Meet Mike and Sarah, The Biffles

I met Jacob on August 27^th, about a year and a half ago. Under the circumstances in which we initially met, it was the most perfect day I could ever have imagined, excluding those first few brief moments before I saw him, of course. For some reason, when I woke up that morning, I knew that day would be special. I had no way of seeing why or how I knew. I would just have to wait and see. But something was going to happen; I could feel it deep in my body.

As I lay in my bed, my pink tank-top raised up my belly from a restless night of sleep, I tried to decipher the meaning of my gut feeling. I soon got up, leaving my puddle of unfinished thoughts on my bed, and began the real part of my day.

After a quick shower, I got dressed and ready for my busy day. I pulled my hair back into a neat half- up do, double checked that my shirt was neat and my jeans covered my sneakers nicely. On my way out the door, I grabbed a cereal bar from the pantry and a small orange juice container from the fridge. My walk to the Number Five train station on Esplanade Ave. wasn’t a long one, but it allowed plenty of time for me to finish off my breakfast. It is the most important meal of the day, after all.

As I got closer to the train station, I could see the very familiar forms of my two best friends leaning against the outside wall. No matter how hot it got outside, they could never learn to keep their hands off of each other. I walked over to them and cleared my throat loudly. It didn’t work. I tried again, this time a bit obnoxiously, and they flew away from each other as if they were caught by their parents. The looks on their faces quickly went from terribly frightened to extremely apologetic.

“Not that I want to keep the young and in love apart, but you guys really need to learn to keep the PDA to a minimum. It’s kinda embarrassing to have to be seen with you two like that.”

Sarah and Mike both looked at me with a touch of understanding, but as Mike continued to grope Sarah’s rear end, I knew that no matter how much I said anything, my words were falling upon deaf ears.

“What can we say, Ames?” Sarah started coyly. “When you reach that level of physical interaction, it’s kinda hard not to touch each other at all times. You’ll see one day.” Sarah and I met in my freshman year of high school and quickly became inseparable. She’s become like an older sister to me. And Mike? Oh, what can I say about Mike? Even though he and I once had our time of puppy love, once he met Sarah, it was all over for me; He fell for her, and he fell hard. I really had no problem though because I had realized I had grown to love Mike as more of a friend, my best friend, never again to be anymore.

“‘That level of physical interaction’ will not be happening for me for a very long time, thank you.” I continued my argument for nonexistent sex lives and having to witness too much PDA. “I’d like to have something special left to give to whomever I marry.” I turned towards Mike who was still looking at Sarah longingly. “Hello there, Horny-boy. Please stop thinking with the little guy for once and pay attention. We have to go!” For a moment, it looked like Mike was going to try to comeback with some witty, and probably retarded, comment. Instead he refrained, perhaps figuring he’d lose the battle of words anyway.

“Well, hey there, Shorty.” Mike said. “What took you so long?” Michael Castillo. He was a handsome seventeen-year old. Standing tall at five foot ten, he left my tiny five foot frame trailing in the dust. He’s been my best friend since before I could even remember. Our moms go back to their day camp days. I really don’t remember a day in my life where Mike wasn’t around.

“Mike, baby, be nice.” Sarah stated plainly as she dusted off the back of Mike’s grey t-shirt. That wall sure was dirty, with the paint chipping off in the corners. Your shirt tends to get dusty when you are being smothered against a wall like that. Sarah, as we often referred to her, was our token white girl. But she had more of the Latin flavor within her than even I had.

Our main plan for that day was to go to a show at the youth theatre where I worked downtown; nothing extravagant, but a nice kid-full, family friendly show. New York is full of them. As we waited for the train, I told them about the feeling I had woken up with that day. Without killing our brains, we pondered the possible meaning of my feeling, but the train soon arrived and so began our downtown journey.

The ride was a bit bumpy due to recent construction on various platforms, but again, Sarah and Mike were caught in a lip lock to my great annoyance. Honestly, I was a bit jealous. I really hadn’t dated since Mike and I broke up. I really was beginning to feel a bit lonely. This wasn’t a “woe is me” kind of lonely, but, well everyone wants to have a companion; someone to just hold you when you’re down. But I was stuck with Mike and Sarah instead.

Why a Barista as your name?

Good question that has recently been brought up to me. Why am I the fictional Barista?

