Down on East Harbor Road there is a small restaurant,
I walk by it every day on my way to and from school.
I never see a soul go in or out yet there is a friendly feeling about it.
It’s the type of place where you look over and say “I’m gonna go in there tomorrow and find out what exactly is inside!”
But when tomorrow comes your thought has ran away with the mist.
And the restaurant on East harbor Road still sits there, an undiscovered planet.
They call it “The Place”.
It’s the type of place where on a day your coming home from school and that day the teacher announced that they really liked your story and even though the kid who read it read it too fast and mispronounced phenomenon and sophisticated you still feel that warm steam in your stomach rising up and filling your chest until your about to explode.
And that day while your walking home, the steam still pushing the edges of your mouth up into a grin, you happen to look over at “The Place” and warm thoughts go through your head. Thoughts of chamomile tea in chipped cups; A well loved book and a thick wool blanket in front of a fireplace; Hot oatmeal in a wooden bowl.
“The Place” is home-like.
Yet, there is one thing about “The Place” that is more mysterious than rest.
For as long as I can remember, there has been an sign:
But I never really cared about it
I was on my way home from school.
It was one of those days where you couldn’t quite describe your feelings.
You’re happy but the world feels oddly still, like right before a storm.
It was on one of those days that the sign called to me.
Not literally, but it suddenly caught my attention.
It still said the same thing:
But something was different.
And so I crept up the stairs onto the porch and looked at the front door.
It seemed like a perfectly normal door, so I pulled it open.
I was surprised that I wasn’t surprised that the door was unlocked.
The first thing that I noticed was how big “The Place” actually was, compared to how it looked from the outside.
And yet, it was the smallest cafe you had ever been in.
It was one of those places that one moment you know exactly what it is and next second you realize it's the exact opposite.
As I looked around strange, littel, yet, perfectly normal things stuck out to me.
A chipped mug, an old broom, a creaky chair, a wooden spoon.
I sat down at one of the tables and suddenly looked down and noticed something in front of me.
An old, cracked wine glass
And next to it, a slip of paper:
A recipe for: A Journey 1935
From the kitchen of: The Bakers Nook
1 old wine glass
2 ½ cups of love
4 cups of adventure
Directions: lick the tip of your right index finger, using this finger circle the rim of the wine glass 12 times and think of away. Once you have finished the last circle lick both your right pinky finger and you left pinky finger, place both fingers inside the glass on opposite sides and say aloud “ We have now become one, and we shall go on together!”
Now that I had finished reading, a strange urge came over me to do as the recipe said.
And before I knew what I was doing, I had licked my right index finger and had begun the 12 circles around the rim of the wine glass.
I began thinking of away.
Things that began with an A, and a W, and another A, and a Y.
I thought of the names of places I had never heard of,
I thought of the calculations I would do to get away.
After the 12th circle around the rim I licked both pinkies, placed them inside the glass, one either side, and I said:
“We have now became one, and we shall go on together!”
Suddenly I heard the whooshing of wind, the clinking of glass,
And I was on my way.