Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Calling You
It's a short, prologue of sorts. Let me know what you think.
There's a small cafe at the corner of Arden and Kay. It serves breakfast, lunch and dinner, coffee from five am to eleven pm, and the best pastries in Belleville. There is a wall that's covered with bookshelves; all filled with books from the worlds authors. The covers of the books are worn with constant use. The bindings creased and the pages folded. Any one of the customers could read these books. You took them when you wanted and you read as much as you could while drinking your morning coffee. Then you would simply place the book back, marking your place with a bookmark, and hoped that the next morning there was not another person reading the novel. Sometimes, depending on how regular you were at this cafe, you could give it to the owner, and she would place it behind the counter, only taking it out the next morning. The book was then placed on a tray with coffee and a pastry, bringing it over to your table with a worn smile.
There's a small cafe at the corner of Arden and Kay owned by a single mother.
The cafe is eighteen years old. Born right after her son turned one. The single mother went to the bank, with her son on her hip, asking for a loan. She was granted the loan, by the hand of God she was sure, and started the cafe across from the small park that her son grew to love as he aged. She worked long, hard hours, her son in a crib placed delicately in the office of the cafe. She walked around the cafe, serving customers with a baby monitor attached to her apron, listening intently to every whimper her son made. She took breaks every once and a while to sit in the office, holding her son while she told him that this was all for him. All of the hours were for him. He was going to become something some day. He was going to go to college. He was going to get out of this small town that ate it's residents.
The first few years were hard on the single mother. She had an overactive toddler running around, giggling at all the customers, what little of them there were. And an overworked chef, who as much as he wanted to help out the woman, could not work six days a week open to close, much like the mom herself was doing. So her only option was to hire a new chef, cutting her profit in half.
She struggled. She struggled a lot. There were some days she wouldn't eat a full meal. She would make sure her son got the nutrients that were needed to keep him growing and healthy but she would let her own needs go unnoticed, just eating the scraps of food that weren't being used for the customers. This lasted about eight months.
Then business started to boom. The town loved the mother and son that owned the cafe. They came in just to watch the little guy follow his mom around, asking the customers for their orders while scribbling on his pad what they said. Of course the words were not legible, the boy was only three, his mother was having a hard enough time teaching him to write his name let alone the orders of a business man's breakfast. The town also loved watching as the little boy smiled with pride when his mother would let him carry one empty coffee cup back to the kitchen, dropping it in the bus bucket in the corner of the kitchen, exclaiming, “Mama! I did it!” Loud enough that the whole cafe heard.
The small boy wasn't the only reason that the town came in for their morning addictions or their after work indulgences, no the food happened to be great. It was all the single mother's own recipes or ideas, too. No frozen store bought food, heated up, then served. No, it was made from scratch; from the hands of the single mother, or the two chef's she trusted with her life.
She had always wanted to own a cafe, so essentially, she was living out her dream, but she wanted to study first. She wanted to travel to Europe and learn from the best chefs. She wanted to have a degree. Those things couldn't happen, at least not yet. She had a son. She needed to care for him. Not worry about her irrational dreams of learning the art of cannoli's in Italy.
Which is what leads us to today, the mother, still single, but not so much struggling anymore, working hard as her only son lives out his dream in college. His dream of helping those in need. Of making the ill healthy. Yes, the small boy that once playfully took orders beside his mother wanted to be a doctor. He wanted to help the families that were like his, hard working parents, struggling to make ends meet, with out adding the stress of medical bills. He wanted to help the mothers and fathers sleep at night. He wanted them to not worry about their children getting the medicine they need.
Yes, the small boy, was now a nineteen year old man, who was still somewhat small. Working hard in college. Studying until his head hurt, then pushing himself that much further. He was trying to be the man that his mother wanted him to be. He was trying to be the man that his mother deserved for a son. And he would stop at nothing to become that man.
That was until one person stopped in the cafe, changing his world completely.
There's a small cafe at the corner of Arden and Kay. It serves breakfast, lunch and dinner, coffee from five am to eleven pm, and the best pastries in Belleville. There is a wall that's covered with bookshelves; all filled with books from the worlds authors. The covers of the books are worn with constant use. The bindings creased and the pages folded. Any one of the customers could read these books. You took them when you wanted and you read as much as you could while drinking your morning coffee. Then you would simply place the book back, marking your place with a bookmark, and hoped that the next morning there was not another person reading the novel. Sometimes, depending on how regular you were at this cafe, you could give it to the owner, and she would place it behind the counter, only taking it out the next morning. The book was then placed on a tray with coffee and a pastry, bringing it over to your table with a worn smile.
There's a small cafe at the corner of Arden and Kay owned by a single mother.
The cafe is eighteen years old. Born right after her son turned one. The single mother went to the bank, with her son on her hip, asking for a loan. She was granted the loan, by the hand of God she was sure, and started the cafe across from the small park that her son grew to love as he aged. She worked long, hard hours, her son in a crib placed delicately in the office of the cafe. She walked around the cafe, serving customers with a baby monitor attached to her apron, listening intently to every whimper her son made. She took breaks every once and a while to sit in the office, holding her son while she told him that this was all for him. All of the hours were for him. He was going to become something some day. He was going to go to college. He was going to get out of this small town that ate it's residents.
The first few years were hard on the single mother. She had an overactive toddler running around, giggling at all the customers, what little of them there were. And an overworked chef, who as much as he wanted to help out the woman, could not work six days a week open to close, much like the mom herself was doing. So her only option was to hire a new chef, cutting her profit in half.
She struggled. She struggled a lot. There were some days she wouldn't eat a full meal. She would make sure her son got the nutrients that were needed to keep him growing and healthy but she would let her own needs go unnoticed, just eating the scraps of food that weren't being used for the customers. This lasted about eight months.
Then business started to boom. The town loved the mother and son that owned the cafe. They came in just to watch the little guy follow his mom around, asking the customers for their orders while scribbling on his pad what they said. Of course the words were not legible, the boy was only three, his mother was having a hard enough time teaching him to write his name let alone the orders of a business man's breakfast. The town also loved watching as the little boy smiled with pride when his mother would let him carry one empty coffee cup back to the kitchen, dropping it in the bus bucket in the corner of the kitchen, exclaiming, “Mama! I did it!” Loud enough that the whole cafe heard.
The small boy wasn't the only reason that the town came in for their morning addictions or their after work indulgences, no the food happened to be great. It was all the single mother's own recipes or ideas, too. No frozen store bought food, heated up, then served. No, it was made from scratch; from the hands of the single mother, or the two chef's she trusted with her life.
She had always wanted to own a cafe, so essentially, she was living out her dream, but she wanted to study first. She wanted to travel to Europe and learn from the best chefs. She wanted to have a degree. Those things couldn't happen, at least not yet. She had a son. She needed to care for him. Not worry about her irrational dreams of learning the art of cannoli's in Italy.
Which is what leads us to today, the mother, still single, but not so much struggling anymore, working hard as her only son lives out his dream in college. His dream of helping those in need. Of making the ill healthy. Yes, the small boy that once playfully took orders beside his mother wanted to be a doctor. He wanted to help the families that were like his, hard working parents, struggling to make ends meet, with out adding the stress of medical bills. He wanted to help the mothers and fathers sleep at night. He wanted them to not worry about their children getting the medicine they need.
Yes, the small boy, was now a nineteen year old man, who was still somewhat small. Working hard in college. Studying until his head hurt, then pushing himself that much further. He was trying to be the man that his mother wanted him to be. He was trying to be the man that his mother deserved for a son. And he would stop at nothing to become that man.
That was until one person stopped in the cafe, changing his world completely.
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