Antiphony by Chris Katsaropoulos Page B

presence of his speech, the foggy windows of the coffee shop near campus seem to offer Theodore the first semblance of solace. Finally, away from Ilene, Theodore can for a moment stop thinking about what hehas done. Their tour of the local wineries and dinners at high-priced Sonoma restaurants had been purged of enjoyment by the avoidance of the topic most on their minds. They tried to assimilate what the vintners were telling them about the absolute consequence of soil minerals and acidities, grape oxidation, malic acid, tartaric acid, sugars, and how all these factors relate to the taste and “nose” of the liquor they used to douse their sense of doom. But their hearts weren’t in it, and each time Ilene tried to reassure Theodore that everything would work out for the best, he knew that she was really trying to convince herself that it couldn’t be as bad as she imagined. When he said little or nothing in response, her eyes would dart away from him, look down at the floor or the couple at the next table; anything but see the grim face of the man across from her. They cut the weekend short and took an earlier flight home. Now Theodore feels he can finally exhale, alone with only himself again, back into the routine of a Monday morning on his way to work.
    The coffee shop is one of many outlets in a national chain, but that does not diminish its charm in Theodore’s eyes. It is wedged among a number of other storefronts on this city street, the doors at the front of the shop opening directly onto the sidewalk, flanked by a dry cleaner and a store that offers orthopaedic appliances—crutches, canes, and other more obscure fittings for bones and joints that no longer function the way they should. The coffee shop bustles with a brisk morning business. A line has formed along the glass counter where fattening pastries and gooey sandwiches are displayed. Recently, the girls who take his order have become more insistent at tryingto sell him some of these food items, and he has to tell them “no” more than once—he only wants the cup of coffee with room for lots of heavy cream. They are probably only doing what they have been told as a result of some directive from the corporate offices of the coffee chain, instructing the staff to up-sell each customer at least twice at point of purchase. When he reaches the front of the line, he does however add a cellophane packet of dried fruit and nuts to his order, a bit of extra sustenance to get him through this day and whatever it may bring.
    A loose crowd of impatient customers jostles near the tiny bar where the drinks are served. As he waits, Theodore’s head starts to swim, as if his world is suddenly lurching to the right. He guesses he may be hungry and starts to pull at the taut ends of the packet of nuts. It does not yield at first, and he is forced to pull harder. With an unexpected pop of air, the packet bursts open, strewing the nuts and morsels of dried cranberries across the floor. The woman in front of him looks down at the mess he has made with disdain. Most of the contents remain within the packet in his hand, but it still appears as if there has been an explosion of fruit and nuts that centers directly on him. He stoops down and picks a few of the nuts off the floor, claiming responsibility, but there are too many pieces too widely scattered amongst the wet shoes of his fellow customers to pick up all at once. He stands and searches for a waste basket to deposit the fistful of nuts he has retrieved. The nearest trash can is halfway across the crowded shop, and by the time he turns around again to continue cleaning up the mess, he sees that one of the ever-watchful staff has swooped in with a broom anddustpan to clear it away. He has to give them credit—they do keep the place clean.
    His instinct now is to not go back for his cup of coffee, but simply to leave. But when the young woman finishes sweeping up, she hustles around to