Bran Grate

Monday, 2nd March 2015

8:30am

Every Monday and Wednesday at eight-thirty she was there at the coffee shop. She always ordered a small soy caramel latte. Some days she bought a white chocolate and raspberry muffin, too. Bran knew this because he was there every Monday and Wednesday morning too. He’d stand one or two people in line behind her, watching the dark-skinned beauty make her order. He’d been working up the courage to talk to her going on five months now. Instead he stared longingly at the back of her head twice a week, admiring the tightly wound chocolate curls that cascaded down her back like hundreds of tiny springs. He knew nothing about this woman apart from what time she arrived at the coffee shop. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t know what she did for a living. All he knew was that she was here, every Monday and Wednesday, without fail. He liked consistency.

Today, however, was not consistent.

A man wearing a tight white vest with large tattooed arms passed by the coffee-shop window and did a double-take, staring at the dark-skinned beauty. She had just picked up her order and was walking towards the door. He stepped into the doorway, blocking the exit with his massive form.

Bicep-man openly gawked at her, eyes travelling over her body. Bran understood why the semi-giant was staring; her body was ridiculous. At least Bran was more subtle about his staring.

“Excuse me,” she said politely, trying to edge around him. When he spoke his voice carried throughout cafe. A few people paused to stare.

“Damn girl!” He pursed his lips and looked her up and down. Bran tightened his grip upon the strap of his shoulder-bag as he watched the exchange between the pair. “You are fiiiiiiine.”

“I – I beg your pardon?” She stared at him, alarmed.

He reached forwards and pushed two thick fingers into the top of her white chocolate and raspberry muffin before he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them.

“Mmmh, yeah. I would definitely pound that ass. For sure.” He licked his lips.

She gaped at him, speechless. A few customers giggled and brought out their cell-phones to record the exchange.

“I … what? Are you serious right now?” Her tone was one of disbelief. She couldn’t believe what was being said to her so loudly and publicly. “You just stuck your fingers in my breakfast, asshole!”

Rage bubbled up within Bran and he soon found himself walking towards them. This man was a foot taller than Bran and twice as thick. Any onlooker would assume Bran would have his ass handed to him.

“Yeah, gimme your number and we can have some fun. Whaddya reckon?”

“Uh, no,” she said. “Move out of my way.”

“C’mon babe. I wanna taste that tight little ass-” He stepped to the side, preventing her from leaving.

Bran stepped forwards, standing beside her. They were almost the same height – she only two inches shorter than him. “Back off man. She said she isn’t interested.”

Bicep-man glanced at Bran and gave an undignified snort of laughter. “Sit down, son.” He shoved Bran, who caught his balance on a table.

“You don’t talk to women like that,” Bran said, nostrils flared. He was ashamed of the quake in his voice. “Just get out of here, man.”

This made the hulk laugh. “Or what? You gonna make me, bro?

“Yes,” Bran said firmly. “I’ll make you.”

The large man laughed again, pointing at Bran and looking around the café with an expression that clearly said ‘Can you believe this guy? He thinks he can take me!’ “This your boyfriend, sweetheart?”

Her nostril’s flared angrily. “Yeah, he is!” she said, voice shaky. Bran felt his chest tighten.

“This scrawny fuck? He’s the width of my arm!” Yes, Bran was small, but you didn’t need big muscles to defend yourself.

“Hipster piece of shit.” The hulk grabbed Bran’s beanie, tugging it from his head. Bran’s shoulder-length hair had been hidden inside the hat, but it cascaded to his shoulders once freed.

“Oh, fuck! It’s a chick!” The man jumped back, laughing. “Holy shit, I thought you were a dude! God damn trans-dyke, dude.”

Cheeks pink, Bran snatched the beanie back and pulled it onto his head, tucking the hair away again. “I could still kick your ass, douche-bag.”

“Fucking lesbos, man!” He called to the rest of the cafe. “Nasty rug-munchers! I don’t fight girls, I fuck ’em. Want me to set you both straight?”

Bran snapped. In one swift movement the heel of his hand made contact with the Hulk’s nose, blood pissing out instantly.

“You little bitch!” he held his nose which was most likely broken.

Customers in the cafe gasped when the giant man went to tackle Bran. It all happened fast. One second the Hulk was standing – the next he was on his back. Bran had used the weight and power of his aggressor against him, sending him crashing to the floor.

Having sufficiently humiliated his attacker, Bran stepped back. “Get outta here man, before you make more of an ass of yourself.”

Pink-faced, he got up and lumbered from the cafe, glaring bitterly at Bran and the woman he had accosted.

A little shaken, Bran turned back to the dark-skinned woman he’d been admiring from afar for over five months. “Hey, are you okay?”

Her hand was over her mouth, eyes wide with alarm. “Oh my god I can’t believe that actually happened.”

“I’m so sorry about that.”

“Don’t you apologise!” She dropped her hand and placed it over her heart. “You did nothing wrong!”

“Guys like that give all of us a bad name.” He rubbed the back of his neck, nerves setting in.

Her expression softened. “Thank you so much for helping.”

“No problem.” He gave a tiny nod and made to walk back to the line to order a coffee.

“Hey,” she caught him by the arm. “What’s your name?”

His throat felt dry. “Uh – Bran.”

“Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand. “I’m Leia.”

“As in-?”

“Yeah, as in Princess Leia from Star Wars. My dad is a fanatic.”

He smiled. “Nice to meet you.” Finally.

“The world needs more men like you, Bran.” She gave a bright smile. She’d called him a man. His heart skipped a beat.

Ask for her number, damn it. You can do it.

“Thanks…”

Fuck, you are so awkward.

“Well … see ya round.”

You’re missing your chance, Bran, the little voice in his head chimed in.

“Hey … wait!” Bran called. She glanced back at him. “D’ya want another muffin?” He nodded towards the defiled one in her hand. “Don’t think you wanna eat that one anymore.”

She gave a small smile. “Yeah … that would be nice. Thanks.”

Bran ordered the muffin with his coffee whilst Leia waited near the door. Once he’d picked up the order he approached her slowly, holding out the brown-paper bag. She smiled and took it.

“Thanks. That was really sweet of you.” She hesitated for a moment and Bran knew this was his opportunity to ask for her number. However, the timing felt off. She’d just been harassed and probably did not want to give out her cell phone number to another strange man.

Finally, Leia gave a tiny wave before leaving. Bran watched her go, thoroughly aware that he had missed his opportunity.

Sarah Benn

Monday, 2nd March 2015

7:31am

Sarah looked at her distorted reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror. She opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed some pain-killers and popped two pills into her open palm. She put them in her mouth and lowered her head to the faucet, allowing the tap water to wash the pills down her throat. She’d slept badly and her head throbbed painfully.

After straightening up and wiping her mouth on her sleeve Sarah opened the bathroom door to call out to her son. “James if you don’t hurry you’re going to miss the bus!”

Sarah knew her eight year old son was sitting at the breakfast table absorbed in his new game console.

“Hang on, I’ve almost beat the Gym Leader,” he yelled back. She heard him clicking buttons furiously.

“Save it now,” his mother ordered as she marched into the kitchen. “Or I’ll confiscate it.”

“But you can’t save in the middle of a battle, Mom!” he cried desperately.

“New rule; no game-boy until after school, once you’ve done all of your homework.”

“It’s not a game-boy,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s a Nintendo 3DS XL. Duh.”

“Well pause your Nintendo 3DS XL and plug it into the wall while you’re at school.”

“Ugh. Fine.” He plugged the game into its power cord.

“Now, go, go, go!” Sarah ushered him from the kitchen and towards the front door as she heard the bus pull up outside their house. James retrieved his backpack, which he’d abandoned in the hall the previous day.

It was raining outside so he balanced the bag on top of his head as he ran to meet the bus.

“Bye!” Sarah called from the front door. “Have a good day!”

James didn’t reply; his friends were watching from the bus, and ever since his eighth birthday he was adamant that he was too old for a kiss goodbye. It was embarrassing enough, he said, that she waved from the door wearing her dressing gown and slippers. Other moms went to work.

As the bus pulled away from the curb the mailman walked up the garden path, flicking through a stash of envelopes.

“Hey Mrs. Benn. Miserable day, isn’t it?” he said, handing Sarah an electricity bill and a royalty check.

“I feel sorry for you, Erik, working in this weather,” Sarah replied. “How’s your wife?”

Erik was in his sixties, and his wife was sickly. He’d been Sarah’s mailman for the last ten years.

“Ah, she’s all right,” he said, looking up at Sarah’s gutters. They were clogged with leaves and beginning to flood. Great streams of water cascaded from the roof like miniature waterfalls, splashing upon the porch and soaking the feet of anyone who came to the front door. “I think you need to get someone in to unclog those,” he said. “I’m getting trench-foot just standing here.”

“Darrell was the one who took care of that stuff,” she said, “And Chris isn’t exactly the handy type. He’s more … academic. Guess I’ll have to call a man in.”

Erik looked guilty as he handed Sarah a stack of envelopes. “Sorry Sarah … I didn’t think-“

“It’s fine. It was five years ago. Try to stay warm, okay?”

Erik tipped his hat and bade Sarah goodbye as she stepped into the house and closed the front door on the swamp developing on her front lawn.

Sarah opened her electricity bill, which was always higher than she expected. She blamed it on James’ video game consoles.

Before Sarah’s husband had died she was a freelance writer. She’d even assisted in ghost-writing for some well-known personalities. Sarah had been unable to write anything remotely interesting since Darrell had died. The words refused to come to her and she often found herself sitting in front of the computer staring at a blank screen for hours on end.

Now that James had gone to school Sarah was left to her own devices. Her boyfriend, Chris, wouldn’t come over until at least five-thirty. He was a history teacher at a very prestigious private high-school. The kind that wore blazers and ties and cost about twenty-thousand dollars a year to attend.

Chris was a great guy and quite handsome, a fact proven by the number of female students that constantly sent him love-letters. He had asked Sarah to marry him on their one-year anniversary. She had said no. It was too soon and he was too eager to jump into things. Their relationship had struggled through the rejection, but Sarah was adamant that she would not marry again, not after she had lost the father of her child.

However, Chris was persistent. On their third anniversary, just a month ago, he had proposed again. This time she had agreed to be his fiancé, but would not marry him for another few years, when her son was old enough to understand.