On the precipice of nothing new

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Fell into question all I held as truth

Alexander Hamilton I

Laughter. Smiles. Summer swing sets at the park.

My swing goes up, then falls back down onto the waiting arms of my dad. His strong muscled arms that launch me back up into the sky. Up and down. His roughened hands pressing against the surface of my back, my hair flying into my face.

"Do you want to go even higher than this, Alexander?" He half shouts at me.

"Yes!" I gleefully call back to him.

And he delivers. I go up and up and up, but this time the seat goes down without me.

I'm falling, anticipating the loud thump that I'll hear when I hit the ground. The way that all the pieces of mulch will stick to the clothing and give me splinters.

But somehow I don't, I land in someone's arms. The arms aren't my Dad's though, my Dad's full of muscle and hair these arms are thin and smooth.

Cracking open my eyes I see my mom's face. She smiles at me and starts murmuring about how I'm safe now and how there's no need to worry. Satisfied in her comfortings toward me, she turns towards Dad starts scolding him, "You have to be more careful with Alex. He's so much smaller than he needs to be already no need to add on a broken bone!"

He responds with a low tone that my ears didn't pick up and I already knew that my Dad was gone for today. It was fun while he was here, but everything balances out eventually. Sir approached me and opened his mouth to say something to me-

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I sit straight up with a gasp, trying to get as much air in as I can. Blinking a few times to get adjusted to my surrounds, which indeed were not the playground by my house. Alexander, get yourself together, those playgrounds were destroyed years ago because they were deemed a public safety issue. With a crack of my knuckles and a snap of my neck, I slowly stand up from my bed and make my way over to my dresser and start my daily routine.

Make my bed. Get dressed. Take the medication. Collect Mom's medication. Go to the bathroom. Take a quiet shower to not wake up Aaron. Set Mom's medication by her bed. Grab my bag. Check my bag to make sure it has everything I need. Step out of the house. Walk to work.

Every day, like clockwork I execute this procedure. Miss one thing and another step is messed up. No skipping, no skimping. All parts of the plan are accomplished to get the optimal solution. If I take too long in my five-minute shower then there isn't any warm water left for when Aaron wakes up at 4:30 to get ready for his day. If Aaron doesn't have warm water then he'll leave to find rent elsewhere. If he leaves to find rent elsewhere then I can't pay for Mom's medication. If I can't pay for Mom's medication then-

"Move it shaggy," a passerby snorts in my direction, before rushing off to wherever he had to go.

Even at 3:45 in the morning there are still people walking about in the streets of New York, and none of them give half a care about what's going on in my life. But the feeling can be recuperated back on them. I don't care about them, they don't care about me. It's a balance and it's not swayed in either's favor.

I quickly move out of what was the man's path, just to avoid any more unnecessary interaction with people on my way to work. With my head hung low, and sticking close to the extreme side of the sidewalk, practically walking in the gutter. Like most days, my walk to work was uneventful and refreshing, and it was a perfect time to think of ideas for my novel that I'm writing. It's a high fantasy story that I've been working on the side for a while on. From the times of 8-11 each night. But, I'll get halfway through a 'chapter' then go back and delete all of it. And half the time my mom will need taking care of during that time somewhere, and it's not like it's necessary that I write, it's just a hobby.

Reaching the front door of "The Jumping Bean", the coffee shop I worked at, I stuck my hand into my pocket to get the key that unlocks the front door. After the first round of groping around my pocket gave no results, I started panicking. If I lost this key then I'd be fired and then I'd be living off a part-time job and everything I accomplished would be worth nothing, washed down the drain. Also, my mom would die because I couldn't pay for her medication.

I can feel my breathing catching up to me, the space between the between breaths shortening. In an attempt to calm the rising panic I reach my numbing hand into my pocket again as the surroundings start to fade out of focus. I fumbled around in my relatively shallow pocket for the key, the anxiety pushing up and swelling inside of me, threatening to launch itself out. As the edges of my mostly numb fingers hit the key, I tried to let go of the anxiety, the nervousness, but it wouldn't let go. So out came the coping strategies- deep breathing. Check, doing a little where a lot was needed. How about closing my eyes. Not going to happen on a busy New York street in the dark. I'm not an idiot, I don't want to be mugged. Ah, the focusing technique. That I can do. My surroundings were still too much of a blur to see I skipped that part of it and went onto the touching aspect. I could feel the still cool ground, with the scratchy concrete. I could feel my jacket and the worn-down cotton rubbed against my skin. I could feel the slight wind of the whizz of the passing by cars and taxis. And most of all I could feel the key. I could feel the cool metal, the groves and the sharp edges.

By the time I'd gone through it all, it was 3:48. And as soon as I could properly see and I had to get the shop open right now. The opening up process was exactly the same every day. Turn on all the machines, get the coffee brewing. Make sure for absolute certain that there were enough creamer and packets at all the tables and counters. Lastly, the shades would go up, and the open sign would be turned on.

I get this done as quickly as I can, as I try to open five minutes before the official opening of the shop. There were a few customers who I noticed were consistently waiting outside every day at the door before we opened and decided, 'why not just open up a few minutes early.'

