Roots was one of my favorite places to be, a big coffee shop that gave off the impression of a hand-built wooden shack. The floor planks creaked underneath your feet, nails stuck out of wooden posts, and the front window had a slight slant as if it was constructed by a person under the influence. They had wooden benches, window seats, barstools, diner chairs, booths, and all sorts of mismatched furniture. The staff was always three or four people who dressed in casual clothes and were friendly enough. They didn’t serve drinks in paper cups; in fact, if you wanted a drink to-go, you had to bring your own cup. They had an assortment of mismatched coffee cups of all different shapes and sizes too. You received the size drink that was the size of the mug that they happened to grab. Some cups had little chips or discolorations, but the coffee was always perfect. I enjoyed the sounds of cups clinking together like you were at home in your own kitchen. The smell of coffee and coffee beans permeated the air and created a sense of peace. Even with all of this character the most notable thing about Roots was the tree that had grown through the middle of the shop. The roots grew beneath the building, the trunk grew through it, and the branches and leaves spread out above the roof. They say over the years the tree has continued to thrive, and they won’t cut it down or do construction to hinder its growth, so Roots Coffee Shop is the same as when it opened and will be the same on the day it closes.
The Barista took my order and handed me a cup of black coffee in an absurdly large, round, short mug. I enjoyed the fact that this was much like getting two cups of coffee for the price of one. They always seemed to subtlety identify those who needed a little extra coffee for a little less. I went to the cream and sugar counter to grab a napkin and survey the area to see if Carolina had arrived. As I glanced over, I noticed a homeless guy who seemed to be staring at me, in a non-threatening sort of way, from the line. He smiled, which I ignored, and I took my seat at a wooden table for two along the wall.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the man from the counter. He had received his cup and was fumbling over at the cream and sugar counter, attempting to say hi to everyone within a five-foot proximity to him. People gave quick hellos or avoided him altogether. He was not necessarily a visually welcoming person. As he finished prepping his coffee, still watching out of the corner of my eye, I saw him begin walking toward my table. You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. He strode right up to me.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked with a smile, pointing downward, towering over the table.
“No,” I replied, as his question sent a ripple in my mind.
“Excellent,” he responded, plopping himself down in the seat.
Once he had sat down, I casually surveyed his appearance. He had dark tattered jeans, second-hand sneakers, a dark denim jacket with a fraying gray hoodie underneath. His light golden hair was shaved close to his head and he had a slight hint of facial hair growing in. His skin seemed relatively darkened by the dirt of the day, looking more like it came from a long day’s work rather than extended homelessness. He had light honey brown eyes that surveyed me with a smile. It was a nice smile that could have been exquisite if he had better dental care. His teeth were slightly discolored but near perfect in alignment apart from one tooth on the top corner facing sideways.
“I just love this place,” he said with a smile, looking around, both of his hands wrapped around his cup.
“I’ve never seen you here before,” I replied.
“Oh, this is my first time. I just moved here a while ago.”
“By moved, do you mean . walked here?” I asked.
“What, are you suggesting I’m homeless?” he replied, with slight surprise at my assumption.
“You’re not?”
“No. Well, I wouldn’t say I’m well off by any means, but I have a place to stay. Are you homeless?” he asked.
“What? No, of course not. Do I look homeless?” I asked, offended.
“Do I?” he asked with double emphasis.
“I mean. . . kind of.”
“I have a simple life. A roof over my head, not necessarily the life of luxury, but it is sufficient for me. Plus it helps me maintain my ruggedly handsome looks,” he said with a smile.
“I see,” I replied.
“I’m Caleb,” he said, reaching his callused, dirt crusted hand across the table.
“Dani,” I responded, lifting my cup slightly, and not returning the gesture. He retracted his hand with a smile.
“So what do you –” he began as someone approached the table. It was Carolina.
“You’re in my spot,” Carolina said as she walked up, placing her cup on the table, “Move.”
“Oh, my apologies,” Caleb responded, placing his hand on his chest. “I didn’t know Dani was expecting someone.”
Carolina just stared at him without response, waiting for him to exit.
“I’ll go,” he continued, pushing out his chair and picking up his cup. “It was nice meeting you, Danielle.”
“It’s Dani,” I replied, not granting him my attention.
He stood up
