13 December 2015 fiction, "City Beans"

In the small town of Vienna, Maryland, there’s a restaurant called Millie’s Road House Bar. It’s situated a block over from the banks of the Nanticoke River, and boasts of pretty much everything on its menu. Dubbed a locals joint by visitors, Millie’s is friendly, flavored (both on and off the menu), and easily accessible on the Internet.

            Two blocks back and three houses down, there’s a small building made out of cheap paneling, its paint chipping at the edges. Little sprouts of crabgrass gently caress the front steps. No one as famous as Millie resides there; in fact it’s not a house at all, it’s a small coffee shop with a staff of one owner and one barista. They each take multiple shifts during the week and rotate the weekends. The shop calls itself “City Beans”, and the coffee mugs are all decorated with small crescent moons and city skylines. Their purpose is to lead customers to the romantic idea of a place much bigger and more glamorous than an old river town that has stolen its name. The design of the mugs was purposeful; the owner of City Beans, Mr. Mystilo, painted each one individually. None of them have the exact same crescent moon or the exact same city skyline.

            Mr. Mystilo is in his late 50s; there is gray in the hair on his temples and tiny reading glasses rest on the tip of his nose. He dresses carefully each day in a navy blue suit with a crisp white shirt. The most interesting part of his ensemble is a deep purple pocket square decorated with a cartoonish design of stars and moons. It’s the type of fabric you would expect to see covering the windows of a fortuneteller’s living room, and each morning it peeks tastefully out at the Beans baristas, at the occasional customer.

Mr. Mystilo has a fourteen-year-old daughter, the product of a woman much younger and wilder than he has ever felt. When their daughter was six years old, the woman ran away to become a “star on the big screen.” They saw her once in a Crest toothpaste commercial, but that was years ago and they haven’t seen or heard of her since. To Mr. Mystilo’s chagrin, his daughter, Angela, will readily explain her mother’s flakiness to anyone willing to listen. “You have to do some pretty stupid things sometimes in show business,” she explains in a steady voice. “My mom could be a prostitute now, for all I know.” He knows the truth in Angela’s words, but it hurts all the same. No one wants a reminder of poor choice in companionship.

            Angela has always been fascinated by the city from whom Vienna, Maryland has stolen its name. She is constantly talking about it, and today she rambles about something new she’s somehow learned. “The city is bathed in pink,” she explains to Mary. the barista.. “There’s way more pink buildings than you would ever think, and Aida cafés have a totally pink theme. They’re all over the city.” Mary nods slowly, wiping down an old napkin dispenser. She adjusts her nametag. Mr. Mystilo rolls his eyes, careful that Angie doesn’t see him.

“That’s so interesting, Angie.” Mary says quietly. “When will you finally get over there to check out the Ai-da café yourself?” Mary is careful with the foreign term, saying it slowly so as to pronounce it just as Angie did. Her slight southern drawl always peeks out from behind her words when she’s confused. Mr. Mystilo knows that she’s tried so hard to hide it, to pretend she is from a different place. And yet he and everyone who’s ever met her know it’s still there.

“As soon as I’m old enough to buy my own plane ticket.” Angela boasts. “Oh, and when Mysty says it’s okay.” Angie glances at Mr. Mystilo with a sheepish smile. One might believe it’s because of what she has just called him, but, Angela has always called her father Mysty.. He doesn’t remember when she started, but it’s too late to stop her now. The name is engrained in his and everyone’s minds; for her to call him anything else just wouldn’t seem right.

Mary sighs and Angie breaks her gaze with Mr. Mystilo. “I really hope you do get there, Angie. The way you talk about Vienna and I think we would all be more devastated than you if you didn’t go.”

“I will,” Angie says as simply as if Mary has just asked her to finish her homework. “Anyway, I gotta get to school.”

Mr. Mystilo, as if summoned, emerges from his post behind the counter, his pocket square bright and friendly. “You ready, Angie? Get your coat.”

Angie stomps over to the last booth in the corner to retrieve her coat and backpack, which she has stowed haphazardly. While she’s out of earshot, Mary leans in to Mr. Mystilo. “My check bounced again this week, Mr. Mystilo. That’s three checks in a row now.”

Mr. Mystilo sighs. “I’ll have another check to you this afternoon. I have to move some things around in the account.”

