"It goes a little something like this…"
A man sits in the diner one day, his notebook propped out in front of him and frighteningly blank. Not a single line has been written on the page and the man very much doubts the quiet air of the diner will help him out.
"In such a way that no one quite ever believes will happen to them."
The man, Erik, sighs and drops his pen on the table. It hits the off-yellow surface with a heavy clack, effectively destroying the ambiance of the diner. The tired waitress, with her dark hair falling from its bun, sends him a dirty glare. Erik sends her back one tenfold. She's probably going to spit in his next cup of coffee, but the joe here is mediocre anyway.
"Our protagonist is definitely one of those people who does not believe in amazing miracle events. Especially about the kind that is about to happen."
The diner settles back into its boggish setting and it's as if Erik never dropped his pen. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Erik looks outside the large glass windows and sees that the sun is begging to rise between the buildings of the city center. Surely the morning rush has already begun and the honks of impatient drivers fill the air. But the diner is soundproof and seemingly an isolated location in the city. Erik likes to come here because he belongs in this blip on the map. It's a place where nothing extraordinary happen. People come here to disappear and be run of the mill.
"Of course he leads a dreadfully drab life, where he calls his mother once a week to get chewed out about not calling enough and his best friend is an exciting, bossy, and is always pushing him to something exciting. Our hero is nowhere near a hero. He's painful ordinary and nothing ever happens to him. He's simply just there. Surrounded by exciting people, he's the person that anchors the world from bursting at the seams and becoming too interesting."
When the diner's door chimes and a gust of wind rushes in, bringing with it a short rustle of the morning noise, no one looks up. Erik wonders why his pen dropping was such a crime when opening the door was clearly more of a disturbance. He's even more distracted than he was before. Sighing quietly again, Erik picks up the pen and holds it poised to write on the blank page. But nothing comes out.
Erik turns to watch the newcomer instead. His deep blue coat is pulled tightly around his body and he's bundled up in full winter gear. Erik wonders if it is truly that cold out, it is only early autumn. The newcomer looks around the diner starting opposite from where Erik's seated. Soon the newcomer's gaze lands on Erik and their eyes lock. The newcomer's blue eyes are electric and full of curiosity and interest. It takes Erik's breath away.
"The average hero of this exciting story is very serious and has no time for silly things such as attraction and love. But the moment the miracle event begins, our hero begins to rethink his whole life."
The newcomer smiles brightly at him. He moves toward Erik while Erik's back straightens and he sits stock-still. They never break eye contact the whole time. Even as the man slips into the seat across from Erik, the plastic seats screeching as he settles in. He smiles brightly at Erik and sets his gloved hands out on the table.
"Hello," the man greets, his voice is neat, prim, and accented.
"The man stares at the beautiful stranger who by chance has decided to sit across from him. He keeps his still composure but on the inside his thoughts are whirring in his mechanical mind. For the first time in his life, he cannot think of any logical reason this is happening to him. Nothing ever happens to him, yet here is this beautiful stranger sitting across from him."
"Hi," Erik responds stiffly.
"I'm sorry about this," the man says sheepishly. "I hope you don't mind, but this is the only booth the kitchen staff can't see and I need to stay hidden for a little while."
"It's alright," Erik replies.
"As they exchange their first words, the man tries to keep his voice steady and light. He's trying desperately to not give away that his heart is hammering his chest. At this moment, the man is throwing away all his cynical beliefs and accepts that love at first sight does exist. He feels that he and this stranger are somehow connected."
"I'm Charles," the man murmurs, licking his lips.
"Erik," Erik replies, forcing himself to make eye contact with the man.
"I'll be out of your hair shortly," Charles promises.
"I don't mind," Erik says.
His writer's mind is curious as to why this man has decided to sit with him but the thought is dismissed quickly.
"The inner and stifled romantic of the man is hopelessly enchanted and desires nothing more than this man to be his."
"What's with the blank notebook?" Charles asks, leaning closer and staring at it.
"Writer's block," Erik grits out, letting his earlier frustration bleed through.
"Oh!" Charles says sounding quite pleased. "You're a writer then? Anything I should've read?"
"The interest the stranger invests in the man is startling. Not since he was a young child with a scrapped knee had anyone focused so intently on him. Being in the spotlight was delightful. It made the man feel important for once and loved. Even though the stranger was, well, a stranger, the man knew they were meant to be."
"I'm not that popular in the mainstream but I've got a bit of an online cult following."
Charles' eyes brighten and are filled with mirth.
"Those are always the most intense fans or so I've heard," Charles laughs quietly.
