The Night Starts Here

Though it had since stopped, the morning had been a rainy one, bringing mud and leaves into the coffee shop's café. I didn't know people were allowed to treat public places this way, she thought as she swept the drying mud toward the door with a large push broom. Well, there's something new to learn every day. Though the 'something' in the phrase implied but a single thing to learn in a day, she had come to expect that she'd repeat it to herself at least a few more times before falling asleep.

"Rapunzel, could you please run to the back and do some dishes for us? We're running low on pitchers and pastry trays."

"Coming," she called back to the shift, abandoning her growing pile of mud and rain debris to weave through the café's occupied tables.

She'd not been employed at the coffee shop long enough to expect the mass of dishes waiting for her I the giant sink. It didn't matter much; she was accustomed to performing chore-like duties such as these. While the sink filled with soapy water, Rapunzel decided she could begin hauling the full bags of trash to the garbage compressor outside. They were light, containing mostly paper cups and napkins, so she made quick work of them.

Leaning her head into the doorway to make sure the sink wasn't overflowing, she decided she could use a few moments of sunshine—even if it was filtered by clouds. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes.

Warm.

A few slapping footsteps on the pavement later, her shoulders were being gripped and slightly shaken, while the man doing said shaking hissed something she couldn't understand at her. Having never before seen the man or been so handled by anyone, she felt rather threatened as he pushed her through the back door. She grabbed the first suitable object she saw: a package of frozen banana bread defrosting on a shelf.

As he staggered from the impact of the banana bread to the side of his head:

"Eeep!"

"God, lady, what was that for?"

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Lady, you've got to hide me—"

"What? Why?"

"Because if you don't, two very large men who are following me are probably going to stomp my face inn with their boots."

"Stomp your—"

"Please."

So she shoved him into the adjacent walk-in refrigerator and closed the door behind him.

"Rapunzel?" Crystal the shift was walking through the door. "Would you—shit—the sink!"

The bubbles were about a foot taller than the surface of the water, which was dangerously close to spilling onto the floor.

"I'm sorry!" She rushed to turn off the sink.

"I was just going to ask if you could hurry with the pitchers—we need to make more tea." She turned to leave. "And thanks for taking care of the trash, but you need to close the back door; it's a safety hazard."

Rapunzel gulped. "Okay."

"And what are you doing with that banana bread?"

"I—I knocked it over."

"Oh. I hope it didn't break."

As soon as she was sure Crystal the shift wasn't going to come back, she turned to close the back door. Just outside a black pickup truck was idling. The passenger window rolled down, revealing the two large, red-headed men inside.

"Hey, girly. You seen this guy around here?" He held his phone up to her. Even though he was too far for her to be able to make out the likeness on the screen, she got the feeling that she shouldn't get too close to the truck.

"Sorry, I haven't seen anyone out here."

The men in the truck stared at her as if they were waiting for her to say something else.

"Just some birds." She smiled.

The driver nodded, the passenger's window rolled up, and the truck crept away.

After she'd pulled the door shut, she turned to face the closed metal door of the refrigerator. She half hoped that she'd find only shelves of milk and juice when she opened the door. Instead, she found the man she'd hit with banana bread perched on a crate of soy, sucking on the straw of an apple juice box.

"Who're—hey, you can't drink that!"

"Sorry, toots, I got thirsty." He stood up and poked his head out of the refrigerator.

"Hey—" she pushed him back in the refrigerator, brandishing the banana bread at him. "Who're those guys who were looking for you?"

He snaked between her and the refrigerator door. "What do you mean? Was someone asking for me?" But he wasn't looking at her—he was peeking out the port-hole of the swinging door that led to the café.

"Hey, get away from there! I'm going to be in huge—"

"No you won't." He turned to her. "And tanks, Goldie, I owe you one." With that, he slipped out the swinging door at a crouch.

The glimpse she caught of the café reminded her of the dishes. She replaced the still-frozen banana bread to negotiate foam and hot water for the iced tea pitchers. When she carried the pitchers out of the back room a few minutes later she was somehow only mildly surprised to find the man she'd just released the from the refrigerator leaning against the counter, chatting with Stephanie the cashier.

As she neared them, Stephanie pulled her by the forearm that didn't have a pitcher tucked under it.

"C 'mere, let me introduce you to one of the regulars."

The man's smile didn't falter a bit.

"Flynn, this is Rapunzel—she's new."

He held out his hand. "Flynn Rider. Nice to meet you…?"

"Rapunzel."

"Ah. Gesundheit."

Crystal sniggered, but Rapunzel wrinkled her nose at the remark.

"Rapunzel, can you please put those pitchers by the faucet for me?" Crystal the shift was hunched over a pitcher of steaming milk, but had obviously seen Rapunzel come out of the back room.

Rapunzel did as she was told, catching a bit of Flynn and Stephanie's conversation as she walked to the back room again.

"…the caffeine should make you feel better. How'd you get such a bad headache?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess being this awesome just hurts."

Stephanie squeaked a giggle, but Rapunzel snorted. In the last few months she'd met with a greater number of people than she'd ever imagined she'd have the opportunity to. But not one of them in what she was beginning to understand as their monotony was as disconcerting to her as Flynn Rider was in his absurdity.

Flynn Rider showed up at the coffee shop two days later, in the late morning. The morning rush had already died down, and Rapunzel was putting the finishing mountain of whipped cream atop a mug when she noticed him at the counter speaking to her manger.

"Are you going to have the usual, Flynn?"

"Hmm, I don't know… does little Rapunzel know how to make my drink?" His eyes panned to where she was standing behind the espresso machine.

Rapunzel opened her mouth to reply, feeling a little indignant, but her manager beat her to the punch.

