1
Casual Drinks
The wind seeps through Iris Shuester’s cashmere baby blue sweater, gently wrapping around her ribcage like a blanket. It’s getting late with unfriendly weather. She leans against the strip mall’s uncomfortable red brick wall, shivering in roomy ankle boots, thin black tights and a leather mini skirt as the rain pours down. She finishes up her last drag right before it gets completely soggy. Her heavy makeup is progressively melting, and her curled jet-black hair is losing volume. She uncontrollably cackles out a quiet laugh; it’s too wet to whip out another cigarette, Timothy is running late for their first date, and this atmosphere is making her very antsy.
Iris walks inside the only coffee place open this late and rolls her eyes. Timothy had texted the other day that Starbucks is his go-to with a coffee emoji. She observes the standard quaint lighting, overpriced paintings, squeaky clean tables, and an overflowing community bulletin board of business cards decorating the walls. She approaches the counter slowly, feeling drained from her day more than the weather. The smell of spilled mocha subtly hits the air and up her stuffy nose.
She begins to think to herself nervously, wishing alcohol is available for purchase. She feels sweat produce from the palms of her hands and cringes, knowing alcohol is not a good idea for her to have on a date, let alone a casual coffee date. A random small laugh escapes her dry throat. She rattles her thoughts away though, observing a gorgeous painting of a latte as she waits for the barista. It’s quiet tonight, which she likes. Only two occupied tables of oblivious people.
As she admires the vivid painting, she begins to dig inside her messy purse for something. A sharp object suddenly pricks her pinky finger, causing a quiet but startled “ouch” out loud. A broken pen splatters black ink on her wallet seconds after grabbing the buried item. The ink contrasts her fresh blood from the tip of her finger, dripping onto her sweater. In that moment, she wishes her cashmere sweater is navy blue instead of baby blue.
“Shit.” She wipes her pinky with burning pressure against her leather skirt, as she will not be asking the barista for a Band-Aid tonight.
At this point, she decides to focus on the item from her bag. The barista is probably in the stock room chilling. She may even have time to lick her finger and rub it against the small blood stain while waiting in line.
“Ugh,” she groans a few minutes later as her eyes narrow with a sour face, reading the small print of listed side effects from the capsule with her free hand.
“Hello there, Miss, what can I get for you?” An eager blond twenty-something guy looks at Iris with his massive blue eyes and excessive piercings. He has a face and approach as if he’s in love with his job.
Startled, she accidentally drops Abilify, her newly prescribed medication, watching it roll in small directions on the floor, unopened. She picks it up quickly though, zipping it back up in her purse nonchalantly. “One second,” she says with a smile.
“No worries. I like your outfit.”
She blushes naturally but manages to say “thanks,” nearly busting out a random nervous laugh. He smiles as he waits for her decision.
“What to get what to get…” she ping pongs her eye balls on the menu.
“You like sweet things?”
“Totally! It’s just so late and I forgot my melatonin.”
“Oh dang, that sucks. I know how that goes.”
“Tell me about it,” she giggles lightly. “Actually, you know what? I’ll just buy this bottle of water. Play it safe.” She pulls it out of the fridge and pays him the two crumpled dollars from the pocket of her sweater.
“No decaf coffee today, eh?”
“Not really a fan.”
“Ah.”
“The funny thing is, I actually work at Starbucks and find coffee to be disgusting,” she blurts. She realizes there is no one else in line and practicing conversation with an attractive barista could help ease her nerves before the date. After all, she is just his fellow employee from a different location technically. This would be an easy conversation.
“Nice,” he laughs lightly. “So not a coffee drinker but you work at Starbucks? How did that happen, Miss?” He prints out a receipt but she shakes her head politely at the wasted piece of paper.
“Started at a grocery store Starbucks after being a bagger. Figured it would be more fun to steam milk.”
“I know, right? I love making stuff!” His tone is excited. For a hot guy with piercings, Iris is surprised he is passionate about making drinks.
“I’m more of a chai girl, really. First drink I ever tried and I’m hooked. Funny how that works.”
“Nice. Chai is amazing.”
“Chai tea lattes, I should probably say,” Iris corrects herself. “Can’t compare it to that unflavored loose leaf chai tea we sell. Half the price, yes, but so bland.”
