Blend 17

Hachi was almost late for work. A fate worse than death. He had struggled to awake. Trapped within the blackness of his dreams, the dreams that signalled his end was any day now. But that wasn’t going to stop him. No, he was going to work until he dropped. Perhaps he died, and his sheer willpower for coffee resurrected him. Either way, he made it in.

Clara had already unlocked the shop and seemed to be panicking until she saw him.

“Thank god you are here!”

She ran up to him and hugged him; he had lost some weight, so the force of the hug almost caused him to lose his balance.

“What’s wrong?”

“You... weren’t... here,” she commented through her sniffles.

“Yeah, I slept in. But I made it on time.”

“But you never sleep in.”

“I must be low on coffee,” he shrugged. He had no intention of telling her the dreams were getting longer and longer. Deeper and deeper.

She looked seriously at him, snot still falling from her nose.

“You’ll tell me before you die, right?”

Hachi wasn’t going to agree to that. He couldn’t do that. She was way too sensitive. If he told her, it would break her. Not to mention, letting her know ahead of time would mean he would have to deal with her reaction. That would be a bigger pain.

The bigger issue was that she was getting more and more persistent about the death talk. Was his deterioration becoming viable? Nobody else had said anything. He managed to hide the yellow tinge to his skin with some light makeup. He definitely didn’t look sicker, even if he was. Why would she be so persistent, though?

“Why would I tell my medical history to a brat like you?”

“Because you are a softy. You act like you don’t care, but deep down, you are a big softy.” She smiled at him as she said this.

It seemed his joking retorts cheered her up a bit. That was good. He didn’t like seeing Clara upset, though he would never admit that to her.

“Mr Hachi, why do you run a coffee shop when you could be out enjoying the last moments of your life?”

“Why do you think?”

“Because you have no friends as a result of your rotten personality.” She joked.

Hachi sighed before responding. “I like coffee.”

“But surely there’s more to it than that?”

“Not really.”

It’s true that there was no deeper reason. Hachi liked coffee, and that was all there was to it. Sure, his lack of friends might also contribute. But honestly, he just loved coffee. It was there for him. It was warm; it was chilled. It was sweet; it was bitter. Coffee was magical. Why would he waste his time doing anything else when the perfect thing was right here?

Clara paused to think before commenting.

“There’s not like a secret live story where you said you’d meet at this location, but the owner was going to close down, so you rescued the place for that fated reunion?”

“You’ve got quite the imagination.”

“There’s seriously no reason?”

“No.”

“That’s kind of sad.”

That felt like an arrow going through Hachi’s heart.

What was sad about running a café simply because of a love of coffee? He wondered.

Hachi would not stand for such an insult.

“Well, how about I put it this way: Do you like music?”

“Yes.”

“Well, music is art. Making coffee is also an art. Musicians may want to spend their last moments playing the guitar or singing. I want to work in a café and make coffee.”

She leaned against the counter and propped up her head on her hand.

“So you see coffee-making as an art. How romantic.”

Doesn’t everyone? Hachi thought.

The day passed, and not a single customer came. There were days like this and frequently so. As more and more people died, there were fewer and fewer customers. If Hachi cared about money, he would have a breakdown by now. Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about it as he was going to die any day now.

“Do you think we’ll get any customers today?” Clara asked.

“Well, it’s almost closing time, so I think it’s unlikely.”

“Maybe we can put on some exciting music?”

“I hate to imagine what you listen to.”

“I’m sorry that I don’t listen to Jazz like you.”

“Who said I listen to Jazz?” Hachi asked, confused.

“You are always Jazz in here. Also, you just look like you are into Jazz.”

“Nah, I’m a fan of prog-metal and grunge.”

“That’s surprising. Why don’t you ever play that here in the café? You only play Jazz and pop.”

“Clara, what are the three things that make up a café?”

“Food, coffee and pockets.”

“You got two.”

“I’m surprised food isn’t.”

Hachi sighed. He could even be bothered to play along.

“Food, coffee and vibe.”

“Vibe?”

“Yes vibe,” Hachi responded. “Like, say you have a gothic-style café; imagine having boy bands playing?”

“That would suck. It wouldn’t fit the theme.”

“Exactly!”

“But we don’t have a theme, “You know Hachi, I think pockets would drastically improve the vibe.”

Hachi chose to ignore the pocket comment.

Even not having a theme matters, like imagine if I put on death metal. What would you think?

“I would think you are sick.”

Hachi rolled his eyes.

“Ok, I admit, it would probably scare off any customers.”

Yep, that’s why I stick to Jazz, easy listening, and similar genres. Ed Sheeran is a big seller.

“Is it working for us?” She asked, looking around the empty store.

That’s irrelevant right now. Anyway…” Hachi decided to redirect the conversation. “…we have to get rid of the cake before it goes off. You got room for some cake?”

“What kind?”

“Coffee cake.”

“Hahaha, I should have known. Mr Hachi, you sure do love coffee, don’t you?”

“Is it obvious?” Hachi shrugged teasingly back.

“If you want to take the bins out, I’ll go prepare a skim milk flat white and a slice of cake for you.”

“Really?!” Her excitement was all over her face.

“Well, hurry up before I change my mind.” Hachi prodded.

“Yes sir,” She saluted.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t call me sir.”

“Sorry sir,” she jokingly called out as she ran to the back to empty the bins.

Once she was out of sight, the cough Hachi had held back was released. It was almost completely blackish blood. It was a sight he had grown accustomed to: blood in his coughs, but this was just further proof that his end was nearing. Days, at most.

Hachi quickly hid the blood and washed his hands. He then proceeded to prepare the cake.

Coffee cake was much like other forms of coffee; it was all about getting the right balance to bring out the flavours. The difference was that a cake was baked, and Hachi was not a baker. That being said, Hachi would do anything for coffee. He even learned how to bake, specifically how to make a coffee cake. He learned how to get the most out of the moist flavour of the coffee cake so it would pair well with the strong flavours of the coffee he served.

He carefully served two plates of coffee cake and began making a flat white for Clara and a long black for himself. She quickly returned just as he finished making her drink.

“All done!” She saluted.

“Stop being weird and take a seat.”

She did so, and a moment later, Hachi joined her, coffee and cake in hand. Hachi desperately needed to sit; all his energy was gone. He felt like he could collapse at any moment. He slumped on the chair, and the two of them sat silently and ate in the otherwise empty shop. The quietness was broken only by the noise of Clara enjoying the cake.

This memory would be burnt into Hachi’s mind forever. Coffee, his coffee, was being enjoyed by those he had grown to care about.

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End of Chapter 17