5

 

1400

EXT. CAFE NATE - NIGHT

Rundown shit-hole is being kind. We’re so close to the airport we hear the planes flying only a hundred feet up.  

Despite that noise we hear the roar of Susan’s beat up Oldsmobile giving it’s last to get her here in a timely, if not entirely legal, fashion.

Susan’s going so fast the only way she can turn into Cafe-Nate’s parking lot is by doing a hand-brake turn and drifting into a car spot. A move she executes so flawlessly it would wet the pants of any professional stunt driver.

Susan gets out of the car and races into the cafe. 

INT. CAFE NATE - NIGHT

Smells so bad that a dozen soiled nappies strategically dotted here and there would actually freshen it up. 

A handful of GLOOMY LOOKING PATRONS (50s) scattered about. 

Susan finds RENEE (20s), junkie-skinny, in a far corner booth staring at her cup of black searching for its soul. Even when Susan sits opposite her in the booth she doesn’t look up. 

SUSAN

Renee, it’s me.

RENEE

I know.

SUSAN

You can look up now. 

RENEE

Honestly, I’m good here.

SUSAN

Suit yourself, but I don’t think they’ll let you take your coffee cup with you.

Before Renee can reply, a monstrous shadow falls over their table. 

As I drive up to the cafe an aeroplane comes in to land at Newark Liberty Airport. The rumble of its jet engines drowns out all other sound. I glance out my window and see the underside of the aircraft coming in to land. Its wheels already lowered. It's only about two hundred feet above me. That's how close this cafe is to the airport. From inside you can look out across the airport. At the mesmeric sight of planes coming and going, landing and taking off. There's something awe inspiring about watching such an incredible piece of human engineering doing what seems to the rational mind an impossible task, flying. How on earth we managed to get something that weighs, as Lucy put it, '...a trillion tonnes,' to float so elegantly through the air carrying its cargo with such ease is something that will never cease to amaze me. Flight of man is testimony to the power of the mind. If you can will it, it can be. I park the car in the cafe car park and check the time. Right now is when I'm supposed to be at work. At the restaurant. I need to get this done and get out of here as soon as possible if I want to stand any kind of chance of keeping my job. But this meeting with Renee is a delicate thing. I can't rush her. I need to help her to overcome a physiological desire. I need her to realise that although the pain of now is bad, the pain of future will be far worse if she succumbs to the need of instant gratification. I need her to understand that delayed gratification is where her bliss lies. I turn off the engine, get out and walk to the entrance of the cafe. Memories flooding back to me of all the times I've been here previously. Nothing's changed. Still the same chipped paint on the railing. Still the same faded sign. Still the same windows perpetually covered in a layer of dust. I stand aside as an elderly man exits the cafe, his frame twisted by the tortures of time. I then push the door open and enter. The smell of this cafe hits me hard. It's the same as it always was. That same stench of baked in fat from the multiple friers they have in the kitchen. It wouldn't surprise me if they were still using the same fat to fry food today as they were when I was last here. The carpet is more worn that I recall, and the decor is more faded and more tattered that memory recalls. I glance around the vast expanse of the open plan room. It's a large space as far as cafes go. I'm not sure in exact square feet, but I'd guess somewhere close to the size of a basketball court. There's about a dozen customers  here, none of whom look my way as I entered. Two waitresses do the rounds. Taking orders, delivering food and cleaning when it suits them. These waitresses are both in their fifties. Both look worn by time and life. Almost as much as the patrons do. I spy Renee hunched in a the far corner. She sits at a booth and to her credit she's doing exactly as I said for her too. She's staring into her cup of coffee. As I cross the room one of the waitresses looks at me like she recognises me. She says, 'Coffee?' And I nod, adding, 'Can I get it in a take away cup, though, I don't know how long I'll stay.' The waitress doesn't acknowledge my request,' she simply continues off to the kitchen. I approach Renee's booth. My shadow casts long over her and her coffee that's almost empty. She doesn't react to my presence. I stand there a moment longer before speaking. 'Renee, it's me, Susan.' I specifically say my name. Even though it's obvious that I'm here, I can't be sure of her state of mind. For all I know she might be high. Renee doesn't look away from her coffee as she says in that same mouse-like voice she spoke with on the phone, 'I know.' I sit down in the booth opposite her. She's lost weight. She's looking unhealthy skinny. Her skin is pale white. The psoriasis around her eyes is worse that last I saw her. Even though she's done a decent job of trying to cover it up with make-up, her condition is still plainly evident. Her elbows too, suffered from the affliction. Seeing her flaking skin reminds me when I was at the lowest of my lows. I too developed psoriasis. A horrible condition, an ever-present itch that only worsens as you itch it. A cruel irony if ever there was one. Renee's hands tremble. She's incredibly fidgety. One of the sure signs of withdrawal. The inability to sit still. There was a time at the start of my own recovery  where I was convinced I'd never be able to still still for more than five minutes. But the body's ability to heal itself is profound. If you'll just give it the chance. 'Are you okay?' I ask. Renee doesn't verbalise her response, instead she looks up from her coffee and fixes her yellowed eyes on me with a look that reads What do you think? I nod in acknowledgement. Let her know I'm aware of where she's at. 'When was the last time you drank?' I ask. Renee looks back down at her coffee, a glint of guilt in her eyes. It's hard to admit weakness. 'Are you drunk right now?' She doesn't answer that, so I press her again. 'Renee, have you been drinking?' Finally, she nods. Small and almost imperceptible at first. Then growing, as she allows herself to confess. Confession is cathartic. And Renee knows that I'm never going to judge her. The waitress I spoke with a moment ago sets down a black coffee in a take away cup in front of me and tops up Renee's cup without a word. I thank her as she departs to continue her rounds. 'What have you had to drink?' I ask Renee. She sips her fresh coffee, looking at me as she does. She then says, 'Started off with beers, then got onto vodka.' 

