The Crossroads Cafe

This story is by Lisa M. Walton and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

The coin spinning through the air seemed to defy gravity, taunting Ian with the illusion of free will. Until recently, he was a staunch believer in both, but not anymore.

Around him, the air was thick with the scent of grease and stale coffee, the sizzle of anticipation, and the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes on him. Ian tried to ignore them and focus on the shiny object.  

He was comfortable being the center of attention. Usually, he loved it. His father would say he lived for it. But it was unsettling how these people fixed their eyes on him and not the coin. As strangers, they had no stake in the outcome of the toss, but they couldn’t take their eyes off him.

Perhaps it was his jet black hair swept back in a widow’s peak, or maybe his haggard appearance. Ian’s fair skin looked unnaturally pale in contrast to the five o’clock shadow staining his jaw. The scruff that once made him look “ruggedly handsome” now just made him look weary. 

It was most likely the cape. Ian’s favorite, black satin lined with purple velvet, now crumpled and torn, hung limply from his shoulders. 

Or maybe it was the sport of it. People were drawn to the cafe not for its coffee but for their daily dose of excitement–life-changing decisions that were nothing more than entertainment to them. 

When Ian pushed his way into the cafe, he presumed he’d stumbled upon a boring neighborhood hangout. The patrons, dressed mostly in jeans and flannels, were settled into familiar seats and immersed in quiet conversation. Conversations that hushed as their eyes followed him to the counter. 

Ian rested his elbow on the Formica, wishing it was the polished bar of his favorite watering hole. But he’d left Harry’s and everything else about two thousand miles behind. So he settled on the edge of a cracked plastic stool and resigned himself to a weak cup of coffee and the inevitable mindless chatter.

Usually, Ian would have welcomed the attention and relished the opportunity to talk about his craft. But not anymore. Now, he just wanted to forget it all. 

Or did he?

Could Ian walk away from all that he had ever known? From his one true love? From his livelihood? 

He watched the waitress and arranged his face into what he thought was a pleasing smile. “Hey, sugar,” she drawled. Her name tag said Dot. She flashed him a warm smile with teeth too big for her mouth. “Welcome to the Crossroads Cafe,” she said, tipping the steaming carafe toward him. “Want some?”

Ian surveyed the peeling linoleum floor and the intermittent flicker of the too-bright bulb over the counter. After the horrific trick and three long days on the road, he really needed a bourbon. But he presumed nothing stronger was hidden behind the counter, so he nodded. 

Dot slid a cup and saucer in front of him. “Wanna talk about it, sugar?”

He gave her a wry smile. Absolutely not.

“Looks like you’ve got a lot on your mind.” 

Ian peeled the plastic lid off a little pot of cream and dumped it into the muddy liquid. His spoon clinked against the cup as he tried unsuccessfully to lighten the brew. Ian opened a second pot of cream and then a third. Finally satisfied with the color of his coffee, he met Dot’s eyes. Then he put his head in his hands and groaned.

“Oh, sugar,” she said. “It’s okay. You’ve come to the right place.”

Ian found that difficult to believe. This dinky little diner was not even the right place for coffee. Much less anything else. He still wasn’t sure how he had gotten there.

The last thing he remembered was shifting the car into gear and peeling out of the theater lot.

Three days later, he saw the blinking neon sign and pulled off the road. 

He didn’t recall getting on the interstate, stopping for gas, or eating or drinking. He didn’t remember using a restroom or stopping to sleep. 

But it wasn’t possible to drive two thousand miles in one go. Unless . . . 

No. Ian would not entertain the possibility.

Dot stood in front of him, swinging the coffee pot. “Tell me.”

Ian scoffed. How could he possibly explain? His entire life had been a lie. Everything he believed was wrong. Even if he wanted to tell the story, no one would believe him. 

“I made a big mistake.”

“Well, sugar, that’s okay. That’s why people come here. To make the next right choice.”

Ian rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. He pushed so hard that the bakery case blurred into waves of dancing pies. He felt his eyes boring into him like she knew.

“You can’t help me.”

Dot chuckled. “That’s what they all say. And they’re right. I can’t help you, but I can help you help yourself.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“No one does, sugar. That’s why they visit.”

In twenty-two years of doing magic, Ian had never made anyone disappear. He’d never even tried. His act was built on sleights of hand and the power of suggestion. He was an expert at distraction and getting people to reveal more than they realized. It wasn’t magic. It was skill. 

He didn’t even call himself a magician but “the master of illusion.” 

Lots of people criticized his career, poked fun at his “hokey” costume, and ridiculed his art. 

But people loved magic. In a world overloaded with ordinary, they craved the extraordinary. Was it Ian’s fault that people paid to be amazed?

Ian loved his job. He loved the pageantry, the applause, his cape, and his rabbit Rocco IX. But he never believed he was actually performing magic.

He was devoted to his craft. Always learning more. He read books, attended conferences, and watched YouTube. He thought it unnerving how much magic one can learn on YouTube, but that’s where he first heard the new magic word.

Ian shuddered. “Do you believe in magic?” 

The corner of Dot’s mouth turned up, but she caught herself. “Magic?” she said. “Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not me.” The diner took in a collective gasp. “At least I didn’t.”

Ian felt a rush of air behind him and turned, surprised to see the patrons gathered around his stool. He blinked.

“I know what you’re thinking. But when you’re doing the tricks, you know it’s not real. I’ve been doing this work my whole life. I knew it was all an illusion.” He rubbed his mouth. “Until I made Trayla disappear.”

The stuffy room went still. 

“Well, that’s amazing,” said Dot, breaking the silence. “Your whole career has been validated.” She beamed.

“No. You don’t understand. I can’t. . . I couldn’t. . . I can’t bring her back!” Ian collapsed onto the counter.

“You can’t? Are you sure?” said Dot.

“I tried. Three times.” Ian recalled the panic creeping up his chest when he said, “Endiámeso,” for the third time, and the box remained empty. He searched frantically under the false bottom and looked hopelessly for a trap door on the floor, but there was nothing, nowhere she could have gone. “I don’t know magic.”

“So you’re just going to give up. And leave Trayla hovering in between?”

The thought of Trayla suspended somewhere “in between” made Ian’s stomach twist. He’d never thought about where people might go when they vanished because he didn’t believe it was possible.

“‘In between’?” 

Dot nodded solemnly. “You can’t leave her there.”

Ian groaned. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, as I see it, you have two choices. You can continue running away from your responsibility, or you can be the magnificent magician that people already believe you are.”

“I can’t,” said Ian. “I’m a fraud. I’m a failure.”

“Maybe you’re a coward,” someone whispered.

Dot reached into her apron pocket. “Here. This will help you choose.” She handed him a coin. “Just toss it.”

Ian stared at the object. He fingered the rough edges and ran his thumb across the top. “Toss it?” 

“The coin will tell you what to do. It always does.”

Ian licked his lips. On one side of the coin, a dove was flying off into the sunset, and on the other, a rabbit was hopping through an open door.

“But which side means what?”

“That’s up to you.” Dot winked.

Ian grimaced and, with a gulp, tossed the coin into the air. As it spun, he thought about his act–the audience’s rapt attention, the oohs, the ahhs, the astonishment. Could he walk away from that?

Maybe it was time to stop relying on illusions and embrace the magic he’d been so carefully tiptoeing around. 

Plunk. The coin fell, bounced, and skittered under a table. The crowd inhaled.

Ian met Dot’s eyes, then grabbed his hat and, with a flourish of his cape, left the Crossroads Cafe without glancing down.