When your childhood isn’t normal the people you look up to aren’t either. For Pluto Chambers it was Lovely Moore; despite the commonality of strange, uncommon names like Pluto and Lovely in The Garden, Pluto couldn’t help but feel Lovely’s name was particularly fitting for her.

Long ginger hair, and a face splattered with orange-brown freckles and angry brown eyes. Always so angry. Justifiably, of course. Adam said she needed to be taught to let go of all that anger inside her if she wanted to ever be as lovely as her name. Her hands always bruised from penance, a stark contrast to their white gowns.

Lovely had not adjusted well to The Garden, perhaps she had a small part in the recesses of her mind which remembered a better world, not for her necessarily, but just the existence of one. Lovely’s father had ventured out to bring back new blood for a bride and found one in her mother, a frail weak willed widower.

Pluto still remembered his mother and father being so pleased that a girl only a few years older would be joining The Garden and would help “even out the numbers” there had been some worries some new babies eyes or such. He tried not to think to hard about it.

“Did you want that iced?”

Pluto was snapped back to the teenager in front of him with the bored expression on her face confirming that he did, in fact want his vanilla latte iced. Throughout the transaction his eyes couldn’t help but wander over to her coworker, a tall young woman with short ginger hair and a bevy of doves tattooed down her arms, designed in a way that it looked like they were going to all take a great leap from her hands. But he couldn’t forget Lovely’s eyes. They were void of that anger that was so iconic to her, but they were the same shape and same pretty brown.

Normally Pluto would take the time to sit in the corner and people watch. Study their mannerisms and critique his own. Compare. See what cracks he could fill, make sure no one can see the strange background in his movements . But today he cannot help but watch the fun house mirror image of Lovely .

“For Pluto.” the teenager with the bored expression at the front counter, showed only the slightest change in emotion, perhaps mocking, at his strange name when he had given it; but Lovely ,or, the young woman he was very nearly sure was her , reacted immediately. Turning to him fully there was no mistaking her now.

“Lovely Moore…”

The same placement of the freckles he had mesmerized and traced on warm summer days. The same slight overbite and charming smile. Looking down Pluto hadn’t realized one change in first glance.

Following his gaze to her chest the ginger haired girl let out a loud laugh, sounding almost embarrassed. She put out her had almost as if to introduce herself,

“It’s Jupiter now, actually.”

Pluto shook her hand, charmed.

Karie Linden was a huge fan music, so much of a fan that she had posters of her favourite band, The Cloudy Day, all over her room. The lead singer, Jaxon Grey, had been her celebrity crush for ages. She always dreamed of the perfect meet-cute where she would be at a concert, and he would pick her, and only her, to come up on stage with him. She knew this would never happen though, her dream was a long shot. She was just walking into a coffee shop to do her homework one afternoon, when she saw him. A tall blonde boy, in a grey sweater, his hair all messy. He was sitting in a booth with a coffee in front of him. Karie recognized him immediately, Jaxon Grey! Her teen superstar crush was in a booth drinking coffee in her town. She approached him and really quietly said, “Hi, are you Jaxon Grey?” He turned to her, his frown turned to a slight smile. In a gravely voice he said, “yeah, that’s me. What’s up?” She took a deep breath in. She had one chance, she couldn’t embarrass herself. “Well- I’m just a really- a big- a fan.” “Oh,” he said, still with a smile. “You want to sit down?” “Sure,” she said, sitting down. A waiter came by, she ordered a coffee. Her heart was doing somersaults, she was masking her excitement well, though. The rest of the conversation went smoothly, until the waiter brought her coffee. She took on sip. “Oh,” she said quietly. “There’s no sugar in this.” Immediately, Jaxon got up. He started cursing out the waitress, asking for her manager, demanding she was fired. Karie sat in the booth, nervously twiddling her thumbs. He sat back down, and in a calm voice he said, “sorry ‘bout that.” A little while later they both went home, but on the next date, all he would talk about was himself and tv show fan theories. Karie realized this amazing boy she had dreamed of dating, was a nightmare in a hoodie. She had to break it up, but how? She was too scared of what might happen. She’d seen how he treated that waitress. So, she did what any sensible adult would do, Quickly say, “we’re breaking up.” And bolt out of the door, never to see Jaxon again.

