Warmth of Summer

Glow like fireflies

The wind is hot on Irene’s skin as she traverses through the busy streets quietly, a headphone perched on her neck connecting to the walk man placed inside her sling bag, Bee Gees' How Deep is Your Love playing. It was her favorite song of the week.

She immediately puts her hand above her eyes when she crosses a corner and the angle of the early sun hits her in the face. The sun light is harsher during the summer, but summer is Irene’s favorite season. At 8 am, everything looks lively. Everything that she aspired to be.

She is greeted by several people on her way. Some of them she recognized as the regulars who always cheered for her during the weekend. Some of them were her mother's acquaintances that she recognized in passing. Her town is small that almost everyone knew everybody.

She arrives at the small café 15 minutes later than her usual 8, taking her time to appreciate how the sun shines on the town she lives in like a golden blanket.

“Good morning,” the café owner, Min, greets her. Min was of Korean decent. His family moved here when he was just 10 and started a café business. Serendipity, the café, is 15 years old now, and a town favorite.

“Good morning,” Irene greets back as she places her things down by the booth, “what are we in for today?”

“Well,” Min starts, “you do your schedule, as the usual. Only we have to expect a higher number of people sometime in the evening since it's a weekend.”

“Alright,” She replies, grabbing the towel on the rack to start her duties. She goes to her bag to retrieve her Walkman and places it in the pocket of her baggy pants. She presses play and waits for the melody of her favorite song to reverberate through the soft foam of the headset, before starting to work.

------

It was 6 pm and the café is bustling with life. People of different ages have gathered tonight to escape the stress of the daily life, letting go of the hardships of living and trying to make it through everyday, even for just one night.

The warm light draped on the walls illuminate the café like fireflies, casting a warm, orange glow and making the ambiance as cozy and relaxing for the customers. There is a soft jazz music playing from the speaker, serving as a background music to the murmur of conversations that filled the air.

There were students huddled in the corner of the café, dressed comfortably in sweaters and loose jeans, nursing a latte in one hand as they chat away happily, probably a thing or two about their college life. She recognizes one of them as her neighbor's daughter, Ysa, who was quiet but very attentive as she listened to the conversation.

There was also Min's wife, Luna, and their 3 year old son who were sitting on a table near the counter. The old baker, Jude, who was nursing a bottle of beer that he brought in his hand. The café is not entirely strict to outside beverages, as long as they know the person. There were a few people from the nearby town too.

“You should be preparing for the stage,” Min comes to collect her from her thoughts, whisking Irene away from the bustling noise of the audience to the stage.

Irene nods in agreement, going in the restroom to fix the loose strands of her hair and the wrinkles of her baggy, white chiffon blouse. She reapplies lip gloss, and check herself once more before going to the stage.

“Hello everyone,” she greets through the mic in front of her, a practiced smile on her face as she scans the crowd. “How are you doing tonight?”

Irene is met with cheers from the young people, and some bottles raised in the air to acknowledge her presence.

“I hope the week was not rough to you,” Irene continues and she sits on the stool Min places behind her. On her side, Min is getting ready, adjusting the tone of the guitar in his hand. “If it wasn't, I hope you continue with the promise of waking up to a new day.”

The people are chattering amongst themselves, and Irene gives the time to settle down. While she was fixing her mic stand, the wind chime above the café door rings, signaling a new entry.

There are three new comers, and they were people Irene is not familiar with.

Irene is not able to look at the new comers carefully because Min had tapped her on the shoulder, giving her the signal to start.

“This song is a classic,” Irene starts, holding the mic in her one hand, her other hand placed on her thigh. “This song is currently my favorite.” 

Min starts, plucking the tunes of the song Irene was listening to since the morning and letting the melody reverberate throughout the café.