“I know, right?” The barista laughs. “The latte ones are so much better.”
“I call plain chai tea ‘the bag of pointless expensive piss tea.’” She cups her mouth playfully. “Sorry, not sorry.”
“Honestly, why come to a Starbucks at all to order a drip coffee or tea when you can make it at home?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Get a fancy drink or leave. Chai tea lattes for the win!” Iris lets out a little “woot” and laughs.
“I couldn’t agree more. The things we sell here.” He rolls his eyes.
“Excuse me,” a disgruntled voice leaks over Iris’s shoulder suddenly. The strong scent of a leather briefcase fills the air. “I’m running late. Do you mind if I order a pointless cup of drip coffee?” She turns around swiftly.
A man sharply dressed in a business suit with wrinkles designing his forehead is only a few inches away from her personal bubble. She hadn’t even heard anyone approach the line.
“Sorry, sir,” the barista says, biting his lower lip, glancing at Iris. “Met a fellow barista in line, what are the odds?” The man in the suit had probably been waiting behind her for one minute after the water bottle purchase.
“Apologies, sir.” Iris randomly curtsies to the man before scurrying out of his pathway. She then adds a finishing touch with a smirk, which also does not make sense. “God, what am I doing here?” she mumbles to herself, slowly walking away. She has no business hanging at a Starbucks in a suburb like Lake Oswego.
The man in line doesn’t react to her odd persona, other than look down and shake his head in annoyance as he pulls out his credit card.
“Drip coffee coming up!” The barista spikes up a high-pitched voice as he rings him up, but Iris sees a look of embarrassment on his face and knows why. No one likes awkward confrontations in the customer service world. She finds the barista attractive and pleasant but not the main course for tonight. Someone else is on her watch and hopefully, vice versa.
“Thank you,” Iris nods in his direction as he hands the coffee to the man. “Have a good night.” She squints her eyes at his name tag from a distance, “Jamie.”
“You too!” Jamie’s smile widens.
Iris smirks to herself as she heads toward the bathroom. She sees the table of people dressed similar to the man from the counter, all on their smart watches. Despite the fun little barista and disgruntled customer encounter, Iris’s smile fades. She whips out a small crumpled brown paper sack after she locks the door in the single person bathroom. She begins to poor a good chunk of the expensive water down the sink sloppily.
“Good riddance,” she mumbles, her hands shaking rapidly as she pours fresh vodka into the water bottle.
Next come the pills. One by one, Iris throws them ferociously into the toilet. She flushes them, watching each one dissolve within seconds. Abilify will do her no good. No medications ever do for the condition she’s in. Iris refuses at this point in her life to believe some prescribed drug could help her.
“Bleh. Kiss my ass, Abilify!” She spits in the toilet, drinking some of her vodka from the bottle now.
“Can’t even have a sober date? You pathetic waste.”
Iris suddenly hears an eerie voice, causing her to nearly drop the bottle. Her hands shake as her heart rate goes up. It’s the same eerie voice. The one that grabbed ahold of her foot at the age of seven. The voice that haunts her in nightmares on a weekly basis. The voice stuck with her for eternity.
“N-n-not now, Eliawa. I’m g-g-going to have a g-g-great d-d-date in a m-m-minute.” She speaks but shivers in her own words as she chugs the first quarter of the water bottle. She then pours another quarter of vodka to top it off before heading out.
“You mean, a great first casual encounter?” The eerie but faint voice begins to laugh. She hears slapping on the floor now and can only guess he is rolling around in his own humor. “He’ll leave like the rest, you fool! You’re no good for this Timothy guy. Come with me now Iris and we can jump in front of some cars later tonight…in traffic. It’ll be fun, my Iris. Pure chaos. Just stop this nonsense. It’s wasting my time every time I visit you on your disgusting planet.”
“L-l-leave m-m-me alone,” she wails as she shuts her eyes tightly. A sliver of a tear falls from her face, loudly splashing the perfectly tiled floor in front of her. “You’re not real.” She intensely clenches her fists, her fingers becoming numb within seconds. Her mouth shivers as she realizes college graduation is only in 2 weeks.
