Coffee Shop Tales with Karma Inc. Operative Cassandra…
The Tumultuous Tot
It’s not easy being a Karma Inc. operative. The hours suck, you’re always on call, and there is neverending drama. I can’t remember much of my living life, but I don’t think I was much for the drama. I didn’t like gossip, or so I told myself. I didn’t like to discuss people when they weren’t there or stir any pots. No drama for this girl. At least when I was living. That little voice, that I didn’t really like much, whispered, liar…but it wasn’t much for honesty either.
Now I’m dead, and it’s nothing but drama. Drama. Drama. Drama.
This Afterlife wasn’t what I was expecting. Not that I expected much, in regard to being dead. Not many twenty-somethings give deep thoughts to life after death topics. Especially not this girl. I was invincible. I would live forever. I was so very wrong.
My Afterlife now consisted of constantly stirring up pots so the living could go on living and I could dish out their comeuppance. They didn’t know how lucky they had it. No use dwelling on it, though. I couldn’t change my fate.
A loud clatter from behind me made me turn around in my seat and gape at the mess a small child had just created. He was barely old enough to walk, but he had managed to knock a plate on the floor from his unrestricted perch on his mother’s lap. She made no move to pick up the mess. I was hiding out at my favorite coffee house, trying to get lost in a book that I might have read when I was living. It was kind of familiar, but I was still getting surprised by the plot twists, so maybe I hadn’t read it before.
The mother looked at me apathetically and then went back to scrolling through her phone. I turned back around and picked up where I left off in the book. The kid started to scream. I might have read this paragraph already. I scanned the pages trying to find where I had left off.
“Crap,” I muttered under my breath and skipped back a page.
“No, Praxton,” the mother repeated over and over again. It was a low voice. Non-threatening. Wouldn’t want to upset the kid. Another loud crash as something else hit the deck.
I couldn’t help myself, I turned around again. The woman was still scrolling through her phone, the kid was chewing on the paper bag her muffin came in while simultaneously smearing coffee across the table. It had been her coffee cup that had hit the deck.
By this point, a flustered barista had hustled over and began to clean up the mess the child had made. The mother didn’t even look up from her phone. Her aura now had me fascinated, swirls of gray were seeping in at the edges as the barista swept up the pieces of the broken plate and the woman refused to look up or say thank you. Compared to other auras I had the pleasure of viewing, her’s was relatively clean, but this behavior was grating on my nerves, especially as the kid began to scream when the barista picked up the crumpled napkins on the table.
“Are you still drinking this?” The barista asked in a shakey, timid voice.
“Uh, what?” The woman finally looked up, frowing at the intrusion.
“This, are you still drinking it?” The barista indicated the mess of coffee on the table.
“No.” She went back to her phone and the barista wiped at the coffee mess.
“No! No! No!” Praxton the wonder kid began to slam his fist on the table, taking a swipe at the barista as she wiped the table.
“Stop, Praxton.” Mom whispered.
Her aura darkened when the kid landed a hit on the barista and I smiled. Not because the barista took one for the team, but because now I could step in.
I sent a little urging to the brat with my manifestation superpowers of karmic awesomeness. That’s what I was calling them lately, only in my head of course. The kid ripped mom’s phone out of her hand and decided it would make a great drum stick, the table a wonderful drum.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bejewels flew left and right. I heard the distinct crack of the pretty, but not practical, case crack. In slow motion, one of the jewels from the case flew through the air and landed on the hand of the barista as she clutched it to her chest. She was still suffering from the pint-sized beating. She glanced down at the pretty jewel and was reminded that she was going ring shopping with her boyfriend this weekend. She smiled.
The mom screamed as the phone’s case cracked off and her precious, latest model, phone slammed into the table without any protection.
“Praxton!” She wailed.
“No! No! No!” He laughed. It wasn’t loud enough to hide the sound of crunching.
I stood and grabbed my book as the heady feeling of karma served washed over me. Another day in the life of this karma incorporated operative.