Mary blushes. “Whenever you can, sir. I know business is tough.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t be taking that out on you, Mary. I’ll get you your paycheck.” Wondering how exactly he will accomplish this, Mr. Mystilo calls over to Angie. “Let’s go!”

Angie slips her arm through the other strap of her backpack and sprints to the front door of the coffee shop. She waves to Mary, and then is out the door, letting it slam on the way out.

In the autumn when the river town just begins to remember its coming winter hibernation, City Beans has its heaviest influx of customers. Something about the smell of leaves in the air seems to remind people that they like to drink coffee and tea outside of their homes. As Mr. Mystilo returns to the shop, he holds the door for a man and his wife. They sit down in one of the corner booths. She orders a hot green tea, he orders an espresso. She dips a finger in the foam on top of his drink and he chuckles. They barely leave a tip, and Mr. Mystilo sighs. Something about this town, he thinks. People just don’t seem to appreciate a place like this.

As Mary drops their empty cups in the sink and emerges from the kitchen, Mr. Mystilo holds out a thin slip of paper. “Here you go Mary,” he says. “This should work. I covered all three of the checks you’re missing in this one. Let me know if it bounces.” He runs a hand through his hair and pushes the check across the counter. Mary, not wanting to be too greedy but wanting to take the check before it disappears like a mirage, snatches it in the politest way possible. “Thanks Mr. John.” She says quietly. He nods.

Catching a glimpse at the not-as-empty-as-usual booths, Mr. Mystilo smiles. “Looks like we’re in the midst of the busy season, eh?”

Mary smiles. “Looks like it.. I think this might be our best autumn yet.”

Mr. Mystilo smiles again, forever appreciative of Mary’s positive attitude. She says the same thing every autumn, even though she’s always wrong. But every year she employs the same blind faith in the people of Vienna, Maryland. The blind faith Mr. Mystilo himself has given up for cynicism. The blind faith that keeps this coffee shop in business.

Mr. Mystilo has come to rely on Mary. He always gives her the shifts she asks for, is always willing to pay her for extra odd jobs like babysitting Angie. This reliance is also the reason Mary usually ends up with bounced checks. He knows he can trust her to stay, to cut him a break when things are slow. She’s a sweet girl, always shyly asking for a new check to replace a bounced one, always cleaning the napkin dispensers and never forgetting her nametag. He loves Mary for all that she is, but at the end of the day Mr. Mystilo always finds himself feeling saddened at the thought of her future. Someday, he thinks, someone is going to take advantage of her. And the worst part is that she won’t even know it.

As Mr. Mystilo leaves the shop to go back home for the afternoon, he finds himself thinking more and more about what Mary has said. Every year she believes we’re going to have our best autumn yet. But how many times has she been wrong? He knows this year probably won’t be any different than the last one, but a glimmer of hope hangs on. Maybe this IS the year things will change. Maybe this year we’ll be like the Vienna Angie always raves about.

When he was in college, Mr. Mystilo dreamed of being an entrepreneur. He initially believed he would open a Thai restaurant, but life got in the way of cooking lessons. Mr. Mystilo never found the motivation to learn Thai cooking on his own, and his dream fizzled in oblivion for a while. He considered pursuing a law degree in order to produce some sort of tangible future. He briefly toyed with the idea of suicide.

But in 1987 a beacon of light shone on Mr. Mystilo’s life. Starbucks, which had been in existence since 1971, began rapidly gaining popularity, and Mr, Mystilo felt gifted. The fabulous industry of specialty coffee had shone itself, and people were eating (drinking) it up. With the inspiration of Starbucks’ specialty coffee, Mr. Mystilo created City Beans to fit neatly into the traditional coffeehouse niche market.

Mr. Mystilo’s ex-wife had shut down almost all the coffee shop names Mr. Mystilo came up with. He began to feel frustrated, almost certain that his ex-wife’s negative attitude was some sort of sign that his coffee shop dream was doomed to fail. He had picked out a location, imagined the color of his future baristas’ uniforms, and could already almost taste his specially created coffee, and yet his dream was suffering under the suffocating negativity of his (at the time) wife.

Just as the color of the future baristas’ uniforms pushed itself from Mr. Mystilo’s mind like the taste of homemade Thai peanut chicken, Mr. Mystilo’s wife left him. He wasn’t as surprised as he might have been. He had always known she was ceaselessly restless. He actually found it surprising that she hadn’t abandoned her husband and daughter for the life of stardom sooner. He felt sad at her absence, but found it easy to get over her. When the ex-Mrs. Mystilo left for good, Mr. Mystilo threw himself wholeheartedly into his coffee shop. Feeling freer than he had ever felt within his marriage, Mr. Mystilo named his brainchild “City Beans”.

