The Barista

I couldn’t stand the coffee in town until ‘The Hedgehog’, the café nearby, hired Kwan to increase its floor staff from one to two, and now I can barely live without a good cup.

He makes it with such dedication you know that you won’t have to worry about the milk frothing over, sprinkles on the saucer or a spoon being out of alignment, Everything will be just perfectly aligned, all without him speaking a word or hearing a thing.
Perfect, and quiet.

Kwan was an enigma for certain, right from the first day he’d arrived at the town carrying only a backpack, a document case and a notepad. The speculation was rife as to why he’d stepped into this town of ours. The rumors varied from the simple traveler to the absurd tragic concert violinist who was escaping the institutions of the city. No one knows that story from before it but on arriving at the bus-stop, he was waiting tables at the coffee shop a day later, busy wiping down the benches.

Margaret opened up to me once, telling me that he’d approached her as she was closing the door on that first day with his notebook in hand, rudimentary children’s words written into it looking scared and hoping for some help to find a hostel. Her brusqueness, sarcasm and acidic humor hides a soft romantic heart that offered him a job, a room and a person to lean on.

Many a townsperson would bumble through the front door in the morning, rapping knuckles across the tables, shouting greetings to Margaret behind the counter, and smiling as Kwan’s face rose from his station at the machine. His eyes jumping a little at the vocal vibrations running up his hands and half smiling as a greeting that got a little warmer as time passed.

He doesn’t make a sound as he hunches over the steam, but all the time he mouths various syllables as though trying to get a handle on words. He flicks his sights to the waiting latte glass before sliding it under the tap and his eyes would sparkle as the machine shook. Vibrations that must travel down the steam handle to his arm and into his chest. Kwan would smile as though relishing the seconds that he could watch the black shapes form in front of his eyes.

The machine that he’d tried out on his third day; seemed to love by the fifth and cleaned it so well it shone on the twelfth, seems to be is his escape from the soundless world. He escapes from our world to his own and appears back with so much more animation and confidence. He’ll smile and stick his tongue out at a five year old, wink at a joke to Alicia from the hairdresser and shake hands with Ralph all the while one hand twisting the valve for the steam nozzle. And the silence was tangible while he was working, not a word was spoken, not by the customers, regardless of how talkative they normally were. Ralph, for all his bluster, barely even breathed as he waited, his eyes almost bursting as he stood still smiling, nodding in a limited communication without sound.

Then Kwan would slide the glass out, align it shakily on the saucer, meticulously wipe off any moisture then move it into range of someone else’s hands. He’d be fluttering and shaking a little as he’d tap the bell to get Margaret’s attention if need be and be off to the next order in no time flat.

And Kwan seemed so happy,
A cup at his hands,
Nothing else was needed to see his passion,
His world was the vibration
His world was this shop.

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Tags:

barista, cafe, coffee, glass, latte, shop, thebookstore and waiter