Tegan sat in the sweet-smelling coffee shop on the corner of 25th and DeVille in Massachusetts, not six hours from the death of an innocent man. As she sat at her table for two by the window, alone, she wrote in her journal, enjoying the feel of the soft brown leather, the rustle of the stressed pages, under her perfectly kempt fingers. She kept a people journal, writing down the more interesting characters she found herself in the company of at various times in her day.
There was the group of lanky twenty-somethings who still managed to look scruffy in slacks and button-up shirts. They were sitting around a table playing some kind of card game that they were likely ten years too old to be playing. They looked very focused, almost too focused. Tegan imagined that they were spies and the game was actually a code, a way of communicating with each other secretly about their missions. There were a brother and sister sitting together at the table one away from hers talking excitedly about something and not touching their respective scone and muffin and letting their coffee run out of steam. She could tell they were siblings and not a couple from the way they looked at each other. It was that look of foreverlove, that closeness only shared blood can bring out. She could tell they had known each other for their entire lives; they shared countless stories and hardships and had seen each other at their best and worst. She imagined that the girl was getting married to the man of her dreams and her brother was helping her plan the wedding in an exotic, far-off country. She also noticed the man sitting in the corner; the tall, dark and handsome – extremely handsome – type. He looked as if he had seen everything there was to see in this world, twice, except for her. He seemed very interested in her. He kept eyeing her with a look that she didn’t know whether to melt from or be utterly terrified of.
Full story available in A Brief History of Totem Poles. Coming soon.