The fatal mistake that Mr. Mystilo made when he founded City Beans was his assumption that the coffee house niche market would stay open forever. As a small business owner, Mr. Mystilo didn’t look far enough into his future, didn’t see the overtake of big business. City Beans had never been wildly successful, but Mr. Mystilo never imagined writing paychecks for his employees that would routinely bounce. He never imagined having to switch his child out of private school and over to the local public school. He never imagined the possibility of selling his coffee shop and getting a job in an office. Mr. Mystilo had given up the idea of a Thai restaurant easily, but giving up the idea of City Beans just seemed preposterous. And sad. 

And yet here he is today, at home on his computer, looking at a checking account with negative balance, knowingly giving his best employee checks that will bounce, selling so little coffee that he’s thrown away more money than he’s made.. It’s the life of the small business owner that no one wants to tell you about. The struggles no one wants to admit to. The feeling of being doomed to fail.

Realizing there is nothing to do about it today, Mr. Mystilo closes his computer. He sighs. He glances at his watch. 2:55. Almost time to pick Angie up from school. Briefly cracking his knuckles, Mr. Mystilo stands. He retrieves the car keys off the hook next to the front door, ignoring the tall stack of bills on the small table. These collectors won’t accept a bounced check. And after paying Mary three paychecks’ worth of money, Mr. Mystilo feels confident he won’t be able to pay them. He closes the door softly.

In the car, Angie rambles about something she’s learned in school, but Mr. Mystilo finds it hard to listen. His mind is elsewhere. He received a call right as he got into the car to drive to Angie’s school. The mortgage, which usually relies on a steady payment from a savings’ account, has not been paid in four months. We’ve sent you quite a few reminder notices, Mr. Mystilo. The cool voice had explained. If we do not receive payment at the end of the month we will be forced to foreclose. What does this mean? The month is already more than half over, and Mr. Mystilo has no means to pay four months’ worth of mortgage. Mr. Mystilo realizes that he and Angie might just need to cut their losses on the thing that swallows all their money. They might have to give up and sell the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angie is surprisingly understanding about the move. Mr. Mystilo is relieved, and yet somewhat perplexed. He asks her whether she will miss the house they’ve called home all these years. “Truth is, Mysty,” she says “I’ve never felt that Vienna, Maryland was home for me. I want to go to the real Vienna.”

Mr. Mystilo barely hears it anymore when Angie talks about the real Vienna. She’s a young girl, and of course she will romanticize some beautiful elsewhere. He does hope someday his daughter will get there, but for now all he can think about is keeping his own dream alive. Mr. Mystilo stays firmly in Vienna, Maryland while his daughter drifts into the real city of Vienna enhanced in her imagination.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

City Beans has its most productive autumn after Mr. Mystilo sells his house. It’s somewhat ironic, but Mr. Mystilo finds himself ignoring the means and instead only appreciating the influx of money. Mary doesn’t receive any more bounced checks. Everything appears to look up, and Mr. Mystilo orders a new uniform for Mary. It’s teal.  

During the winter, the customers continue to flood City Beans. Mary smiles every time she talks. People barely leave tips, but Mr. Mystilo doesn’t appear to notice. Angie continues to talk about Vienna, Austria.

In the spring, City Beans has always had trouble. No one wants a reminder of how cold it is; they want things that remind them of warm weather. Hot beverages in the spring are like eating a popsicle in the snow: a misplaced and unappreciated reminder of what is and what isn’t. This spring, Mary receives another bounced check, the first in a few months. Mr. Mystilo, with no house money left to spend and an influx of cash barely able to cover all the expenses of City Beans, is forced to pull Angie from her private school. She begins attending Vienna’s local public school instead.

On a warm April morning, Angie brings up Vienna, and Mr. Mystilo finally stops to listen. She’s disappointed to have left her private school, because they offered a two week study trip there. She was hoping to apply this month, but is no longer eligible because she has had to transfer schools. Mr. Mystilo pauses. He tries to reason that City Beans has always been his dream and deserves his full attention. He reaches a rationalization.

Angie has the rest of her life to go to Vienna, he thinks. I only have one shot to make this coffee shop thrive.

And City Beans lives on.