First in today was Natalie. Natalie worked as a manufacturing plant out of the city but lived with her parents in town. She talked about how it was a long drive (an hour each way), and how the procedures she had to go through before she can start working (an hour to two hours depending on the day). She got a large black coffee and paid her total of $3.50 and said went out with a wave and a "goodbye." I waved back.

Following her in line was Phillip Schuyler, a local politician who came in every day. In the beginning, it was because this business is an investment of one of his buddies. Though he kept coming back because he fell in love with the taste of the coffee-- even though on the few occasions that I have had this places coffee it tasted the same as the cheap coffee that you can get at a hotel for free. He always slipped an extra 10 dollars in with his $4 worth of coffee with an espresso shot. The small coffee cost $2.50 and the espresso shot cost $1.50. After the first 10 dollar bill ended up in my hand I alerted him of his mistake. He told me to keep it, I did, so basically every day I've been earning an extra 10 dollars. With today's 10 dollars stuffed into my aprons front pocket, I nod back to his two-finger wave goodbye.

The last pre-opening customer was absolutely not a regular. He for one wasn't a she so it wasn't Mr. Schuyler's daughter, Angelica on her way to work at some non-profit downtown. And it definitely wasn't Mathew, Mathew didn't look like that. Anyways, Mathew told me that he was on vacation with his family for a long weekend to Maine. So it could be Mathew if Mathew grew about five inches overnight.

This customer was just the kind of person that made me feel like a siren in the middle of a quiet classroom. Completely disruptive and calling all the attention away from where it's supposed to be. With my red hair and the wrong kind of blue eyes, I someone how always end up on the wrong end of people's staring gazes.

The man walking in has everything I wanted to have. Nice normal brown eyes, nice normal hair, and a nice normal height. He was wearing a tie- despite it being slightly off center-and a dress shirt so he obviously had a real job. A steady income that supported him nicely. The way he pushed open the door made it seem like he didn't expect it to open when he pushed. Well, I guess we aren't supposed to open for another nine minutes so that's reasonable. But god dammit he looked amazing. Time to shut down those feelings. Time to shut down all feelings.

But because he wasn't one of the morning regulars I had to say the greeting, even though I really hated to talk without really knowing someone or their purposes. The same way that people won't talk to me. It's a balance. I especially need to keep this balance with him. It tips too far in one of our directions and then I'll spend time with him. And then all my schedules would be messed up and out of balance. Close off and shut off.

"Hello, welcome to the 'Jumping Bean' where the coffee-" I don't mean to be making a disgruntled face while I said my spiel but it slipped out. I really hated this, I hated how perfect he got to look at 3:50 in the morning. I didn't know him and I am tired and he isn't a regular, I remind myself, he'll be gone soon. I don't have to make small talk. Coffee talk only. Thank goodness he cuts me off, my breaths were starting to speed up, too much was going on.

"I know, I know, 'Jumping Bean where the coffee is so good it jumps right out atcha.' I usually come here in the evening, I know the server," he took a thoughtful pause here and snapped his fingers while trying to come up with her name. I know that the evening server's name was Holly, but this was small talk. Small talk was not Coffee talk. He comes up with it and exclaims loudly, "Holly, the evening server's name is Holly. I've never seen you before. You must only do the morning shifts? Probably gives her time to complete her college classes, but you most likely already know all about her."

I really just wanted him to order his coffee, I don't know anything about Holly and her life. But I'm not going to interrupt him while he's talking. A sale is a sale.

"I've been rambling haven't I," he pauses and tries to make eye contact with me. I avoid it and instead look at the space right above his left ear, so he knows that I'm looking at him without having to actually look at him. Not making eye contact triggers people, makes them angry, but he just rolls along with it. I want him to be angry. I want him to storm out of here upset with the 'moody' and 'unpleasant' service. He's used to Holly, Holly is bright and sunny. Why doesn't he just order, please?

"I'm probably wasting your time. I'll just have an espresso."

He reached into his wallet, while still talking about something or another, and when I opened my mouth to say his total, he just handed me the exact change with a, "I know the price $2.25, right? I get this drink a lot. Here you go. Now go make me an espresso. I start my new job at 9 today and my friends thought it'd be funny to wake me up super early. I'm going to need caffeine to make it through today."

I hand him his espresso in a to-go cup, assuming he'll want to leave to go get some more sleep, but I get met with a hurt expression as I give it to him. It's funny that I want him to leave and be upset and angry but the second he is I want to fix it.

"Trying to get rid of me already?" He placed a hand over his heart, rather dramatically if anybody asked me, "I thought we had a bond. I thought we had something special, Alex, my dude."

I stiffen at the use of 'Alex'. I wasn't Alex. I was Alexander. Big difference.

Noticing my stiffening, he sobers up, lowering his espresso from his lips, "I was joking, Alex. I'm probably gonna go sit in that corner and like, do something on my phone. Have a good day Alex!"

And sat he did, all through the morning rush right until 8 when he left with a simple, "Goodbye Alex."

But nothing with that involved the name 'Alex' was ever as simple as it sounds.