Mom I’m going to the coffee shop as a walk to the coffee shop I see my idol justice with her bodyguards so I follow her. As I follow her I realize she is going to the same caffe shop that I am. When she sits down at the table I get so excited and says hi calm me but she rolled her eyes and says ugh pesants what do you want? I am surprised but I say I’m a fan calmly can I have a photo with you? But she said no and puts on a fake handprint makeup and screams in pain and says she hit me! She said I just tried to take a picture with her then she slapped me for being in her way! And puts on a fake cry and as she gets taken away they hand cuff me and take me to jail for a few nights. Then when I come out I see a paparazzi waiting for me and a limo and I at first think she is going to come out but they are waiting for me! A news reporter says to me that she lied and I’m famous but that was the worst part. She blamed me for her losing her fame then her bodyguards punched and kicked me. So I payed someone to be my bodyguards and soon I became the biggest icons in the country.

Laurie sat at the same table in the same coffee shop every morning, 9am on the dot, with her laptop perched at just the right angle to avoid the incoming glare from the sun.

Everyone who frequented this particular coffee shop knows that, from between 9am and 12pm, this table was Laurie’s, and that she was hard at work writing a novel. They knew nothing else about her, and had spoken no more than general salutations to her, if and when they happened to find Laurie’s face not glued to her screen, a look of concentration wrinkling her 20s-something skin.

The new owner of the coffee shop, who had been running the establishment for a little over two years, was not able to say how long Laurie had been coming here to write. Long before he started, and likely long after he had moved on to greater things himself, or at least that’s what he liked to tell the customers who asked. He didn’t mind that Laurie took up one of his tables every day, as he himself had tried to write a novel once, and knew how hard and lonely it was.

Laurie continued to write each day, lost in the world that she was drawing from the fibres of her ever-pulsing imagination, a kaleidoscope of ideas. But though she found peace and solace and pride in her very important work, she was beginning to feel lonely. She often wished that another writer would come and join her, at least just to sit at a nearby table so that she knew she wasn’t alone in what she was doing. Or, even better, if one of the many writers who she admired so, and whose pictures were taped to the back of her laptop for inspiration, would walk in one day and sit with her.

She liked this idea so much that she wrote about one of her favourite writers appearing and joining one of the characters in her novel, a 20-something woman not unlike herself who spent every morning at a coffee shop not unlike the one she was in now writing a novel that never seemed to end.

And then, as though life was taking a cue from the words that she was writing, the same author she had placed in her story appeared at the coffee shop and sat down across from her, a notebook and pen in hand.

And every day at the same time, this author would come and write, just as Laurie was writing, the two of them weaving worlds that spiralled around each other, but never touched.

After word got out that a famous author was coming to the same coffee shop each day, other writers began to flock here, like a flurry of regal flamingoes. They would come in and write their own stories, adding to the tapestry of words and ideas that hung above the coffee shop like a magnificent multi-coloured rug.

No one spoke to each other, but there was a silent knowing that they were following the same path, their energies guiding the collective to write the most incredible stories any of them had ever written.

Laurie never finished her novel, though she was happy not to. She was content coming back here day after day, doing the thing she loved, in a community that she had built from the power of her words.

HANNAH

The smell of coffee hung in the air, making my head throb. “Avery, how come you chose THIS coffee shop? You know how sensitive my headaches are.” I touched my hand to my forehead tenderly, wincing at the pain.

“Shit, I’m so sorry Hannah! I totally forgot.” Avery gave me her “sorry” face, with her upturned eyebrows and sad puppy eyes, but I could tell she didn’t mean it. I sighed and glanced towards the door.

“It’s alright. Get me a black coffee, will you? I’m gonna step outside.” Avery nodded and bounced on her heels excitedly. Avery was a fall fanatic, and her favorite coffee shop just announced the official release of their pumpkin spiced lattes. I opened the door and breathed in deeply as the cool autumn air hit my face, relaxing my muscles and easing my headache. I looked out at the foggy afternoon, taking in the scenery and everyone around me. There weren’t many people out yet, since it was before five and most everyone was at work. I hoped Avery would hurry up, because I was really craving some coffee.

AVERY

I was waiting in line for my coffee, eyes darting around excitedly. I loved autumn and cold weather and Halloween and everything, and I mean everything, fall related. I dragged Hannah along for the ride but honestly didn’t expect her to stay except for the reward of caffeine at the end. I was just about to go outside to tell Hannah we could come back later since the line was too long when I spotted her.

Her, in question, was the most beautiful woman of all time.

Zendaya.

Let me tell you, I LOVED that woman. She was my idol. And to see her in a small coffee shop in northern Minnesota? Practically impossible. When I first saw her, I did a double take. I must’ve been seeing things. Zendaya didn’t even live near here. But no, it was definitely her. It was surprising, though, because she was wearing absolutely no makeup and joggers. But she was still gorgeous. I frantically texted Hannah that Zendaya, yes, THE Zendaya, was in the coffee shop right behind her. I took out a coupon, the first thing I could find in my backpack, and cautiously approached Zendaya with the Little Caesar’s coupons and a dying pen in my hand.