'By yourself?' Renee shakes her head. My neighbours. They were having a party last night. They invited me over...' I interject quickly, 'Remember what we said about removing your self from environments where the's alcohol.'

'I know, I know, that's why I thanked them for their invite but told them I wouldn't be able to make it.' 

'So what happened?'

Renee thinks on that for a beat, finally deciding, 'They were loud. The party that is. It started off quiet, but as the night went on, the music got louder and louder and I couldn't sleep. The only reason I went over was to ask them to turn it down, but when I knocked they invited me in, assumed that I'd come over to join in.'

"And you didn't tell them otherwise.' I finish for her. Renee shakes her head. I consider that a moment then say, 'Look, you drank, okay. It's not the goal, but remember what we said about not beating yourself up when you fall off the wagon. What did I say you should do if you do fall off? Do you recall?'

'Forgive myself and get straight back on.' Renee recites verbatim. 'Correct. Now, have you forgiven yourself yet?' Renee shakes her head. 'Are you still angry with yourself?' Renee considers that then says, 'Yeah.' 

Okay, right now I need you to let go of the guilt, and say after me, I made a mistake.'

'I made a mistake,'

'I am failable.'

'I am failable.'

'I don't want to drink.'

I don't want to drink.'

'Because I know it hurts me.'

'Because I know it hurts me.'

'As of now I'm no longer drinking.' Renee pauses, thinks on what I just said. I spur her along, 'Say it, you can do this.'

'As of now, I'm no longer drinking.'

'Say it again.'

'As of now, I'm no longer drinking.'

'Good. I'm proud of you, you're dong well.' This illicit a very faint smile from Renee. Sometimes that's all that's needed. A positive affirmation. Renee, at heart is good person. A very good person who happens to have an affliction. 'How did you do it? How did you manage to kick alcohol?' Renee says. 'I just, I don't know if I have it in me.' I think on that a moment before replying, 'You're thinking about it wrong.' 

'How so?'

'I haven't done anything. I'm doing it. I'm always doing it. Every second of every hour of everyday I choose not to. It's not something you just decide then forget about. That's how you relapse. What I'm doing, takes effort everyday. But you know what? It's worth it.'

'Isn't it tiring?' 

'Yeah, but it's worth it.' 

As Renee considers that a shadow of a man falls over our table. I look up and see a face I never wanted to see ever again. The face of a man who once tried to kill me.