Winter Morning on 19th Street

I wake up to the sound of my alarm blaring and feel the usual ache of having to be at work at such an ungodly hour. The clock says its 7:12 and I scramble out of bed to get dressed. When I’ve done the morning routine—brush teeth, pack up bag, comb hair—I head out into the twenty degree weather. Across my street, Lafayette Ambassador Bank has a large digital display that alternates between the time and temperature. I walk to the corner store and pick up a copy of the Saturday Morning Call. At the counter, I share grumblings and complaints about the hour with the clerk. I’ve bought countless items from him over the past few years and have yet to find out his name. We part with a nod, and I walk down to the Hava Java.

I pass Salvatore’s pizzeria, not yet open, and see my reflection in the window. I smile at my tired appearance and keep walking. I pass the empty space that once held Noah’s Biscuit Barn and think of the times our customers would bring dogs into the shop and feed them elaborate treats. I was always tempted to take a bite of one of those biscuits, they always looked delicious. Now, Noah’s is gone and an empty window sits to reflect the street and wait for a new owner.

I cross the alley and stand in front of Hava Java for a few minutes before unlocking the door and opening the shop. I look at Civic and wonder how many people will brave the weather to see a movie in the afternoon. A Christmas Carol has just ended its run and I see a few people come outside with chunks of leftover staging. At this hour, the street is empty. I look to my left and right. Not a car is on 19th street. The light changes from red to green without notice.

The inside of the shop is dark and the chairs sit atop the tables like those old cartoons where a mouse would run out and some person would shriek and jump up on the counter. There isn’t a note on the register to give me a list of chores, so I turn around and brew the morning’s first pot. The aroma fills the shop and wakes me up. I bring down the tables and chairs, turn on the lights, and get everything ready. The smell of pastries and coffee floats in the air and hugs the walls. With everything ready, I take my place at the corner table and flip open the Call’s Lifestyle section. The crosswords are waiting for me. I tackle the NEA first and then move to the easier of the two.

Midway through the second crossword, just as I’m jotting epee for seven down, my first customer walks in. I know him. He comes in every morning and orders the blend of the day. Today the French roast awaits him. He smiles and proclaims today’s blend as his favorite. I smile and pour the cup making sure to leave an inch for creamer. He exits with a wave and a thank you. I return to the corner, knowing that the regulars will be in soon. I am not wrong.

Bill comes in and gets a small cup of the blend. He sits in the corner, one leg up and grades his students’ papers. The guy from the Jewelry store walks in and gets two mediums to go. The guy with the bushy sideburns orders a small jolt to go. They come in and out, each with their own order, each with their own story. I listen to them and offer whatever insight a 23 year old kid can.

As the day draws on, the marquee at the theatre lights up. I know to check the carafes and stock the sugar. The theatre folks will come in beforehand and order coffee before the film. They sit in their seats, sipping cappuccinos or lattes and I’m reminded of the beauty of this street. It is a place where the troubles of life are forgotten, and for a brief span of time the only thing that matters is biscotti and a movie ticket.

The moviegoers leave and I realize that my shift has almost expired. I stock the paper cups, wash the dishes, and make sure the shop is in order for the next employee. Steve from the Quillian comes in and orders a small coffee. I ring him up and chat about business. He sits in the corner and reads a magazine. My relief walks in and I go through the list of things that have been done, and the list of what needs to be done. We say our goodbyes and I pack my things and go.
The weather is still bitterly cold. The marquee is lit up and the box office sells tickets for the afternoon show. I pull my coat closed and walk up the street. Sal’s is now open and people are walking in and out of the door with boxes of pizza, steaming in the cold. The hair salon on the corner is open and I wave to the hairdressers. Too busy with work, my wave goes unnoticed. I cross the street and look at the bank’s clock. It’s just after three thirty and the weather has peaked at twenty-six degrees.

I turn around before going home and look down 19th street. Driving past, it is not a marvel. The theatre may draw a few gazes but for the most part our street is just the 19th one in the city. We live here and we work here. It has great potential for growth. I look down the street and see names, not businesses. I see neighbors and friends. I see what I want others to see. With a little help and a lot of work this street has the potential to be great. Perhaps more people should throw the problems of life away and sit down for biscotti or a slice of pizza or a good movie.

I turn and walk into my house. The street will be there tomorrow. I will be there tomorrow. We’ll be there tomorrow.