“Um, hi, are you Zendaya?” I asked, like a total dumbass. Zendaya looked me up and down and smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“No, I’m sorry. Not Zendaya.” Now it was my turn to look her up and down. I knew what I saw, and what I saw was Zendaya, in the flesh.

“Really? Cause you look a whole lot like her.” The meekness in my voice was gone, replaced by annoyance. She just had to sign the coupon and move on. It wasn’t that hard!

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Not-Zendaya said dryly.

“Well, what’s your name? You’re cute.” I slid a bit closer to her, and she leaned away. I frowned and then, when she didn’t respond, rolled my eyes. “C’ mon,” I groaned. “Just sign the damn coupon!” I yelled that last part a lot louder than I meant to, and everyone was looking at me and Not-Zendaya. “Sorry,” I muttered, shrinking away from Not-Zendaya. I went to go pay for Hannah and my coffee and quickly dashed out the door.

HANNAH

“God, that took you long enough,” I grumbled, taking a sip of my coffee.

“Dude, I shit you not I just saw Zendaya. She refused to admit it was her!” Avery was rambling on and on but I tuned her out. This wasn’t the first time this happened. Once, she was totally convinced she saw Zac Efron in a run down gas station in the middle of Georgia. I shut that down real quick.

“Avery, come on, let it-“ My sentence was cut short by Zendaya walking out of the damn coffee shop. After both Avery and I ogling at Zenday for a few seconds, all I manage is a weak “Oh.”

After that, Avery wouldn’t let it go. All she could say was “I told you so,” and all I could say was “whatever.” We never saw Not-Zendaya ever again, but Avery did eventually get Real-Zendaya’s autograph, and she was fine with that. To this day we both wonder if Not-Zendaya was honestly Real-Zendaya.

Life is anything but extraordinary. And every time my fingers lightly tapped upon the keyboard I found myself transported to various worlds day after day. And for an unextraordinary young woman, it meant the world for the longest time for me. Quite literally.

I found myself writing stories upon stories and occasionally a little bit of fan fiction here and there. It might seem odd to some about the show I enjoyed writing about here and there, however, I grew up on Smallville. A show that ran for quite a few years, first making its appearance in 2001 and making its finale in 2011. Since, I was born in 1995 it was a big part of my life. So much so that Tom Welling, the star of the show who played Clark Kent, was almost like an older brother for me. 

For years I would watch tons of Smallville, and throughout my teenage years it got me through the worst part of life. From the bullying to the darker part of the years of when which my life seemingly would spin out of control in a dark tornado of depression. Even as an adult I struggled with that issue, with moments of panic attacks here in there. It was my kryponite. 

I had accepted that this was going to be a regular part of my life just after graduating high school and I began to post my stories online.There wasn’t much attention in the stories but a decent amount. Just enough to make me feel good about what I wrote and what I would come up. I wanted to become published but life always had a way of screwing things up for me every now and then. 

But on that day when I met him, everything changed for the better. When I arrived at the coffee shop that day per my usual everyday routine it was unbeknownst to me that my life was going to change drastically. I was sitting in my usual spot earbuds in just listening to my favorite songs attempting to gain inspiration for my newest story. At that point I hadn’t had an episode in quite some time. Atleast a couple of months which was a record. My writing helped me with that. 

I had just taken a sip of some of my sweet tea when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I pulled my earbuds out and turned to find him standing there behind me which a smile on his face. “Mind if I sit?” He said with a warm smile. 

We stayed still in silence for what seemed an eternity. “Sorry, I know your probably kind of startled. I read your stories. The fan fictions too.” He chuckled softly and pulled a chair beside me. 

“How did you find me?” I finally said in a meer whisper.

“Now that, was quite a process. Your name was hard to track down.  But here I am.” He took a sip of a coffee. 

“But why? I mean I’m quite happy that you’re here do not get me wrong just completely shocked.” I said with a nervous smile.

“For writing your stories. I want to help you publish. I saw your statuses on your account.” He set his cup down and glanced at my laptop. As he finished that sentence my heart began to pound in my chest.  “I am glad to hear that I’ve been a big inspiration in your life. It’s amazing what you’ve accomplished. And I think it’s time you’re rewarded.”

We spent the next hour and a half talking about everything. From my life, to his, to the similarities in it all. And when our cups were empty we pondered on whether or not to get more. “For the little sister I never got to meet until now? Just one more cup.”

