The Cup He Didn’t Drink

I open my eyes and I am on a chair. It is a coffee shop, but very empty. Too clean. Only straight lines, and a long wooden bar. There is no one behind the bar. No coffee machine sounds. No sounds at all.

There is only one man. He sits at the bar, looking at a small black cup of espresso. I want one. A hot one. He does not drink it. He does not look at me.

My brain still has not fully woken. It is like when you fall asleep in front of the TV, then wake and the room is quiet, but the TV is still on. I sit for a few minutes. I do not know the time. Then a feeling comes: where am I? Just a question in my head.

I stand up and walk to the bar. I sit on the chair next to him. He is still looking at the small black cup.

“Excuse me,” I say.

He looks at me. I want to ask, Where are we? But my brain tells me this is a stupid question to ask a stranger in a coffee shop, even one this quiet. So I ask something else.

“Where is the barista?” I say.

He looks into my eyes. A warm smile comes to his face.

“You should wait,” he says softly. I do as he says and wait for a few minutes.

“The wind is sleeping today,” he says.

“I did not see the outside,” I answer. “Where is the window?”

“It will show itself when it decides. You should wait,” he says. “If rain falls on a stone, does the stone know it is wet? Or only the sky?”

I find it strange. “Why should the sky know?” I say.

“The clouds walk, but the stone stays.”

His words calm me, though I do not fully understand them. We talk a little more. I feel comfortable with this man now. He is like an old friend in a very new room. I trust him, he makes sense somehow. I decide to ask the question.

“Where are we?” I ask.

Blink.

I open my eyes. I am on the same chair in the corner. The walls are the same. The bar is the same.

But the man is not there. The seat is empty.

I walk to the bar and sit where he sat. The small black espresso cup is still there. I touch it. It is cold.

I stare at it.

I wait.