Liminal

The sign above the café said LIMINAL, all in capital letters. They swooped and wove and danced across the board. She didn’t pay much attention to it; she was more interested in getting her coffee.

The inside of the shop had the distinct feel of a train station. For a moment it caught her off guard and she wondered if she might have stepped into a subway stop, instead of the coffee shop, but no. There was the counter, and a barista, a steaming espresso machine, and a row of jars containing various teas.

“Where are you headed?” the young man behind the counter asked as she stepped up to place her order.

“Plain coffee, room for milk and sugar, please,” she said, then processed what he had said. “Wait, what?”

“Where are you headed?” he repeated patiently, as he started to prepare her coffee. Then, a separate thought, “which blend of coffee would you like?” He gestured to two signs advertising different beans. She glanced at them for a moment and then chose one.

“What do you mean where am I headed?” she replied. “Can’t I just be headed here for coffee?”

He shrugged. “Most people who come in here are coming from somewhere and headed somewhere else. Not a lot of people are here to be here.”

She looked around. The room did seem to be designed for passing through. The entrance was at one end, but it seemed so small and far away now. The exit was at the other. Looking between the two, the space was looking more and more like a hallway than a full room. The door at the far end seemed to be glowing slightly around the edges.

“What’s through there?”

He followed her finger with his eyes. For a moment it seemed like he grinned, then he looked back at here, his face relaxed. “An exit,” he said simply.

“Where to?” she pressed. He turned away as if he didn’t hear her, to grab a lid for her coffee.

“Milk and sugar is over there.” He pointed to a spot on the counter down toward the glowing door. It seemed to be getting larger. At the other end of the room — which was looking more and more like a hallway — the door from which she had entered was looking smaller and smaller.

“What’s through there?” she asked again. But she might as well have asked herself. He was already busy helping another customer.

She topped her cup off with milk and sugar then paused. There was a crowd gathering at the other side of the room, and there hardly looked to be enough space to push past them. Maybe it would be easier to go through the door—which now seemed much larger and was definitely glowing, though not in a particularly threatening way.

She sighed. She couldn’t quite remember what she was supposed to be doing on the other side of the entrance anyway. It was the feeling you get when you step through a doorway and can’t quite remember why. She shrugged and, taking a sip of her coffee, grasped the door handle, twisted, and stepped through into the light.