“Um, are you sure you’re God? You’re a lot shorter than I expected,” I glance over at the 9-year-old girl in the unicorn t-shirt sitting across from me. She slurps some strawberry milk and gestures for me to drink my coffee. I take a sip and try to swallow my disbelief.

“People call me lots of names,” she starts to count her stubby fingers, “Creator, Supreme Being, Deity, Idol. If you like the word God best, then yes, I’m God.”

I set down my coffee and sigh. “Look, I’ve always wanted the secrets to the universe. I’ve looked up to the idea of you for as long as I can remember and spent half my life savings just to have coffee with you. So if you’re truly God, you better give me some answers or I’m getting out of here.”

She giggles. “Do you think life is an egg? You can’t just crack it open and expect to find its inner meaning.”

“So what, am I supposed to spend another four years in philosophy classes?” I grit my teeth. “Because trust me, I’ve thought about life’s meaning. A lot. And even though I worry about it constantly, I’ve gotten nowhere. Isn’t God supposed to provide some magical solve-all?”

“Imagine what the world would be like if fixed every problem. If every time you had an issue, it was suddenly resolved. If instead of learning, you were stagnant,” God finishes the last of her strawberry drink, leaving a faint pink milk mustache above her lips. “I’m not a solve-all. That would defeat any meaning to begin with.”

“So life’s big secret is agony?” I shake my head. “There’s no way. You mean to tell me humans are designed to constantly suffer?”

“Humans are designed to grow,” God leans forward, “But that means growing pains. The things you go through aren’t meant to make you suffer. It’s meant to make you stronger.”

“Then I must be a bodybuilder by now,” I chuckle. “Speaking of growing, why do you look so young?”

“Just as you must grow, I must not.”

I scoff. “You speak in riddles. I’m going to have to grab an interpreter when I get home.”

God offers me a sad smile. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Why?”

She pauses, and the clinking of coffee mugs fills the air. She’s silent for a moment more, and I wonder if it’s possible that I stumped a supposedly Almighty Being. Finally, she claps her hands and the world around us melts into emptiness. I whirl my head around, God and I drowning in a never-ending sea of white.

I try to stop myself from panicking. “Um, what just happened? Where are we?”

“Where you’ve been this whole time,” God smiles. “Welcome to the afterlife.”

A bright smile beams on my face when I see him. “Hello mister Faron. I’m a big fan of yours. I can’t believe I’m actually seeing you here.”

My friend and I always imagined meeting him someday, but not like this of course. We imagined meeting him the day one of us became a famous journalist. Whoever became so lucky to interview a famous author such as him, was required to introduce him to the other. We played around with hypotheticals in our head of how to greet him. I never imagined running into him at a coffee shop, especially one as run down as Mr. Grant’s.

His coffee bean eyes glance from his journal to my apron. I can tell he was quite perplexed. Another waitress had already taken his order minutes ago, yet here I was interrupting his quiet work for my own selfish desire. Flustered, I turn around to get back to bussing tables.

“Wait, do you have a second?” His voice was mellow and sound, just as I would imagine an author with language as sophisticated as his. I’m surprised he was interested in talking to someone as plain as me, but I accept his invitation anyways. I sit in the seat across from him.

Mister Faron strokes his mustache, then removes his golf cap and sets it on the table. He was getting quite old now, the evidence in how his weary eyes slowly moved from sign to sign, and his receding hairline. Regardless, his fiction novels are timeless to me. I still have Midnight Forest and The Maroon Hanker-chief ready to be reread on my book shelf.

“What is it?” I say getting excited. He opens his journal on the table and fidgets with his pen in his left hand.

“I’m stuck. I have an important character I want to write for my next novel, but I’m not sure how to execute them. What do you think?”

Mister Faron is responsible for creating so many fine works, that I had trouble comprehending such a question coming from his lips.

“I’m flattered Mister Faron. But shouldn’t your next big idea come from you?”

“Well you just strike me as someone who has something new to share.” He simply says.

It’s true that growing up, my imagination ran wild. I was always creating storylines or poems on my own. There was no way I could do that now. It was better to write as a journalist, and focus on the facts.

I wanted to help him, I really did. It was my idol who I was looking at after all, so I lean into the table and ask him a question to get things going.

“How do you start your creative process?”

“I live by the quote ‘write what you know.’ You can shape entertaining storylines by taking your creative ideas, and splashing it with a dose of reality.”

This was too good to pass up. I set my server notepad on my lap, and record the words he’s saying. I just had to interview him.