Well, quite frankly, the fictional comes from my attempts at one day becoming a published author. It's a dream of mine that I have been working on since before I can even remember. I wrote my first piece of anything at the tender age of six. Rose's Day, it was entitled. I read it now and laugh at how short and sweet it is, but nonetheless I am impressed by the advanced writing language used at such a tender age. The current project, Beautiful Disaster, is a bit more recent in it's timing, but still, I feel like I have been writing it my entire life. The rough starting date on that project is January 2004. Six years, and yet all I have to show for it is about 200 hand written pages, front and back, and stacks of typed, doubled- spaced pages, all spaces filled in with even more hand written edits and additions.

Now, Barista, well, if you know me well enough, you know that my paying living is as a Starbucks Coffee Company Barista. So, yes, I am always cracked up on caffeine. But hey, it could be worse, right? I could be addicted to tobacco or even worse than that. Keep that in perspective. My plan is to try to incorporate a bit of ahead of the curb information on the constant changes within my great company, be it with new beverages, reward plans or more. I'll even give you pictures! Ha ha.

So, until next time, yes, even though I am fictional, I do exist.

Meet Amy

This is copied directly from the first page of Chapter One of Beautiful Disaster. Hope you like it!

In a room at Albert Einstein Hospital, Ambrosia Santiago found herself being interviewed by an NYPD Officer, her wrist wrapped in gauze and an IV drip plugged into the back of her hand. She shivered at the sight of her current home away from home, remembering the reasons why she was there. In a matter of seconds, her life and the lives of everyone else in the car changed. What they thought was going to be a fun, easy night of party and cake quickly became like a scene from a movie, but sadly, this was Amy’s real life.

Without wanting to take too much time from Amy’s already confusing day, the officer started his questioning. He sat, notepad and pen in hand, along the edge of Amy’s bed, ready to shorthand all of her answers. A tape recorder lay on the bed in front of him to catch any details he may miss.

“Please state your full name and your age. Then tell me what happened from the beginning.” The Police officer stated.

“I’m sorry. Do I have to?” The young girl replied bleakly. She felt weak from the medicine that was dripping down her IV, helping to get rid of any discomfort she may be feeling. As she looked around the room at all of the high tech machines surrounding her, she began to feel lost.

“It is necessary for the investigation, Miss.” He extended his hand toward her and laid it on top of her own to instill a diminutive sense of comfort.

“Yes, sir, umm… my name is Ambrosia Marie Santiago. My friends call Amy.” The police officer gave her a stern look and asked her for concentration. She sat meekly on the bed, wishing that everyone and everything would just go away and she could be alone. But, instead, she pressed on. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’m eighteen years old. And, well, shit!” She slammed her hands down against the bed, sending a slight twinge of pain shooting up her arm and the tape recorder tumbling to the floor. As the police officer picked it back up, and replaced the batteries, she looked at him with an apologetic look. “I never meant for all this to happen. I just wanted to enjoy my party with my friends.”

“This party was when, Miss?”

“It was on New Year’s Eve. I know it sounds tacky, but it’s what my brother Jason and I wanted. Anyway, I really just wanted to have a good time with my three best friends, especially Jacob. He and I had been through so much together this past year that I just wanted to have the chance to try and make up for lost time, try to put everything aside and start fresh. I remember when we first met. At the time, that seemed like the most magical day of my life. He had these beautiful locks of chestnut brown hair, perfect lips and the most beautiful shade of ocean blue eyes I had ever seen. When we met it was love at first sight, at least for me it was.

Chapter 1

Setting trends hasn't necessarily ever been my forte. Following trends, however, seems to be right up my alley. So after taking notes of many others attempts at being bloggers, and being very entertained by them, I've decided to join them in their world. Better than beating them, isn't it?

So, throughout my writing process, for I am a self-claimed writer, I will be giving updates on life in Amy's world, hopefully also creating a way to motivate me even further to finally finish diving into her world. (For those of you who don't know who Amy is, pay attention. You'll learn.)

Look back here for excerpts and such, most of which I will really love feedback on until completion. You never know who might have a better idea for a scene than I do.

Also look forward to meeting Abigail and Amanda. (The A names weren't planned, I promise.) We'll see them at some point.

Well, for the moment, that is all. I hope to provide each and everyone of you with the best story line I am humanly capable of.

-The Fictional Barista