1995, Wisconsin. The Roast and Toast Coffee Shop

“Duncan, you’ll love working here; we’re like family.” The training manager told me with a large, overly friendly smile. Somehow, I didn’t believe her.

I never planned to have a second job at seventeen, but when your parents are too busy being drug addicts to be parents, sometimes you have to do what you have to do. Besides, my little sister deserved better, which I planned to give her. With my experience working part-time at the local pizza shop, I figured I was a shoo-in when I saw the Help Wanted sign outside the coffee shop the other month.

It was going to be rough, and I knew it, but my parents were so far behind on the bills we were in danger of getting evicted again. If we lost this apartment, that would mark the fifth time we had to move this year, and that was something I was determined to prevent. If I worked the early morning rush at the coffee shop before school and the evening rush at the pizza shop, I could hopefully take home enough tips to pay off all the back-due rent and maybe save a little for myself.

“ Oh, yeah, sure,” I replied, trying to feign interest.

She walked me to a small room at the very back of the shop. Inside the room, the walls were covered in motivational posters. A TV like the ones you would find in hospital rooms was mounted in the corner. Off to the side was an old wooden table with a folding chair. She motioned for me to sit down. On the table sat a rather large book with the word “Roast and Toast Drink Recipes” on the cover.

“This book contains all of our drink recipes. I don’t expect you to memorize all of them now, but I expect you to study them and know the basics of making them.” The fake smile never left her face as she spoke

‘It’s coffee,’ I thought. How difficult could this be?

An hour later, I was still sitting in the chair, pouring over the book. My mind was filled with a million new words and terms. As I tried to distinguish the difference between froth and foam, I realized I might be over my head here. I thought about the look on my sister's face every time she had to cram all her worldly possessions into a black trash bag so we could flee yet another unpaid apartment, took a breath and continued to read.

“How’s everything coming along?” The manager asked, sticking her head into the room.

“Good, good, this should be no problem at all.” I lied.

The next couple of weeks, it was undoubtedly a problem. I felt as if I was messing up every drink order I took. While the customers at the coffee shop certainly had more money than those at the pizza place, they were also far more demanding. I pressed on despite what seemed like a constant barrage of hatred over every insignificant error. I could tell I was getting better. I was starting to remember the drinks, and making them was becoming second nature. My tips reflected this, as well as getting berated less and less.

At the end of every pay week, I would stop by the landlord's place and hand over all the tips I had made from both jobs. The landlord was one of the nicer ones we had had to deal with, and he promised as long as I delivered cash every two weeks, he would hold off on the eviction. The one thing that pained me was the small amount of time I spent with my sister. Between both jobs and school, I wasn’t home very much, and I could tell she missed me. My parents didn’t even notice.

Being twelve, she was capable of taking care of herself, but I always made sure there was something there for dinner for her. Even if that something was simply a cup of noodles from the mini-mart, I passed by on my way home from school. She was, after all, the reason I was doing all this. Having drug addicts as parents has the unfortunate side effect of making you grow up a lot quicker than you want to.

Two months in, and I was beyond burnt out. I had bags under my eyes so dark that I was convinced they would never go away, no matter how much sleep I got. My head hung wherever I went, and my hair was getting long and scraggly. I couldn’t afford a haircut, and some nights, a shower required more energy than it was worth. My sister noticed the toll working two jobs was taking on me and asked me to quit one of them. She was worried about my health. My coworkers had noticed, too, and were starting to ask questions about my home life, which was never a good thing. I told my sister I was planning to quit the pizza shop job now that rent was almost caught up.

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Over the past two months I had grown into one of the best baristas that Roast and Toast had. The tips from the morning shift were more than enough to pay the rent each month, and I had managed to bring almost every bill current. Customers no longer yelled at and berated me but would ask for me by name and wait the extra five minutes to ensure I made their drink. There was even a drink on the menu named after me, the “Duncan Deluxe.” I still didn’t know if it felt like a family like the training manager had told me when I started. To be fair, I didn’t have much to base what a family felt like on, though.