“Iris, I’m your best friend and I know what’s BEST for you. Nothing you ever do involving men will be good for you. Time to call it a night, eh? Maybe we can play with my gadgets later?” (His futuristic, extraterrestrial toys she’d been shown but never given to play with growing up.)
Iris begins to hear echoic snapping fingers around her. The door slowly cracks open, then locks abruptly. “Come on now. Do I need to intimidate you to get my way? Play with me. Forget about the date and that barista you were desperately flirting with.”
“How did you even see that?”
“I see and know everything Iris. Always, always, always!” She hears an abrupt laugh shoot straight down her earlobes and it stings.
“No. You don’t even exist,” she snarls. “You son of a bitch!”
She begins pounding on the wall with her shaking fists, causing her skin to burn up a flaming crimson red color, like it always did whenever she had had enough. Her fists’ bloodlike tint begins to light up, showing a quick swirl of fire, almost dancing in front of her. She sees the stars from outer space compliment the fire’s dancing, disintegrating a few seconds later.
“Get out of me, get out of me!” She feels her insides painfully burn. “Please leave. I’m too old for this.” Tears pour down to her sweater. A shove to the chest suddenly emerges out of nowhere, causing her heart to burn up. The shove is more of a kick, she realizes, from a slimy foot. She ignores it. “You are not real,” Iris shivers with the small energy her voice has left; it’s becoming dry now from screaming inside a pillow this morning.
“Wanna bet?” Eliawa laughs.
She starts to lose her breath, feeling his familiar choke around her neck. She struggles but finally manages to find and bite his invisible suction cupped hands, full of slime and the taste of dead fish as he finally releases her.
“No.” She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment as she backs away. She hears his wails trail off in a distance.
Her lips tremble as she opens her eyes to see the freshly burned wall in front of her. More tears exit her porcelain face as she shivers toward the sink, peering around for the voice to come back. “No, no, this can’t be happening. What the hell. What the HELL?” She wants to scream but chokes on more tears. Vomit comes out of her and instantly splatters into the sink, leaking down to the polished tiled floor. Surprisingly only a drop had splashed her new boots.
“It’s all in my head. This is not real. You’re not real, Eliawa.” She turns her back, facing the untouched other plain black wall. She takes another drink.
“Yes…I…am! Stop it already, Iris!”
Iris finally turns around to face Eliawa. Small framed and much shorter than her, with three beady eyes bulged out as usual. His slime is dripping and skin, flailing up the contrasting colors of fire, showing his furious side. His shark-like teeth begin to come out with a grin and the little antennas on his egg-shaped head grow taller. His suction-cupped hands slowly grab her hands. She feels his skin burn against hers and starts to recall every memory the two of them had together. An imaginary alien friend who terrorized her daily yet said caring or noble things at times.
“That’s my Iris,” he motions toward the door. “I’ll be waiting, once you’re finished with Timothy. Probably won’t take long.” Eliawa begins to laugh in the bathroom again, this time louder, echoing her ears harshly.
“N-n-n-no.” She shivers painfully through her teeth as Eliawa finally vanishes into thin air. The burned wall goes back to normal, as if nothing ever happened.
Seconds later, Iris takes another shot of vodka down her throat, then refills the bottle more before calling it good. She leaves the bathroom finally and slightly stumbles toward an empty stool and table near the corner of the shop.
As she walks, she feels everything around her blurring in slow motion. The feeling inside of her twists into a tight little sharp-toothed butterfly, biting her intensely in a prolonging and torturing way, causing a slight stomachache now. She can see through the corner of her eye, the cute barista Jamie, flashing a concerned look in her direction. He’s pre-occupied though with remaking someone’s Frappuccino.
Iris rattles her head as she sits down. Another ten minutes go by as she waits for this guy from Tinder to even show up. She’s had plenty of history where Eliawa would show up on one of her dates, unannounced, playing with her brain or saying ridiculous things about her dates, causing major distraction and behavior issues. She’d rather meet guys from online occasionally though than be alone in her studio with an alien and bottle of liquor in her hands.
Timothy is tall, fit and likes the outdoors, according to his “About Me” section. That is pretty much all Iris knows so far, besides exchanging a few days-worth of mediocre texts back and forth. Nothing too deep.
