--Of the Poor

By Jason A. Wendleton

The charming, hand-painted sign above the café fluttered in the gentle morning breeze—its lazy back and forth motion beckoned to those passing by.

Come inside, the day and its toils still lie ahead…there’s time for leisure…step inside…

Though the sign spoke, there were few on the early morning streets to hear its siren-lullaby. An old man pushing a cart down the sloping, uneven road paid it no heed. The newsboy with his massive parcel of bursting pages had no time (or money) for pastries—his route was still incomplete. Yet, the sign continued to wave at the few who shuffled by on their morning routine.

Eventually, a well-dressed couple passed on the opposite side of the street.

“Oh Alan,” the woman said touching her husband’s arm. “Look a little coffee shop, let’s stop inside and have a cup.”

The man, Alan, bristled slightly at the suggestion, “Well alright…I’m a bit hungry, maybe we can get a bit of something to eat.”

Taking his wife, Brie, by the arm, he lead them across the street and over to the shop. Pulling the heavy wooden door open, they heard a loud jingle from an unseen bell perched somewhere near the top of the interior doorframe.

“What a lovely little place!” Brie said.

Stepping over the threshold, Alan removed his hat, “Yes indeed—very cozy and very clean.”

The café was a small, family owned shop that had been a fixture of the neighborhood for generations. Opened during a period of economic collapse, the café had started life as a place for the unemployed to grab a cheap breakfast before resuming their job hunt. As conditions in town improved, so did the café. The once creaky wood floors were now pale tile. The inexpensive wood counter replaced by a new, stately looking glass pastry case.

Alan and Brie knew none of this, though.

“Good morning!” the cheery hostess behind the counter beamed.

Brie smiled, “Hello there.”

“And what can I get for a fine lookin’ couple such as you?”

“We’d like some coffee please, and something to eat if you have anything,” Alan replied before Brie could—oblivious to the pastry case.

“Sure thing, I just made some delicious blue berry muffins or would you prefer doughnuts?”

“Muffins sound wonderful,” Brie told her.

“I’d like one of those croissants, too,” Alan mumbled as he watched the woman behind the counter bag-up the muffins.

“You folks from out-of-town?” the hostess asked as she poured their coffee.

“Yes, that’s right,” Alan laughed. “How could you possibly tell?”
He jokingly tugged on the squat, black camera wrapped around his neck. The device’s straps were as wide as the ties he wore back home on Sundays.

“Seen many of the sights?”

Brie nodded, “Oh yes. Your city is simply marvelous!”

“It is,” the woman nodded. “Make sure you take yourselves down to the beach ‘fore you leave”

“I’ve heard your beaches are wonderfully clean.”

“Ah yes sir, very tidy indeed,” the woman replied with a sense of civic pride. “A clean city overall you’ll find.”

“And very hospitable,” Brie added taking the cups of coffee.

Alan paid the woman, who thanked them for their patronage. The couple took their drinks over to a small metal-wire table near the shop’s window. Though the table was small, it accommodated them nicely. The two visitors talked as they enjoyed their small breakfast—taking in a frothy mixture of city view and warm coffee.

“Such a shame we can’t stay longer, dear.”

“I know, but we can always come back after my conference next week.”

The two began eating the large, firm muffins—little flecks of sugar crystals glistened like the morning dew on their voluptuous tops.

“You know, Brie, I wish you’d do a bit more baking back home…”

The bell on the back of the doorframe jingled as an old man shuffled into the shop. He tipped his hat to them and headed behind the counter. As he strapped on a faded apron, the hostess yelled to him from a back room.

“Don’t forget to wash yer hands Will.”

“Yes, dear…” the old man grumbled. It was obvious that the old gentleman had been given that very command for the past innumerable years.

“Cleanliness is closest to Godliness,” the hostess quoted to him.

Brie and Alan finished their muffins and were almost done with their coffee when they spotted two children through the window.

Each was dressed in a cheap, coarse looking pair of wool trousers and a dirty collared shirt. Though rather shabby looking, it was evident that they were wearing what amounted to their “best.” Their waxen, skeletal frames held the cloth in sharp, sickly angles—making the boys look like incredibly lifelike scarecrows. No doubt their soft, haunted look would have been welcomed in crow-plagued field.

The gaunt faces leered at the couple from across the street and through the café window. Brie began to fidget. Alan consulted the pristine crystal face of his pocket watch. Neither gave much thought to their sudden discomfort.

“So we’re going back to the hotel then?” Brie asked looking away from the window. The two scruffs sheepishly waved to them from across the street.

“Yes, I guess we have to now. Tomorrow we have the train to catch and…”

The shop bell rang as the door slowly wafted open. Both boys cautiously approached the couple, who were sitting adjacent to the door.

“Oh hello there,” Brie smiled at them.

Alan ignored them for a time, hoping they would leave as suddenly as they had appeared. He cleared his throat to speak, when one of the boys—the smaller of the two, stretched his hand out and offered them a single sheet of paper.

“What’s this?” Brie asked, “A present?”

She took the crisp, ivory colored leaf from the roguish looking youth.

Looking down at it, she saw a few uplifting lines of what appeared to be poetry. The passages appeared hastily copied, their lines slanting in numerous directions all the way to the edge of the sheet.

“Thank you,” Brie said embarrassed and unsure what to do.

“Hey!” the hostess called from behind the counter. “Get outta here you filthy rat-beggars!”

Angry, the woman hopped out from behind the counter and snatched the page from Brie.

“Sorry ‘bout that misses,” she said in a huff.

The larger, older looking boy ran out of the shop, a trail of flyers left in his wake. The smaller, remaining boy was plucked from the ground and shoved through the door by the fuming hostess.

“Go pan-handle elsewhere!” she shouted after them as they vanished into the city streets.

Brie and Alan got up and returned to their hotel room.

“I wonder what some of those verses were,” Brie asked after they’d started packing.

Alan shrugged, “Might it just have been something from the Bible?”

Brie wasn’t sure, and for some reason the question nagged her. Closing her eyes, she could almost picture the boy’s sheet. Everything was clear—everything but the words. The singular glance she’d gotten didn’t betray the page’s secret. Part of her wished very much that she’d been able to buy it from the little urchin—if only to alleviate her mild curiosity.

“Come on,” Alan said interrupting her remembrance. “Time to go…”

Neither ever returned to the little café, or the city for that matter—ever again.