Episode Five
378 Words
Day 9,490.
The bookstore door still unlocked at 11:50pm. But Maya didn’t open it anymore.
David didn’t either.
Juno did.
She was 26, had her mom’s insomnia and her dad’s terrible ghost jokes. The poetry shelf was covered in Sharpie now. Dates. Arguments. _Juno’s first heartbreak – Day 5,204_. _Dad finally learned to make foam – Day 6,001_. _Mom said “I love you” first today – Day 2,191_.
At 6:10am, the door creaked.
Two people. Old. Holding hands like they’d forget how if they let go.
“We saw the sign,” the woman said. Her voice shook. “_If you’re here, you’re not drinking alone._ Is that still true?”
Juno looked at the two chairs by the shelf. Her parents’ chairs. Empty for three years now. Then at the ghost chair. Still empty. Always empty, just in case.
“Yeah,” Juno said. “It’s still true.”
She made three coffees. No sugar. Poured one into her dad’s dented thermos. One into her mom’s chipped mug. One into the thermos lid for the old man.
They drank in silence until 6:12am.
“My parents met at 6:12,” Juno finally said. “Over coffee. No sugar. Dad said the city was honest before sunrise. Mom said honest was just another word for rude.”
The old woman laughed. Wet sound. “We met at 6:12 too. Hospital waiting room. 40 years ago. No coffee. Just fear.” She squeezed her husband’s hand. “Today’s his last treatment. If it didn’t work…”
She didn’t finish.
Juno uncapped the Sharpie. The same one. Somehow it still worked. She held it out to the woman.
“Add to the shelf,” Juno said. “6:12am isn’t just for beginnings. It’s for whatever’s left.”
The old woman took the pen with shaking hands. And wrote, right under _Day 2,190. I’m here now. Deal with it_:
_Day 9,490. We’re still here. Deal with it._
At 6:13am, they clinked thermos to mug to lid.
“To the ghost,” Juno whispered.
“To the boss,” the old man said.
“To not drinking alone,” they said together.
Outside, Kampala woke up.
Inside, it was still 6:12am. Still honest. Still theirs.
Just with more chairs.
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- Writer