“So is that why you’re here tonight?” I ask next.

“Quite perceptive of you. Yes, I like to immerse myself in the environment I am writing about, and meet the people there. This place is perfect for relaxing without any type of media.”

My pen slows down on my paper. I was the media. I continue to write. He didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Tell me, what is your name miss?” He asks.

“Caroline.”

“Thank you Caroline.”

“I didn’t do anything spectacular.”

“Oh, but you did. You inspired the very character I was struggling with.”

I wasn’t sure where he was getting at.

“I will make this newest character have a rich inner world that she tries to suppress. She will be curious and ask a lot of clever questions. Her most defining character trait however is her mischievousness. What do you think?” He asks.

No one has ever read me this well. I smile.

“I think she’s perfect.”

Is this real? Is he actually here? In my coffee shop? I never thought I would see him in person. His smile was even more infectious up close. My heart started racing. Why didn’t I take more time on my hair this morning? No, calm down, if I start to freak out then he’ll think I’m just some fan. I have to play this cool.

I pretend to be busy in my phone as I make my way in his direction. I give him a light bump as our shoulders collide.

“ Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” I rush on in a frantic breath, seemingly a harmless oblivious patron. But then he looks at me and I freeze. I now understand the meaning of starstruck. The heady feeling of someone you’ve admired for so long, in close proximity is paralytic. My plan goes out the window.

What was I trying to accomplish? Maybe I just wanted him to notice me? At this point in time it really doesn’t matter because I’ve completely made a fool of myself. I realize that I’ve been frozen and staring like a total weirdo as he’s been talking to me.

He surveys me as if I’m a puzzle he can’t quite figure out. Green, his eyes are so green like freshly watered grass in the summer heat. The man is actually so beautiful that I think it has rendered me speechless. “ Miss? Are you ok?” He says a little louder like he’s had to repeat himself, and now he’s wondering if I’m deaf. Nope, just stupid. I’m trying to respond but can only make out some god awful wheezing noise that resembles a wounded animal. I have completely fucked this up.

He leans in closer to me and my impulse causes me to flinch. Must be senses overload. “ Sorry, I was just going to pick up your purse for you. Must’ve dropped it when we bumped into each other.” I have completely left this conversation one sided. Why is he being so nice? Aren’t rich,successful, gorgeous celebrity’s all assholes? And he has right to have an ego, his talent is incomparable. But instead he seems… sweet? He seems… real. Like a real person. And then I realize, that’s all he is. Just a guy trying to make it in life and decided to grab a coffee this morning; I put on a pedestal.

“ Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” I finally respond as I give him my most polite smile and head towards the exit. Because I don’t want to be a regular fan. The one who looks at him like an object of my affection or owes me his time because of said affection. I rather he know that I saw him. As the real person he is.

Someone tugs my elbow as I make my way out the coffee shop I’ve visited a dozen times. It’s him.

“ Can I buy you a coffee?” He asks and I smile back.

“Sure.”

6:00 AM

 Right on time, I enter the coffee shop. This has been my place of work for years. Every day, same time, all to schedule. I set up shop for the day and turn the sign on the door to say “Open.”
 As people come and go in the shop, business slows down for a bit. I count the cash in the register while I have the time. I hear the bell of the door.
 “Welcome!” I shout from the counter, expecting to see just another costumer. As they approach the counter, I set down the cash in my hand and ask, “What can I ge-“
 “Coffee. Hot. Two sugars. 2 pumps of vanilla. One shot of espresso.
 After being rudely interrupted, I look up from the counter at this costumer.
 Without a single belief in what I was seeing, it’s her. Rachel Stave. My hero, the best singer in the world. I’ve always loved her, I’m her biggest fan. I’m in complete awe.
 “Well? Get me my coffee.”
 “Yes miss Stave, right away.” I rush to ready her coffee exactly the way she ordered. I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life. Maybe not in this exact way, but to be honest, meeting Rachel at all has been my biggest dream.
 “Here, here’s your coffee. Can I get you anything else?” I ask, excitedly.
 “No. And don’t expect me to pay, it’s obvious you know me pretty well.”
 “Well Rach- miss Stave, you have to pay for your coffee. I’m sorry, that’s just how it works.” I can’t believe I just said that to her.
 “Okay, roach. This is how it works,” she continues, “I come into these little stores. The people working at the counter love me. I’m their favorite, always have been always will be. You will give me this coffee for free or I will take note of you to never come to any concert, any autograph signing, and to be blocked on all platforms. You’ll never see or hear me again. Understand?”
 “Yes.. miss Stave.”