I had seen the necklace on my last trip to the landlord’s house to pay him. Construction had forced me to take the long way to his house, through downtown, where all the upscale shops were. As I walked past one of the fancier jewelry stores, a necklace in the display window caught my eye. I knew right away it was perfect for her. It was a silver chain with a rose gold pendant. The pendant was in the shape of a daisy, and a small emerald was in the center of the flower. My sister’s name was Daisy, so it was as if fate had forced me to take the long way that day. I walked into the shop.

“How much for the daisy necklace in the window, sir?” I asked the man behind the counter.

“Good eye, my boy.” The clerk replied, “That’s a sterling silver chain. The flower is made of twenty-four-carat rose gold, and of course, the emerald is a natural stone, so it's practically a steal at seven hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Yeah, sure sounds like it,” I said, defeated, as I turned to walk out of the store. I didn’t have that kind of money.

“Young man!” The clerk piped up as I crossed the halfway point to the door. I ignored him and exited the store.

While walking home from dropping off the final past-due rent payment, I did some math in my head. If I kept the pizza job for one more month and saved every penny I earned from there, I could make enough money to buy that necklace. She deserved it. No one was there to help her now, between me working all the time and Mom and Dad being Mom and Dad. Despite that, she had kept a B average at school and not missed a single day. Most kids her age would not be capable of that sort of responsibility.

That last month felt like an eternity, but I did it. I managed to stick it out and came out the other side with a little over eight hundred dollars in tips. I did feel bad not giving the pizza shop a proper two-week notice, but I was done by the end of the month. I called my manager there, thanked them for my time being employed with them, and quit. It was like a weight lifted off my shoulders, knowing I wouldn’t have to go back there again. I had barely put the phone back on the receiver when it rang, and it was my manager at the Roast and Toast. She wanted me to come in that evening to meet with the owners about a potential promotion.

I took a shower and put on the most professional clothing I had. Unfortunately, that was my work uniform for the shop. I decided to leave a little early so I could stop and grab the necklace for Daisy on my way to the meeting. I had worked so hard and sacrificed so much time with her that I wanted to make sure she knew in the end, it was all done for her.

I walked in the back door of the Roast and Toast with the bag from the jewelry store in my right hand. I was trying to be extra careful with the expensive piece of jewelry, and stuffing it into my pocket didn’t feel right. My manager was in the back talking to the owners, Robert and Tiffany. They were a nice-looking couple in their mid-forties. I personally had never met them, but everyone who worked there spoke very highly of them.

“Duncan, I’m so glad you could make it.” My manager said, turning towards me as I opened the door. “This is Robert and Tiffany, the owners of the shop.” She motioned towards the couple.

“Ma’am, Sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” I extended my hand.

“Duncan, the pleasure is all ours,” Robert replied, shaking my hand. “We’ve heard how much you’ve improved and come into your own in your short time here, and we wanted to thank you for all your hard work.”

“Thank you for the opportunity to work here. It’s meant more to me than you know, Sir.”

“We are always happy to give someone with your work ethic an opportunity, which leads me to why we are here. My wife and I feel you would make a fantastic lead barista here at Roast and Toast if you're willing to accept the position, of course.”

I never got the chance to answer him. There was a deafening noise, and the entire building shook. Explosions ripped apart the walls and set fire to everything around me. For everyone else, this event took less than a second, but everything happened in slow motion for me. I watched as the cloud of fire ripped apart both Robert and Tiffany, reducing them to nothing more than body parts and tattered clothing. My manager, standing by the door leading to the dining room, was instantly vaporized into a red mist. The cloud of fire raged towards me and stopped.

What looked like a portal from a video game appeared before me. On the other side, I could see a forest, except this forest was made from coral, and the air was blue. The ground had the appearance of a sponge filled with a little too much water. I tightened my grip on the bag I was still holding, I didn’t have a clue what was going on, but there was no way I was losing that necklace. I leaned forward to get a better look to try and figure out exactly what was happening.

Flash.

Darkness.

Squelch.