She aches inside as she waits longer. The thought of another human beside her, in the flesh, causes her body to tremble with anxiety all of a sudden. Anything to get her mind off of herself. Anything. She wants Timothy to show up now before Eliawa does.
Her flashbacks of all the horrendous dating experiences with Eliawa dissolve right away when she finally sees a familiar face walk through the door. The entrance is so quiet, Iris is almost startled. It’s Timothy, shining in the dimming light. His hair is dark and skin, a few shades darker than her pale complexion. He has light brown eyes and a tall slender but fit build, just like the photos. She had purposely talked to a devilishly handsome guy on Tinder for once.
Iris watches Timothy order his mocha in a matter-of-fact tone. He cranes his head towards Iris, and she gulps, blushing so hard, her cheeks burn. He nods at her from a distance.
Her sweater begins to cling on to her torso and breasts as she suddenly feels the temperature become warmer. Her tights are wrapped firmly around her legs now and skirt, hiked up a little. Iris quickly fixes it underneath the table before he comes over. A mild drop of sweat leaks down her face and she wipes it up fast, biting her lip now. She doesn’t like feeling nervous, especially over a Tinder date that didn’t even happen yet.
Timothy takes his mocha and walks directly toward her table. “Iris?”
“I think you’re mistaken,” she says with a straight face.
“Oh, my bad.” Timothy backs away a little.
“Joking!” Iris says a little loudly with an awkward laugh and smile at the end.
“Oh,” Timothy says, nodding with a polite smile.
“Didn’t recognize me?” She gets up to shake his hand.
“I did, I was just trying to confirm.” Timothy sees her hand out and laughs. “Please, hugs only. What is this? Closing out a business deal?”
He puts his arms out and she hugs him briefly, her arms around his strong neck, his lightly around her waist while she’s standing on her tippy toes. He feels warm against her chest and his arms send chills up and down the sides of her ribcage. She releases the hug to look at him again as subtly as possible.
Iris takes a brief whiff of his cologne as she awkwardly sits down with him, the smell absorbing their table anyways. She wants to skip the bullshit now, as he smells of sinful bliss. The alcohol begins to swirl violently inside her stomach, but she ignores the slight irritation. She suddenly rattles her head and smiles at Timothy, who is by far better-looking than his photos, especially in the light dangling above their table ever so conveniently.
He is already sipping his mocha, eyeing her every move. “Not a coffee drinker?” His big eyes focus on her unopened bottle of water.
“Nah. Don’t wanna stay up ‘til two in the morning.” Iris takes a swig of her “water,” glancing at the clock, reading 6:20 P.M. She already suffers from sleep complications.
“Decaf?” he asks.
She shrugs.
“Smoothie?”
“Not tonight,” she politely says.
“Ah,” Timothy says, uneasily sipping more of his mocha, looking into her eyes. “I see.”
Iris has a sudden feeling that her date may be under the impression she’s a cheapo for buying a grab-and-go water.
“So, we going to talk or figure out why I don’t like coffee?” Iris finally speaks up, setting the water down. She gives him a small but firm smile.
“Of course. Right. Forgive me, I got off work an hour ago. Kind of out of it and hoping this mocha can save me.”
“What is it you do exactly, Timothy?” Iris lightly studies him and his trendy business casual attire.
Pin striped pants with a light purple button up tucked in, mainly hidden underneath a matching pin striped jacket, blackest of black. Iris already predicts this guy’s persona based on that outfit alone: Beetlejuice hipster meets posh douchebag who makes a butt-load of money and rents/owns an overpriced condo. Lake Oswego is after all, one of the richer suburbs of Portland.
“I’m a divorce attorney. Call me Tim, it’s much easier.” He lightly laughs at her.
“Oh my, Tim,” she says, trying to act casual. “And I thought I was taking on a crazy career.”
“Crazy career, yes, but helping people get out of misery.”
Iris realizes this is not going to be a match. He’ll have to do though. It had been a painfully long time, and she could not stand another night with Eliawa randomly showing up to talk about bizarre things.
“And what do you do for work, Miss Iris?” he looks deeply into her eyes with a slight grin.
Iris begins to freeze up, not having enough time to think of a lie. Why lie? But then again, why not lie if this will be a one-night stand and nothing more? She decides to try something new in conversation. Forget about telling him that she’s a writer about to graduate with a pointless English degree, scraping by at Starbucks, along with being a severely diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic.