"Oh, you've met! Now, she's only been at it for a few weeks, but she has magic hands!"

Flynn's eyebrows lurched upwards, and Rapunzel looked away.

"How about this—" Rapunzel busied herself toweling down the counter while he talked. "—I'll pay the usual price for my drink, but I want Miss Rapunzel to make me a surprise."

Rapunzel looked up at her manager, whose mouth widened in a smile, while her eyes widened as if to say, Yes, you're going to do it, and you'd better do it well.

"Okay." Rapunzel nodded.

This was the hard part of her job. Neither the mopping, scrubbing, sanitizing, nor drink-crafting had made her bat an eyelash; they were all familiar activities to her, at least at a basic level. I was this—the banter, the playfulness that she was expected to engage in—that had her stumped. She felt like she was terrible at gauging people, never knowing when they were being serious or only joking.

At the click of the closing cash drawer, Flynn came to the counter and folded his arms atop it.

"Well? Aren't you going to start?"

"Do you like—"

"Ah ah ah"—he wagged his finger at her—"this is supposed to be a surprise."

Rapunzel began working the pitchers and water while he watched.

"Can you put it in a mug for me? I think I want to hang out for a while."

"Why are you talking to me?"

"Why not?"

"Are you just trying to check up on me? Make sure I haven't told anyone what happened the other day?"

"No. I know you didn't tell anyone what happened."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I probably would have said something by now, and you're not like me; you seem nice."

Here was the challenge: knowing she should say something back, but not knowing what to say. Would she feel like this about conversation forver?

"You seem alright."

He chuckled. "Thanks."

She carefully positioned the mug in front of him on the counter. "Ta-da."

"Would you look at that! Is that an F for 'Flynn'? In foam?"

Rapunzel nodded.

"How'd you do that?"

She shrugged. "I just do."

"Seems a shame to spoil it, but I'm gonna taste it anyway."

He drank from the mug with his pinky finger sticking out. Rapunzel wasn't sure she'd seen other men drink that way—perhaps he's trying to be funny?—but decided she shouldn't make anything of it in case that was just how he held mugs.

Flynn smacked his mouth. "Interesting. What is it?"

"It's black tea with some hot milk on top. And some vanilla syrup."

"And… why did you decide to make this for me?"

Rapunzel's manager passed her another customer's cup, so she began to pump syrup and drop shots even as she answered him.

"It was the first thing that came to me. Probably because it's what I drink."

"Ah, this is your drink."

"Almost. I take mine with soy milk and without the vanilla syrup—you seem like the kind of person who likes extras." She added the last part hesitantly.

"Oh my god, I'm drinking soy milk?"

"No, no, you're drinking regular milk—I know most people prefer it."

"Prefer it? Girlie, you almost lost your tip over it."

"Well—do you like it?"

He took another sip. "To be honest, I'm more of a coffee drinker. But yes, it's good."

Rapunzel shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun pouring in through the shop's front windows while she waited for her manager to dispense her day's share of the tips, and did not notice Flynn leave his table and walk outside. She did see him standing next to a car parked on the curb, fishing in his bag, presumably for keys. She pointedly looked ahead and kept walking.

"Hey—Rapunzel!"

She turned around.

"Hey, you off for today?"

She nodded.

"You need a ride anywhere?"

"No, thanks."

"Okay, then." He slipped some sunglasses on and opened the door. "Some other time. Remember, I still owe you one."

Rapunzel didn't mean to watch him go, but he was in his car and on the street in a matter of seconds.

She went back to walking. Even though the sun soon started to heat the skin beneath her clothes, she felt relieved that she wasn't in his car with him. Every car she'd ever been in had been full of awkward silence—and that she hated. It was yet another uneasy social situation she hadn't learned to remedy. It wasn't one she often had to think about, though; the city busses were also sometimes packed with too many people in one place, but it never felt wrong to not talk to—or even ignore—the person sitting next to you. On a bus, it was perfectly fine to flip through one's book or just stare out the window and tune out people's phone conversations, accidentally bump someone's elbow, or pretend the boy standing in the aisle wasn't leering at you. In its way, it was peaceful.

A few blocks away from the bus stop was her apartment. It was tucked away inside a big, big house that had been converted into several small units. When she came to see it with her social worker, she had explained that it was called a pre-furnished studio. She then helped her carry up her bags of second-hand clothes and various necessities, then left her to herself.

When Rapunzel walked up the single set of stairs that led to her landing she could hear her neighbors arguing at what she though must be the tops of their voices. I wonder what they're arguing about today?

The apartment air was stuffy when she walked in; she opened one window, but left the only other one in the place closed so she wouldn't disturb the pigeons on the windowsill. The kitchen was spotless—as she'd left it—and the sofa-sleeper was folded into a prim couch, her pillow and blanket stuffed in the bottom of the closet. She deposited her bag in one of the chairs at the small breakfast table and sat in the other one after pouring herself a cup of water.

Her notebook lay open on the table, a pen nearby. Rapunzel dragged the notebook closer, touched the pen to the paper, and let her mind go.

Growing up she realized that it was easy to let her mind and hands take over when it came to drawing or painting—though she'd also found that doing so was not always wise. But these days—with no one to inspect what she'd done—she let herself go rather often. Working at curves and lines, lights and darks, building fractions of a whole was the only way she could comfortably let her mind wander.

When there was nothing else to add, she set the pen down and took a sip of water. She was surprised to find on the paper a re-creation of one of her own creations: a shiny mug of tea topped with foam in the shape of a cursive F, for Flynn.

AN: So it goes. If you've read this far, I'd love to know what you think about it—for good or for ill. Hope to see you in chapter 2. 4/6/12