"They are…" Erik trails off trying to find a polite word to describe his fans, "… determined."
Charles chuckles as he tugs at the scarf at his neck. Erik assumes he must be getting warm, based on how flushed Charles' cheeks have become.
"So what is your genre then? I am quite curious to know what you've written now if you have to call your fans 'determined,' to be polite and courteous towards them."
"As their conversation continues, the man is filled with awe at how easily the stranger can read him. Every moment he falls deeper in love, continuously throwing away every notion he's held dear since his childhood."
"I dabble in whatever I feel. I usually just sit down and crank out something. I write a single line and everything just follows after that."
"I can assume that means no continuity then?"
"Indeed," Erik says, lips quirking up. "I publish books of short stories."
"How many?"
"Two. The third's first draft is expected in a month's time but I've only written about two of the twenty stories expected to fill the book."
"Sounds like absolute hell," Charles muses.
Erik raises an eyebrow, signaling for Charles to explain further. Charles laughs again but immediately understands Erik's gesture.
"I just don't do well with deadlines and always having to create new and exciting things. My mother always told me that I had not a single creative fiber in my body. I'm inclined to believe her, despite her constant lies."
"The man is interested by the stranger and wants to push and learn more. Never has the man experienced such a feeling. He wants to dive into the stranger's brain and know everything about him. Even more surprising, he wants to reciprocate and tell the stranger everything about his own horribly bland life."
Erik gives him a crooked grin.
"So what do you do then, Charles," Erik inquires, letting Charles' name roll off of his lips and finding that he likes the way it sounds.
Charles shivers minutely in response and Erik's grin deepens at that, but Charles does not seem to notice.
"I'm a geneticist that focuses on mutations within the human genome. I work at the local university."
"How fascinating," Erik answers, truly meaning it. "Please tell me more about it, I've never met a scientist before."
Charles' grin explodes at this and illuminates his face. He dives into a deep lecture on the potential mutations and the leaps that humans could make if they learned to harness them.
"As the stranger talks, the man listens with a deep sense of reverence and unexplained affection. Every so often, the stranger will pause and look up at the man. Their eyes will meet, the man will nod in understanding, and the stranger will jump back into his explanation. Each and every time this happens, the man's heart skips a beat. His inner romantic is beginning to infect his entire mind and body. And the man isn't afraid."
"I'm sorry," Charles says after he finally reaches the conclusion of what Erik assumes must have been his thesis. "I've rambled on far too long about mutations. I just love having an audience, no one ever wants to listen to me."
"The man feels so happy at this moment. He's on cloud nine and irrationally wants to get down on one knee and ask for the privilege of marrying the stranger."
"It's really wonderful information," Erik declares. "I love hearing you talk about it. I've never seen someone so passionate about their work."
"I'm sure you're passionate about your work too."
Erik's smile falters and he stumbles on what to say next. Charles is watching him expectantly and smiling. It's as if Charles sees this magnificent writer in front of him who has inspired thousands of souls and is passionate about his work. When really he is just a writer who is stuck behind a giant wall known as writer's block.
"The man can't bring himself to lie to the stranger when asked a question that is deeply personal to the man. He feels a desperate and anxious need to bare his soul to the stranger and let him see everything. He wants the stranger to invade his thoughts."
"I haven't been passionate about my writing since I published my first book," Erik finally answers quietly. "It's hard to explain but ever since publishing I feel like a sellout. I'm still living the same life, same apartment, same friends and same routine. But now that I'm no longer just sharing my work with my friends, it feels wrong."
Charles contemplates him for a few very still and extremely quiet minutes. Erik's mind wanders and he feels like a liar. He said friends when really he only has one friend, although his publisher and mother kind of count. But not really. Emma only calls him to yell at him these days and his mother is his mother and loves him regardless.
"While the stranger is silent and regarding him, the man panics inwardly. He wonders where he went wrong and if the stranger is going to leave him and if he'll have lost his chance at the love of his life. The man wonders if it was too obvious that he had been baring his private soul. The man's brain is churning frantically and grasping for answers but nothing is coming up."
"I don't think you're a sellout," Charles finally says. "You're just learning how to share your work. Yes, you decided to make money off of it, but you've got make a living somehow."
Erik nods solemnly; he gets the words but doesn't feel them. Charles' words bounce ineffectively off him.
"The stranger finally responds and although his mouth moving calms the man, his words do not. For the first time since the stranger sat down, the man feels doubt that maybe they aren't soul mates. The man's carefully crafted comfort words have no effect on the man. Aren't your soul mates supposed to have the innate ability to soothe your worries with the simplest of phrases?"
