The Real World

     I stepped into Daniel’s Coffeehouse on Saturday morning with my bag stuffed with my books and paper, my laptop in hand. It had been a long week, characterized by late study nights, 2 papers, and 3 exams. This morning was the first morning I had been able to catch up on sleep, but I still felt like a zombie. I ordered my usual, a vanilla latte, and I sat by the window.

     It was routine now to sit in the mornings with my vanilla latte by the window, simultaneously letting the sun and the coffee warm my body. Ordinarily, it would feel like a pick-me-up, but on this particular day, I was so mentally exhausted, all I could think about was home, how much I regretted every penny I had spent on college courses, and how I wished that society didn’t require me to suffer for four years to simply start living in what everyone had dubbed, “the real world.” I guess no one considered my reality to be real unless I had a degree.

     I knew that sitting there should have felt more like victory after the week I’d had, but really all I secretly wanted was a stiff drink. And I didn’t drink.

I figured I’d take a moment to relax before I got my laptop out to work, so I started looking around the room. Lots of people my age—mostly college kids with rejuvenated weekend faces—were standing in line for coffee. A man in a business suit came in with a suitcase, looking like he felt out of place, so he stared down at his smart phone. A woman with a little girl holding her hand came in too. She looked down and assured her daughter that she would get her some hot cocoa.

     Then I took a big gulp of my coffee, tipping it back to where the whole coffee shop vanished for a moment. I swallowed the caffeine with my eyes closed, trying to savor the taste and the feeling, but when I opened my eyes, a little boy was sitting in the seat in front of me.

     He smiled and giggled.

     I looked around, figuring maybe there was a parent looking for their kid, but I didn’t see anyone who fit the look except the woman with her little girl.

     “Hey, uh, buddy, do you know where your mommy or daddy is?”

     He giggled again. “Stop it! Of course I do. You’re right there!” Then he covered his eyes with his hands, leaving only his small white teeth to show under them.

     You can’t be serious, I thought. “I’m not your daddy, though. Is he somewhere in the shop?”

     “Yes,” the boy said.

     “Okay, then we should go find him,” I said. “Is your mommy here too?”

     He nodded.

     “Okay, good, then let’s go get them,” I said, standing.

     “If you’re not my daddy, then how do I know what’s in your coffee cup?” he asked.

     I didn’t feel like playing along but I reached for his hand to hold so I could walk him elsewhere. “Well, it is a coffee cup,” I mumbled.

     The boy didn’t grab my hand, but he heard what I mumbled and looked at me to make sure I was okay. “But you always order vanilla coffee. Did you get regular this time?”

     Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure that I hadn’t been drinking that morning. I looked down at my cup and wondered what on earth they had put in it. I had a mind-reading toddler who thought I was his father.

     “How did you know that?”

     “Because you always take me to coffee on Saturday, Daddy,” he said, and he grabbed my hand and tugged on it. “Can you sit down, again, Daddy?”

     I did, but mostly because I was filled with wonder. “I have no idea who you are, little guy, but I think you are very confused. You said your mom was in here. Can you point to her?”

     “You can’t see Mommy?” he asked me, looking worried. I shook my head, so he pointed behind him. “She’s looking at you,” he said. “She likes you.”

     I looked over his head and saw her, and then I felt my eyes become glued to her. She quickly looked down, as if she didn’t want to make eye contact but had, indeed, been watching. Immediately, I realized she was beautiful. Blonde hair fell around her shoulders and over her eyes, and I could see her trying not to smile beneath the falling hair. She dared to glance up at me for a second, and we made eye contact. She grinned nervously and even waved.

     “That’s your mom…?” I started to ask, but when I looked in the seat in front of me, it was empty. The little boy was gone, and I couldn’t see him anywhere in the shop. When I stood up to find him I spilled my vanilla latte everywhere, and across the room, the stranger with the blonde hair laughed. It sounded like music.

     The stranger became my wife. And my son, who came to visit me that morning in the coffee shop, is now 8, and I still bring him here. I don’t pretend to understand how it happened, but I believe with all my heart that it was a real vision of my future son, and he came when I needed most for someone to show me that “the real world” is not far away at all.