Some Kind of Monster by Tim Waggoner

Author:Tim Waggoner [Waggoner, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Apex Publications

8

Angie sits at a table for two in a crowded chain coffee shop. She can see the window from where she’s at and gazes at the pedestrians and vehicles passing on the street outside. There’s a goofy smile on her face. She’s well aware of it, and she doesn’t care. It’s a warm sunny day in April, and there’s an energy to the people’s movements, a “pep in their step,” as her father used to say. She knows exactly how they feel.

Generic folk music is playing over the shop’s sound system, soft guitars and softer voices. Usually, she would find the music bland, but today it seems to complement her mood perfectly. But then, as happy as she is right now, polka music could be playing at a deafening volume, and she would probably feel the same way.

A middle-aged woman sits at the counter, a small plastic cup of water in front of her. She seems normal enough at first glance, but a second look reveals that something’s not right. Her rust-colored hair is cut short, but the edges are ragged, as if she’s done the job herself. Her makeup is heavy and sloppily applied, as if she didn’t have complete control of her hands when she put it on. There’s something off about her clothes, too. She’s wearing a heavy cardigan sweater despite how warm it is outside, and the T-shirt underneath is inside out. Angie can tell because there’s a picture on the chest—a cartoon character of some sort—but she can’t make out which one. The sweater’s sleeves are ragged and torn, as if the woman’s been chewing on them, and the inside-out shirt has reddish-brown stains on it that remind Angie too much of dried blood.

The woman’s not doing anything especially weird. She’s not talking to herself, and she doesn’t have any facial tics. She’s not looking at anyone or anything in particular—at least not that Angie can tell—but there’s something about her presence in the coffee shop that seems wrong, like she’s a piece from a different puzzle that’s been jammed in so that it kinda-sorta fits, but really doesn’t. Others feel it, too. Angie sees them glance at the woman, frown slightly, then turn away, only to glance at her again a few moments later, frowns deepening.

Greg makes his way through the crowd to their table, a drink in each hand, and Angie puts the odd woman out of her mind. He places the cups on the table before sitting down. Angie lifts hers to her face and inhales the rich, slightly acidic aroma of black coffee.

Greg shakes his head. “I have no idea how you can stomach that stuff without cream and sugar.”

“Why would I want to ruin a good cup of coffee by putting a bunch of useless shit in it?”

He grins, one side of his mouth lifting higher than another. It’s a quirky smile, but she finds it adorable. Their argument over the best way to drink coffee is a familiar one between them.

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