“I’m in my first year of veterinarian school,” is the first thing that comes to her mind, since a random painting of a Labrador is dangling conveniently behind Tim.
Tim almost spits out his mocha. “Wow, vet school. Wow, I never would’ve guessed based on your bio.” He finally beams into her eyes. Her bio that hardly had any information in it other than photos of her awkward self.
“And why is that?” Iris asks, puzzled.
“I just…wouldn’t have thought you’d be the type.”
“What does that mean, Tim?” she throws in a fake giggle and smile while burning inside.
“It’s nothing, Iris.” He smiles at her again with those unique eyes. “I think it’s great. You just look more like a painter or musician or something. You got a cool style.” He winks at her.
“Thanks?” She awkwardly laughs, embarrassed that her date’s assumption of being in “the dreamer” category is 100% correct.
“You’re going to be a heroine. That’s admirable.”
“I’d sure as hell hope so,” Iris says as she downs some misery from her bottle.
“I like your feisty attitude, Iris. It’s very refreshing.”
“Yeah? I’ve given a lot less shits lately, what about you?” She sits back, ready to hear Mr. Perfect talk about how wonderful his life is and always will be. Those brown eyes of his are starting to make their way into her eyes deeply. She can’t help but notice how light and clear they are. So natural and pure.
“Well, I just got out of a two-year relationship.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, though she’s not.
“It’s alright. We grew apart.”
“Typical.” She cups her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.” Her cheeks practically swarm in red hot tamale color. She wants to get up and leave now.
“It’s alright. It was typical.” Tim smiles again.
“It was?”
“Yes. We had different interests and hobbies as the relationship progressed. It happens, you know?”
“Oh, I see.” Iris nods, drinking some more. Her body is shaking now for some reason. She feels the sneaky fresh alcohol run through her veins once more.
“You’re shaking in your boots. Was it something I said?” He finishes the rest of his mocha, locking eyes with her.
She feels her black cat-eyed liner leak a little from the corners of her eyes. She also feels her tights cling snugger to her already sore thighs from yoga class last night.
“It’s chilly in here,” she blurts.
“Oh. Do you want to-”
“Go back to your place? I would love to!” Her eyes light up.
Tim covers his mouth, hiding a fresh laugh.
“Or…not?” She bites her tongue now.
“I was gonna say, I could take you out to the waterfront and watch the stars, maybe go hit up a bar or something, but okay. I like your thinking, girl.” He winks at her. “My place it is. Netflix and chill?”
It’s 6:00 in the morning and Iris still can’t sleep after 5 hours of staring at the ceiling. Tim’s snoring is nonstop and it’s getting harder to lay still for that long in a bed that’s not hers, with a man she’d normally never go for. Her eyes are burning more than usual. His snoring is not the problem though. The main factor is her brain that constantly spins 90 miles an hour. Ever since birth, a curse her parents were burdened with, interrupting their violent and regular sex lives. A child who didn’t like sleep. Now a grown woman who wanted to sleep but couldn’t.
Iris’s eyes can’t take much more, and she’s to the point where she could almost fall asleep right now, which would be awkward for Tim. Forgetting her melatonin tonight, the only supplement that actually worked for her constant need to be awake was negligently forgotten. Her body knew that she never liked sleep either, averaging 4 to 6 hours a night, if any. She sighs as she closes her eyes a few seconds before popping them open. A bird suddenly chirps in the background, harmonic and perfectly timed with promises for the new day.
Tim’s room is plain with nothing but dirty laundry on the floor. That bothers her. It’s a waste of a room. Waste of an owned condo. No bookshelf or tapestry or posters…not even a nightstand. Iris realizes she can’t find her clothes for some reason in this man’s near empty bedroom. Getting up naked to look for them now would make things even more awkward if he were to say, wake up.
Iris decides to slowly slip out of bed, gently pulling the paper-thin sheets away from him. She quietly wraps herself up as she searches rapidly for her articles of clothing. The room is chilly with a small scent of peppermint. She laughs to herself as she finally spots some incense in the corner of his room. At least the smell lit up the neglected room.
“Iris, what are you doing?” he mumbles, half asleep.
