The Spill of Coffee (Episode 1)

Can life be changed in just a few seconds? By a tiny decision, a phone-call, a few paces, a single word, or even a spill of coffee?

25th of March

Clarice is on her way to Paris, the city with timeless beauty. When she was 6, she got a postcard from Paris, she saw a tower, piecing through the clouds into the azure blue sky. Cars rolled down the wide paved streets. Vibrant houses were patched and sewed together. She felt the intimacy and passion of the Parisians. A flood tide of nostalgia overcame.

Paris was once a distant fantasy for her. But now she is on the train, heading for her dream.


8:20 a.m.

Looking out of the window, she sees a tableau of trees, giving off a hopeful hint of spring, also a sign of leaving her old, decrepit flat in London.

8:30 a.m.

Clarice stands on her tip toe and rummages through the luggage rack for her notebook. But she accidentally drops it onto the floor. She kneels down immediately and picks it up.
Then she feels something hits her shoulder.

Someone bumps into her. It seems she is still reveling in her dream. When she is back to herself. She realizes there's stains on her white T-Shirt. The sweet and warm aroma, yet bitter permeates the air.

Coffee.

She scowls and looks up. Ready to blame the stupid, careless person who ruined her T-Shirt.

Just in a few seconds, a face of dazed leaps into her eyes.



//

25th of March

8:20 a.m.

Clarice didn't sleep last night. Her eyes are bloodshot red with bags under them. She felt drowsy and weary, then shuts her eyelids and tries to sleep along with the rhythm of the running train.

8:30 a.m.

As a light sleeper, Clarice wakes up intermittently. During her nap, she feels someone 
walks past her, then a smell of rich, smooth roasted coffee beans penetrates through the foggy veil of sleep. She glances her watch, the long hand strikes at 6. "Just 10 minutes, and I'm awake" She mumbles, then sighs.

//



8:31 a.m.

His eyes are like a shrink of ocean at dusk, iridescent and flecks with shades of navy and grey. They freeze Clarice in place. Captivated her for even the slightest of moments.

"I am sorry, I am so sorry!" A gentle but regretful voice surrounds Clarice's mind and pulls her back into reality.

"Oh, it's okay. It's fine. Don't worry."

"I think you have to get changed. You know, the stains..."

Clarice looks down. Yes. The coffee stains are really conspicuous, especially on her white T-Shirt.

All of a sudden she is befuddled. Her face turns red. She remembers there are no spare clothes for her. She has given them away in London as to reduce the weight of her backpack. She only has a grey jacket.

"Oh, wait a minute. You don't have a spare one right? Let me help you." He walks back to his seat and takes something out of his bag, and gives it to Clarice.

"It's a T-shirt. It's actually for my sister. Now it belongs to you."

Clarice feels heat rising to her cheeks, she can't help to stop staring at her shoes.

"Don't worry. I can buy her another one." then hushes her to the washroom. 

When she comes back, he is still standing beside her seat.

"Oh you're back. Does the size fit you?"

"Yes. Thank you very much."

"You're welcome. By the way, Benedict, from Yorkshire." He holds out his hand.

"Clarice. From London."
.
.
.
They sit together, like good old friends, chatting and drinking coffee

"You better be careful this time. I don't have any spare clothes left." Clarice guffaws.

"I'll try. I'm quite clumsy." Benedict laughs. "So you said you are going to settle in Paris. Have you found a job yet?"

"Not yet. But I have a friend there. She said she got a spare room in her flat. So after getting my job,
we will share the rent." She answers, then takes a sip of coffee.

"What do you do for a living?" She asks.

"I write for a living."

"So you're a writer?"

"Not really. I'm a columnist."

"Writing critics?"

"Nope. I just share what I've seen and heard." then he glances her notebook. " You keep a diary?"

"Neither a diary nor a journal. Just some random stuffs." Clarice flips through it, then puts it down.

"Sometimes the more random the thing is, the more precious they are."

"Why?"

"You never expect that they will happen. They give you surprises. This is why I come to Paris."

"For more random surprises."

"Yes. For more inspirations." Benedict nods."You know if a columnist lacks ideas, he's going to lose his job." he half smiles.

"I guessed I will take a nap." Clarice yawns. "I haven't slept well last night." 
.
.
.
9:25 p.m.

Clarice is wandering in the eerie corridor. Her eyes are pale, seems the color has been sucked out of them. She keeps walking, having no idea where she is and where she is heading to.

Then a soulful, resounding voice lingers around.

"Alas, my love, you do me wrong,
To cast me off discourteously.
And I have loved you oh so long,
Delighting in your company.

Greensleeves was my delight,
Greensleeves was my heart of gold
Greensleeves was my heart of joy,
And who but my Lady Greensleeves"

Clarice turns her head, then she sees a girl with braided hair, in a Scottish checkered dress and an embroidered collar on her neck. She is holding a basket of flowers, dancing mercifully and singing old folk songs. 

Clarice recognizes her.

She rushes as to pulls the girl into her arms. But it seems there is a force pulling herself away from the girl.

Suddenly the floor starts to crack and falls into a heap of blackened rubble.

"Claire!" Clarice shouts.

Claire turns around and catches the sight of Clarice. Her lips form her sister's name but before she could call Clarice. She falls down from the precipice and disappears.
.
.
.

"Clarice, Clarice. wake up."

She opens her eyes, the last remnants of the dream is drove away by those navy blue eyes. 

"We are almost there." 

"Where?"

"Paris. You forgot?" 

Clarice turns to the window, short bushes on a lush land, with small cottages lining neatly together. That's where three little pigs lived. She thinks.  It is the country side of France. In a few minutes, she will be in Paris, the city full of lights and maleficent.

When the train slows down into the platform, Benedict stands up and grabs his backpack, then says,
"It's better to have a companion in a foreign city. Let me be your tour guide."

Clarice cranes her neck and shoots him a look of awkwardness.

"I don't look like a evil guy, do I? " He focuses his huge eyes on Clarice. "If I really were , I would have put drugs into your coffee." He jokes. 

Clarice shakes her head as hard as she could and says,"No, I'm... I'm just quite surprised about...
about your random acts." she simpers, then gets her backpack and says,

"Let's get off the train, now."


//



9:30 a.m.

As soon as Clarice gets off the train, she calls Juliet.

"Hey, Juliet. Yes, I've arrived. I am coming straight to your place now... Wait What? What happened?... WHAT!? YOU'RE NOW IN THE HOSPITAL? Which one? Okay I am coming. Taxi!"

10:15 a.m.

"Hi, I am a friend of Juliet, Juliet Baudelaire... Room 305, 3rd floor... Thank you!"

Clarice rushes to Juliet's ward. An antiseptic smell assails her nose. She looks around the room, crisp curtains, thin blankets, soft pillows, seems they have been washed for a million times. It's so lifeless in here. Everything is white. And there's Juliet, her head and leg bound with bandages.

"Hey." Juliet whispers, with a light smile on her pale face.

"My god, how did you get that?" Clarice sits besides the bed.

"I tripped over the staircase. They wrapped me up like a mummy."

"Here, I bought you hot chocolate."

"Thanks. By the way Clarice."

"Yeah?"

"Could you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"You see, I think I can't run the shop these days. I need someone to help me with that, or not I won't be able to pay for the rent." Juliet hands over two keys to her. "The keys for the shop and the flat."

"Just a few days right?"

"Probably two to three weeks. I am not sure about it. But I am sure about one thing is that, you will fall in love with the job."

"Okay then, let's see whether your prediction is correct."


//


(To be continued)