5:48 [re-write 2.0]

Prologue: Espresso [Jasper]

My most horrible trait as a human being was that I found inspiration in the misery of others. I've tried to justify this shitty trait of mine multiple times. That it wasn't just a case of misery loving company, or a case of glorifying sadness, or anything even similar to that. But I just never found the right way to explain it so that others wouldn't misunderstand.

The easiest way to put it was to just say it exactly as I saw it. That Misery was a blank space in a canvas full of inanimate subject matters. That it was the kind of blank space that stood out in a way that empty, smack dab in a whole lot of full, did. The kind of blank space that drew in the air from your lungs like the darkest of black holes that even light couldn't penetrate. The kind of blank space you couldn't help but sketch in, with fault lines that creeped on high buildings and hard edges that looked over cliffs. Because to me that was what people who wore misery on their sleeve looked like: Brave. From high up. Looking down. But never falling.

It looked like feeling alive with the kind of clarity only adrenaline could give. When blood pumped through your veins and made you so undoubtedly human. Miserable, but human.

But of course I knew better. That it only looked like that from the outside. And that to said blank subject matter it felt the exact opposite. That it probably felt like a never ending falling. A blur of people and moments passing you so fast it caused whiplash. A weightlessness that only came from a whole lot of emptiness. I knew that feeling well that I really should have known better.

And so maybe it was really a case of misery loving company, and that I was really just a shitty human being. And that's why I let the inspirational clarity in my mind's eye guide my hand, painting strokes of the misery I had encountered earlier in the exact same spot onto the cafe's glass window. It was a lot of white, and lines and lines on lines, that twisted and turned as it carried music notes that I never learned the right names for. In the middle of it all was a golden star, as if a song sang from inside of it that only the star could hear. A song that kept it hanging high up. Looking down. But never falling.

When I finally finished I took a step back to watch it unfold before me, letting the wave of really exhausted and really satisfied wash over me after hours of painting. I gathered my brushes and paint before heading back inside the cafe, where I spotted Drew tallying up the day's earnings from the cash register. He looked up at me, grinning in a way that made me roll my eyes before he even said anything. He stopped counting the cash in his hands to say, "Jasper, did you just paint that lady like one of your french girls on our cafe window, hoping she'll see it and fall madly in love with you?"

I placed my painting tools on one of the cafe tables before sliding a middle finger into a fisted hand to call him an asshole in American Sign Language. With a smile, of course.

Drew grinned even wider. "Dirty mouth. Dirty talk. She'd love that, honey."

Ezra came out of the kitchen then, tray of steaming hot coffee in hand. Daisy, our golden retriever, followed behind him and trotted over to greet me. I knelt down to her height, rubbing her behind the ears as she happily wagged her tail.

"You're an angel," Drew said to Ezra, as he took a mug from the tray. "But what are you still doing up? Growing children need their beauty sleep."

"I'm 18," Ezra half whined and half reminded, as if he didn't remind us every chance he got that he was of legal age already. "And I was preparing the dough for tomorrow." He handed me one of the cups of coffee, and then took the cup of warm milk for himself. I couldn't help but smile a bit at that, because of course, legal age adults drink warm milk. "We're out of sugar, by the way," he said in between sips.

"I'll add it to my grocery list. I also need some stuff from the kitchen so I'll go before we open tomorrow morning. You need any supplies, Jasper?" Drew asked, as he pulled out pen and paper from a drawer and started writing a list of groceries.

I shook my head no, then placed my mug of coffee down to sign, We might have an extra hand coming in tomorrow. If you need help with groceries.

Drew and Ezra looked at me like I sprouted two heads.

Don't worry, I know her, I signed, without much thought on whether it counted as knowing someone if they didn't even remember you.

Drew's look evolved back into his shit-eating grin one as he told Ezra, "He painted that for her," pointing at the window. "I saw them talking right there this afternoon. Jasper's about to get some action."

There was a ballooning pause that was deflated by a burst of laughter from Ezra and Drew, because the idea of me getting any sort of action was honestly so ridiculous. And that made me smile, because it had been a while since I heard the boys laugh with the kind of sparkle that speckled gold against their own blank spaces. Like a firework of color, popping in a midnight sky. So I let them laugh. Even if it was at my expense. Assholes.

"Alright boys, time to close up shop," Drew wheezed, as he wiped laughing tears from his eyes. He closed the cash register and wiped down the counter, while Ezra took Daisy into the kitchen.

I walked over to the front door to lock it up. I saw the sign that was looking to hire extra hands hanging, and felt a tinge of bright, yellow hope bubble around me. Tiny little bubbles that float, unburdened by the weightlessness of possibility. And when it didn't pop after a few seconds, like I've known it to do so, I flipped over the sign so it read out something else instead. Something that had blown yellow bubbles and sparkled golden flecks into the boys' and my empty spaces when we had first arrived at cafe 5:48 with that sign hanging on the front door.

A sign that read, Welcome Home.

***

Author's Note :

I wish it was easier to not play favorites but Jasper's POV still remains hands down the fave. With this re-write I've been trying really hard to differentiate the voice of Claire vs Jasper's so I hope that's getting better.   

And to old readers - yes i changed their ages. Both to be more realistic and to just suit the voice in my head a bit better.