“Looking for my clothes?” she pipes out.
“Why?” He sits up halfway, discovering her wrapped in the sheets she took away from him, leaving him naked.
“Because it’s time for me to go home.” She squints at the basic clock on his wall. “It’s six in the morning and I’d rather spare the humiliation of waking up from a one- night stand, you know? I mean, I at least wanna swallow my pride. After all Tim, you wouldn’t remember me,” her uncensored mouth blurts. “I’m just another girl from Tinder. There will be another one for you next week, I’m sure.”
Tim focuses his eyes on the sheet wrapped around her curves. “Can I have my sheet back?” He gives her a stern look, covering his junk with one hand as he gets up and walks closer to her.
“As soon as I find my damn clothes.” Iris is getting frantic now.
“You know, I’ve already seen you naked, plenty of times last night,” his whisper brushes against her ears. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you naked again, actually.” He attempts to remove the tightly wrapped sheet around Iris, practically prying it from her sweaty hands.
She feels his body against hers and it reels out a set of fresh butterflies, but only for a mere second. The only thing coming between them is the sheet that Iris is almost tempted to walk out the door with since she can’t find a single article of her clothing. Her stomach begins to swirl in hangover mode now. She wants to get out. Iris is tired and no longer wanting to get involved in this casual encounter. The sex last night was so hardcore and unpleasant that her insides are starting to feel sore, on top of already being in pain from yoga class. She feels last night was a mistake.
“Iris?”
“Not again, Tim,” she finally says, ignoring his strong persistence through the covers.
“Wow.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I wasn’t expecting…that.” He puts on his boxers and gets dressed in jeans and some button up shirt from the floor. “I thought you enjoyed yourself last night, Iris. I mean wow, you were so amazing, baby.”
“And I also wasn’t sober,” Iris finally admits to this near stranger standing before her. She begins to get dressed difficultly under the sheet after finding her clothes under a pile of his dirty clothes, however that happened.
“Excuse me?” he squints his eyes at her. “We went to Starbucks. You’re a natural born wild girl, Iris. No need to hide that. I really wouldn’t mind having seconds, you know?” He comes closer to her again, weaving his arms around her as she’s made it to her bra and panties now. “After all, I did let you sleep over. Not many girls can do that with me.”
“Wow.” Iris rolls her eyes, putting on the rest of her clothes except for the itchy tights. She wads them in her hand and grabs her purse near the door. “Ever heard of vodka inside the water bottle trick? Consider it your lucky night. Ta-da!” She takes a reverenced bow, fleeing his room, scrambling downstairs. Dabbling in ballet taught her fancy words despite being klutzy as a kid.
“You’re crazy!” she hears him yell out as she heads toward the door. Iris doesn’t look back as she goes outside, away from Tim forever, not even putting her boots on yet. The fresh air calms her too much to care.
“That you are, my dear Iris. We are the crazy ones.” Eliawa appears next to her as she heads toward the sidewalk. Her alien friend walks down the stairs with her, side by side, not remotely leaving any time soon. He rubs her back subtly with one of his suction cupped hands as she flinches a little bit from the slime.
“Wow, can you just leave? At least until after finals get done?” she nudges him, heading toward a bus stop. An old homeless guy looks at her funny as she passes him on the sidewalk curb.
“Fine, Iris.” She jolts her head back to Eliawa. “I’ll leave you alone, my sweet.”
“Really? Are you playing around?” Iris stops him, staring into his three ugly bug-like eyes. “I mean it, Eliawa. I’m not in the mood to deal with your bull shit. I’m not a child anymore, you know. I can’t just talk to an alien that doesn’t exist around normal people. I mean, I’m already a freak. You always pick the worst timing to appear in my life and it needs to end, now! I can’t take much anymore. You’ll never be a real person. We both need to move on.”
Eliawa cackles a little laugh. “Oh but Iris, I’m very real, sweetie. You just don’t know it yet.” He snaps his sticky suctioned fingers together, blasting a rain puddle in her face as she’s about to cross the busy street. He exits with a little whirlwind following him.
Iris gasps, wiping dirty water from her face. “Damnit.” She shrugs it off, impatiently waiting for the bus. Sleeping with Tim did not get rid of her alien friend, it only made her walk of shame more embarrassing.