A Chronicle of Starbucks (A Short Story by Ashlyn Hayes)

The boy who looks vaguely like Cameron Boyce meets my eyes awkwardly from across the room, then glances away again. Later, he drapes one leg over the arm of the chair, relaxing with his sister in tow.

***

She does her homework, a pimpled teenager, with a darkened shirt and long brown hair that used to be dyed blonde, as evidenced from the last remnants of color at the tips. She works with a tutor on a school project while she talks trash about her family.

***

A man sits, working on an assignment for his workplace, and he has been on the phone for the past ten minutes.

***

An adult woman, Hispanic, looks for the cream, and she can't find it. Her drink was made wrong, and she is annoyed by it. The man is still talking on the phone. Udanti walked in, made polite conversation, then sat down facing away from us. The woman got her drink. The man stood up, finishing his phone call, walking outside, and leaving his belongings on the table.

***

There is a man, about twenty-five, with curly strawberry-blonde hair that stretches down his back. The cashier asks his name, and he whispers "Udanti." Taking his drink, he stands to meet a woman, about his age, carrying a child of about three-"almost four." They hug, and Udanti seems awkward around the child. The other woman refuses to relinquish control of the boy, holding him close to her chest, even as she stands up to get a drink. They ask her her name as well.

"Hollyn," she says confidently. The cashier doesn't hear her right the first time, and she repeats it, finally going to sit beside Udanti at the table for twelve.

***

Bailey and Madison are two blonde girls-jewelry, hair bows, white skins and blonde hair, giggling, exaggerated whispers, and all the rolls of the eyes.

***

About ten minutes later, two miniature Bailey's and Madison's walk into the coffee shop. They can't be more than twelve, but have all the same movements.

***

"Sometimes you've got to talk to yourself because no one else will talk to you," the barista laughs, and I laugh with him.

"That's exactly what I'm doing," I whisper to myself on the way out of the coffee shop.