Once Upon a Time//842
The room seemed to sag as more people crowded into the small space, eager for a cup of the beverage of their choice. Today it was some sweet concoction of caramel, cinnamon, nutmeg, whipped cream and a brief splash of what passed for American espresso. In all of its incarnations through the years, the ancient building had been a place where discerning and dangerous folk could imbibe the choice liquid of the time. Outside, pinned to the faded red brick, an old wooden sign proclaimed the current establishment’s name “Cold Creek Coffee.” According to urban mythologists, the name was derived from the creek water that was used when the building housed a moonshine still. Playing on the legend, the owners served their iced coffees in mason jars in the summer and large coffee mugs with lightning bolts etched into the sides in the winter.
People cruised between the tables, sofas and large overstuffed chairs, looking for a place to sit. Gavin often referred to them as furniture sharks, or place predators. They even had that cold, dead look as they shuffled through the cramped space followed by their pilot fish friends. He turned back to the chess set and his friend Neville. On the losing end of a frustrating game, Neville was poised to beat Gavin for the first time in his life. Gavin was annoyed with his playing ability and chalked it up to the distracting conversation. Neville, always one to make the best out of any opportunity, pressed on, his quick fingers dancing over the board as his queen took Gavin’s rook.
“So, what you’re saying is that the storyteller dwells in multiple realities at once?”
Gavin nodded as he moved his pawn up. “Exactly. We both know that storytelling is an ancient oral tradition that speaks to the soul. It opens people up so that they can see all the wonderful things around them.” He nodded to a shark by way of example. With some unnatural sense her hips moved as she lined up on their table, only to scowl and move along as she realized that they weren’t about to leave. “Folks like them wander down a very narrow road and rarely come to a crossroads, ya see? Our society is moving along this straight, smooth path. Easy to walk on because you don’t have to think and it’s comfortable on the feet. No rocks or potholes to wake you up. Storytellers shake things up, teach people lessons that they should not have forgotten.”
Neville nodded absently as he studied the board. His bishop swept through a knight as he grinned with unadulterated glee. “Yeah, but I thought we were supposed to make our lives easier? What with tool use and our big brains and all that.”
Gavin nodded as he winced, he saw that coming at least four moves ago. “Well that’s just it, ya see? We think that what we’re told to see is the sum of what our “big brains” can deal with. More and more the other worlds are relegated to fancy, whimsy or myth.”
Neville snorted as he glanced up at a particularly interesting specimen of gothette. “I swear if you work that word into another conversation, I’m going to scream.”
Gavin’s eyebrows furrowed, the board momentarily forgotten. “What word?”
Neville’s eyes traveled down the back of the shrouded figure until they finally settled on her red-Catholic schoolgirl skit. “Whimsy.”
Gavin smirked and took Neville’s knight with his pawn. “Hey, at least we’re not talking about football or something. You have to admit, this is a rather non-masculine conversation you started here.”
Neville’s attention moved back to the table as the woman melted into the crowd. “Yeah, right, whatever. Listen, if you’re so hot to tell stories, why don’t you start writing them down? You know, get published.”
Gavin shook his head, “That’s not how it works. The power’s in the spoken word. It’s the way something is said; it’s the body language that accompanies that. I mean, would you rather read Bill Hicks or watch one of his shows?”
“That’s a no-brainer.” Queen to bishop, check.
“Exactly. It’s the power to influence without being caught up in an agenda or dogma, my man.”
“Cool. When’re you on?”
The crowds quieted down as a series of lights were pointed at a small stage. Sitting on the stage was a rather old and scarred chair from an era when bards roamed the land, telling tales and bringing news of far away places. “Welcome everyone. It’s so great to see you tonight. Our first storyteller will be Gavin Newsome.”
Gavin grinned at Neville and hopped up as he tilted his king over. “Checkmate. Wish me luck.” He grabbed his large coffee mug, complete with two lightning bolts and strode to his stage. Settling down in his chair, he smiled at his audience; his hazel eyes shining like burnished bronze in the spotlights. Setting the coffee mug on a nearby table, he crossed one leg over the other and steepled his fingers.
“Once upon a time…”
People cruised between the tables, sofas and large overstuffed chairs, looking for a place to sit. Gavin often referred to them as furniture sharks, or place predators. They even had that cold, dead look as they shuffled through the cramped space followed by their pilot fish friends. He turned back to the chess set and his friend Neville. On the losing end of a frustrating game, Neville was poised to beat Gavin for the first time in his life. Gavin was annoyed with his playing ability and chalked it up to the distracting conversation. Neville, always one to make the best out of any opportunity, pressed on, his quick fingers dancing over the board as his queen took Gavin’s rook.
“So, what you’re saying is that the storyteller dwells in multiple realities at once?”
Gavin nodded as he moved his pawn up. “Exactly. We both know that storytelling is an ancient oral tradition that speaks to the soul. It opens people up so that they can see all the wonderful things around them.” He nodded to a shark by way of example. With some unnatural sense her hips moved as she lined up on their table, only to scowl and move along as she realized that they weren’t about to leave. “Folks like them wander down a very narrow road and rarely come to a crossroads, ya see? Our society is moving along this straight, smooth path. Easy to walk on because you don’t have to think and it’s comfortable on the feet. No rocks or potholes to wake you up. Storytellers shake things up, teach people lessons that they should not have forgotten.”
Neville nodded absently as he studied the board. His bishop swept through a knight as he grinned with unadulterated glee. “Yeah, but I thought we were supposed to make our lives easier? What with tool use and our big brains and all that.”
Gavin nodded as he winced, he saw that coming at least four moves ago. “Well that’s just it, ya see? We think that what we’re told to see is the sum of what our “big brains” can deal with. More and more the other worlds are relegated to fancy, whimsy or myth.”
Neville snorted as he glanced up at a particularly interesting specimen of gothette. “I swear if you work that word into another conversation, I’m going to scream.”
Gavin’s eyebrows furrowed, the board momentarily forgotten. “What word?”
Neville’s eyes traveled down the back of the shrouded figure until they finally settled on her red-Catholic schoolgirl skit. “Whimsy.”
Gavin smirked and took Neville’s knight with his pawn. “Hey, at least we’re not talking about football or something. You have to admit, this is a rather non-masculine conversation you started here.”
Neville’s attention moved back to the table as the woman melted into the crowd. “Yeah, right, whatever. Listen, if you’re so hot to tell stories, why don’t you start writing them down? You know, get published.”
Gavin shook his head, “That’s not how it works. The power’s in the spoken word. It’s the way something is said; it’s the body language that accompanies that. I mean, would you rather read Bill Hicks or watch one of his shows?”
“That’s a no-brainer.” Queen to bishop, check.
“Exactly. It’s the power to influence without being caught up in an agenda or dogma, my man.”
“Cool. When’re you on?”
The crowds quieted down as a series of lights were pointed at a small stage. Sitting on the stage was a rather old and scarred chair from an era when bards roamed the land, telling tales and bringing news of far away places. “Welcome everyone. It’s so great to see you tonight. Our first storyteller will be Gavin Newsome.”
Gavin grinned at Neville and hopped up as he tilted his king over. “Checkmate. Wish me luck.” He grabbed his large coffee mug, complete with two lightning bolts and strode to his stage. Settling down in his chair, he smiled at his audience; his hazel eyes shining like burnished bronze in the spotlights. Setting the coffee mug on a nearby table, he crossed one leg over the other and steepled his fingers.
“Once upon a time…”