Their conversation drifts from there. They talk about inane things and share likes and dislikes, going no deeper than surface emotions. Erik shares a story or two about Moira and Charles responds in kind about the new intern at his lab, Hank. They are just surface level conversations. Two strangers being forced together sharing a casual conversation.
"The man is wholly angry with himself. He shared too much with the stranger and has inadvertently put a giant chasm between them. The man doubts his social abilities will be able to build a bridge across. The stranger has too sensed the distance now created between them and cut himself off. Their grins are no longer bright and emotional, but glassy and plastic."
It goes on for about a half hour that they sit there talking. Despite the slight tension, Erik is enjoying the company and has let his frustration disappear. Charles is the first person since Moira that Erik can handle an actual conversation with. He's receiving a deep sense of satisfaction from it.
The sun has risen fully now but is sitting low in the sky. Its rays seem to set the edges of the buildings it hides behind on fire. The diner is still silent inside but has filled considerably as people enter for breakfast. The outside world continues to be an entirely separate universe compared to the diner.
Erik can see Charles subtly checking his watch often and remembers that Charles was just hiding out with him until the right moment. The curiosity as to why that is returns with full force.
"The man is filled with dread. He knows soon that the stranger will leave to continue on with their business and leave the man behind."
Erik opens to ask Charles why, when Charles immediately stands. Charles presses his hands on the table and Erik can see they are shaking. He looks at Erik and smiles brightly; his eyes are shining and filled with a nervous energy.
"The man's stomach drops and his mouth goes dry. He can't say anything as the stranger prepares his goodbyes. The man needs to do something before his apparent soul mate slips away."
Charles takes a deep, steadying breath and opens his mouth to speak but Erik beats him too it.
"You can do it," Erik tells him.
Charles laughs.
"You don't even know what it is."
"But I know you can do it," Erik answers, giving Charles a smug grin.
"Oh Erik, my new friend, you know far too much about me already," Charles murmurs.
"And vice versa," Erik whispers.
They linger there for a minute, eyes meeting and holding together like at the very beginning of their adventure.
"The man's mind screams at him to do something but he can't. His body refuses to move. His heart pounds against his ribcage and feels as it's about to burst from his chest. The world feels like a giant cliché as he and the stranger stare at each other, blind to their surroundings."
"I thank you for your time and support, but duty calls," Charles finally says and raps his knuckles on the table.
Charles turns around and steps out into the middle of the diner. Erik leans over to watch him. A commotion begins from the kitchen in what Erik assumes is the changing of shifts and suddenly the restaurant bursts to life. The outside world has finally infected the diner enough to completely change the atmosphere. Erik is usually long gone by this point, but today he's clearly made an exception.
"Watching the stranger, the man's heart beats far too fast. He's not ready for it to come to an end. It hurts"
Erik's keen eye stops watching the unmoving Charles and darts to the kitchen doors banging open. A blonde haired woman comes out, her head turned as she shouts something playful at the chefs still in the kitchen. She's got her hands in her hair, unwinding the hair net from it. She turns to the center of diner and stops immediately. Her mouth gapes open and her eyes, underlined by dark bags, are filled with immediate glee. She begins to tear up.
Erik returns to look at Charles, unaware that the man has moved. He's on one knee, a nervous grin on his face as he holds a small, open box in his hand.
"Charles!" the woman cries and runs up to him.
She drags Charles to his feet and wraps her arms around him. He reciprocates warmly.
"Yes! The answer is yes! I knew you were going to propose soon!"
Charles laughs but it's more of a release of his nervous energy. He holds the women tightly and murmurs things that Erik cannot hear in her ear. The entire diner is smiling and watching the interaction.
"The man cannot believe what has just happened and feels like a fool for throwing everything away and believing in miracles. He told himself long ago not to and yet he still went ahead and did it. The man's heart shatters as he watches the stranger embrace their partner. He feels empty inside and utterly embarrassed."
Erik slips out of the diner, knowing he is long overdue for a meeting with Emma. He stayed far too long. The diner's loud atmosphere has now become stifling and overbearing. It is no longer known as a disappearing point because, as Erik has now realized, the diner is a home for momentous and noticeable people too.
Outside it is quite cold and Erik tugs his thin jacket around him. Honks from angry drivers fill the air and the heavy sun is setting the world aflame. Erik hates it and wishes to be back in his dark apartment, sleeping the day away. He glances back at the diner one last time and knows he'll never be going back there again.
