower?             As I gaze upward, sunbeams stream through the thick clouds, catching raindrops and turning them into bright gold.             “If it weren’t for how this day is going,” I chuckle sarcastically, “I’d take this as a good omen.”              Pushing myself onward, I scurry over the wet pavement and down the block. Parmell’s City of Books is my destination.