"The man leaves more lost than when he entered it, a feeling he did not think possible. He leaves behind the stranger and their beloved. He steels himself back up and rebuilds his walls. Never again will he so willingly throw his beliefs aside. The man was silly to think that he was to be part of some amazing miracle. For, our hero was painfully average and not really a hero at all. Great things do not happen to non-heroes. The man was merely a distraction for the stranger to build himself up to propose to the love of their life. The man was stupid and forgot his place in the world."
Once Erik gets home after being thoroughly chewed out by his publisher, he curls himself up in his tiny bed and tries to sleep for the rest of the day. His mind, having other ideas, is abuzz. It will not shut up. His thoughts are a fly in his ear on a summer's night. Erik sits up and stares at his blank bedroom wall.
Finally, he sighs and gives in to his busy brain. Erik seats himself in front of his cluttered desk and opens up his laptop. A blank document mocks him. Erik manages a small smirk, knowing he's finally going to beat his writer's block.
His hands are poised above the keyboard but Erik doesn't begin immediately. He looks out the window of his apartment and sees hundreds of people scurrying to their next appointments. They do not know he exists because he's remarkably average and people don't notice the ones who blend in. People don't think to look for the ones who ground this world from becoming a massive mess of too much excitement.
Erik looks back down and flexes his fingers. The first line comes smoothly.
"It goes a little something like this…" Erik says aloud and allows a smile because he's back.
Erik finds himself on the forums of his fanwebsite, a few weeks after the release of his third book, Diaries of a the Remarkably Average. He's in a coffee shop a few blocks from his apartment. The sun is high in the air and heating the sidewalks to unbearable degrees. Inside, it's not much better. The rush and clusters of people make it harder to escape from the heat.
He sips his tea as he scans many of the discussion pages. Nothing seems to peak his interest. Erik has already taken part in many extensive online 'Q&A with the Author' sessions and has seen all the questions and answers when it comes to discussing his books.
He's not one to check the website fanatically, but it's a nice feeling to see that it's active and thriving. It's proof that Erik's work is being shared and he's not just a sellout.
One page does pique his interest but he dreads what he'll find inside. Erik has directly avoided any discussions and questions based on 'Places' because he does not wish to reveal the truth to the only thing he's discussed is how stupid it's title is and how he couldn't think of anything better. He never claimed to be good at writing titles.
Unfortunately curiosity killed the cat and Moira has not shown up to distract him, so Erik clicks the link. The discussion is sparse but heated. Ranging from outrage from such a cynical look on life to how could Erik possibly write a heartbreaking story. The people whining about how their hearts were torn from their bodies reading it makes Erik laugh bitterly.
Of course, a comment catches Erik's eyes. Short and to the point, the way Erik likes it.
"Due to E.M.L.'s avoidance of discussing the story, I am inclined to believe this a deeply personal and real story. It's quite offensive and selfish for all of you to be complaining that this author has purposely written this piece to hurt you. You are taking for granted the fact that the author has decided to share it with you in this first and affect you so profoundly."
Erik laughs at bit at this. He always does get a kick out of people defending him on the forums. He is quite capable of doing that himself, thank you very much.
Erik cracks his fingers and lets his curiosity continue to get the better of him.
"As much as I appreciate you defending my work, I find it highly unnecessary. 'Places' is just a short story I wrote due to a lack of nothing better to write about. I don't discuss it because there's nothing to discuss. Regards, E.M.L."
Erik regrets the moment he hit enter because almost immediately he had a reply from the original poster. Erik sighs deeply and hopes he isn't going to instigate an impromptu question period.
"my mistake, I thought this was something else. I just connected very deeply with the story myself and thought, since its commentary was so insightful and real, that it may have been based off of something true."
Erik smiles a little at that and is preparing a response when Moira arrives. He closes his laptop and tucks it away, forgetting about it completely. He loses himself in a conversation with Moira who demands to know why they had to change locales and why the diner was no longer good enough.
Erik explains that he was tired of using a crack in the time continuum as his get away. Erik was ready for an open place that is actually on the map. Moira looks at him oddly for his wording but does not question it. The carefully crafted almost-truths are to protect the Charles story. The little lies have been put in because Erik does not wish to explain that his blip on the map is no longer a place for ordinary people. Charles made it a memorable place by proposing. The diner has been forever warped. Erik will not tell Moira about Charles. It is not his story to tell because he's remarkably average and made a mistake in thinking that he wasn't.
(Of course, Erik will never forget the morning where he felt like the center of the universe and as if he had met his soul mate. He'll keep that to himself and feel foolish for hoping. Erik is in no rush to share his embarrassment to world. Although he realizes he's never going to be a central character, Erik can still hold on to the fact that he was a pivotal stepping stone in launching someone else's story.)