Sebastian
Bonnie Carlson
Blake noticed the guy immediately. He seemed so out of place.
“Morning, Sebastian,” the barista said.
Sebastian’s wooly gray hair poked out in all directions from beneath a blue watch cap. A two-days growth of white frizzy beard covered his old black face. The marine layer hadn’t burned off yet, so the morning was damp and chilly. But that full-length charcoal wool dress coat, two sizes too big and reaching almost to the floor? Overkill.
Blake Spencer had driven over to Southern California from Phoenix for a writing conference looking for tips to improve his novel. The first morning he’d made the mistake of eating at the fancy hotel restaurant without checking the prices. Bacon and eggs had set him back thirty bucks. He found a nearby Starbucks the second morning, intent of scoring a cheaper breakfast.
Located between the downtown business district and a shopping mall, Starbucks was packed on Friday morning at seven forty-five. Blake got in line, inhaling the heady aroma of coffee. The clientele was a rich mix of ethnic diversity, predominantly Asian. Women wearing sleeveless dresses, attired for the office. A sprinkling of casually dressed retirees reading newspapers. Twenty somethings in jeans and tee shirts. All getting their coveted dose of morning caffeine.
But Sebastian didn’t fit. He occupied a lot of space in the crowded shop, dragging a bulging, purple flowered Rollaboard behind him, probably filled with all his worldly possessions.
Must be homeless, thought Blake, surprised that he’d seen so many fewer homeless people here than in other California coastal cities.
Blake was riveted by the guy, now placing his order in a voice so quiet Blake had to strain to hear him. Sebastian stood hunched over, his head thrust forward at a forty-five degree angle. The curvature of his neck forced him to look down rather than forward, so he had to peer over his greasy glasses to see the employee.
She repeated the order back to him. “So, Sebastian, that’ll be a grande dark roast and a sausage egg and cheese breakfast sandwich?”
“And some orange juice, Sarah, to get my day off to a healthy start.”
This homeless guy was thinking about a healthy breakfast?
“Oh, and throw in a New York Times, okay?”
That really blew Blake’s mind. Could this guy afford all that? The thought flashed through Blake’s mind that when the clerk totaled it all—almost $13—Sebastian wouldn’t be able to pay and would split.
Then Sebastian produced a plastic Starbucks card from his pocket and inserted it into the gizmo where you paid. Are you kidding?
Sebastian stood in the corner waiting for his egg sandwich, next to Blake. A pair of pink Nike sneakers peeked out from beneath Sebastian’s long coat. Pink? Inhaling, Blake realized how ripe Sebastian smelled. Whew. He wished the guy would get his sandwich and leave so he could find out what his story was. Finally, Sebastian shuffled out the door, coffee, sandwich, and OJ in one hand, New York Times and Rollaboard guided by the other.
“Who was that guy?” Blake asked the barista, as soon as Sebastian left.
Over the sound of coffee beans grinding, the young, buff barista, iconic green apron over his denim shirt, hesitated.
Did he hear me?
Finally, the barista said, “Who, Sebastian?”
“Yeah,” Blake said. “Not exactly Starbucks clientele.”
The barista pulled another espresso shot. “Super nice guy. Been coming here for years.”
“Looks homeless. How does he afford that Starbucks card?”
The barista finished off a latte. “Interesting story. Sebastian’s homeless, but he used to be much worse off.” His eyes darted around the coffee shop. “Apparently, struggles with some kind of mental health problems.”
“I couldn’t believe he asked for the New York Times.”
The barista laughed. “I know, right? He’s really smart though. Rumor is he used to be a college professor. We've also heard he was a successful business man.”
Huh.
The barista continued. “He used to live on the street, in a local park. We’ve been trying to help him, like, forever. Talked him into going into a nearby shelter. He’s a lot better now. Especially when he takes his meds.”
Sarah walked over and handed Blake his sandwich. But he couldn’t leave until he found out about the Starbucks card.
“It’s sad though, when he goes off his meds,” the barista said. “Stands facing the corner, talking to himself. You can tell he’s hearing voices.”
“How so?”
“It’s like watching someone talk on the phone, without the phone.” He continued to talk over the loud noise of milk steaming. “Normally Sebastian is very soft spoken, but off his meds he gets loud and angry sounding.”
“Where does he get the money for the Starbucks card?”
“Right, so there’s a lot of money in this community. People donate tons of stuff to that homeless shelter, including Starbucks gift cards. And that purple suitcase he carries around—”
“And those pink sneakers?”
The barista chuckled. “Those, too. Sebastian loves those goofy sneakers. Have you met his cat?”
Cat? Blake shook his head. The barista pointed to the window behind him. Blake turned and saw Sebastian sitting outside. A huge gray striped tabby cat, with a red collar and leash, sat in the chair opposite him, nibbling bites of Sebastian’s sandwich.
I gotta see this, Blake thought. Sitting down at the table next to Sebastian, Blake ate a few bites of his sandwich. He couldn’t resist talking to Sebastian. “I didn’t know you could do that with a cat.”
“Oh, Bruiser’s a fighter. Been through a lot,” Sebastian said. “I kinda saved him. Now I’m his BFF.”
Blake stifled a laugh. “Hi Bruiser.” When the cat looked over Blake could see that his left eye had been trashed. And one ear looked all chewed up.
“The other tomcats always beatin’ him up. Now we’re best buds.” He scratched Bruiser’s head. “Right, Bruiser?”
The cat meowed and Blake cracked up.
Snuggling Bruiser into his oversize coat, the grizzled old guy shambled away, pulling his purple suitcase. He looked back at Blake. “Have a nice day.”
Blake finished his coffee and sandwich and thought, I don’t know shit about homeless people.
“Morning, Sebastian,” the barista said.
Sebastian’s wooly gray hair poked out in all directions from beneath a blue watch cap. A two-days growth of white frizzy beard covered his old black face. The marine layer hadn’t burned off yet, so the morning was damp and chilly. But that full-length charcoal wool dress coat, two sizes too big and reaching almost to the floor? Overkill.
Blake Spencer had driven over to Southern California from Phoenix for a writing conference looking for tips to improve his novel. The first morning he’d made the mistake of eating at the fancy hotel restaurant without checking the prices. Bacon and eggs had set him back thirty bucks. He found a nearby Starbucks the second morning, intent of scoring a cheaper breakfast.
Located between the downtown business district and a shopping mall, Starbucks was packed on Friday morning at seven forty-five. Blake got in line, inhaling the heady aroma of coffee. The clientele was a rich mix of ethnic diversity, predominantly Asian. Women wearing sleeveless dresses, attired for the office. A sprinkling of casually dressed retirees reading newspapers. Twenty somethings in jeans and tee shirts. All getting their coveted dose of morning caffeine.
But Sebastian didn’t fit. He occupied a lot of space in the crowded shop, dragging a bulging, purple flowered Rollaboard behind him, probably filled with all his worldly possessions.
Must be homeless, thought Blake, surprised that he’d seen so many fewer homeless people here than in other California coastal cities.
Blake was riveted by the guy, now placing his order in a voice so quiet Blake had to strain to hear him. Sebastian stood hunched over, his head thrust forward at a forty-five degree angle. The curvature of his neck forced him to look down rather than forward, so he had to peer over his greasy glasses to see the employee.
She repeated the order back to him. “So, Sebastian, that’ll be a grande dark roast and a sausage egg and cheese breakfast sandwich?”
“And some orange juice, Sarah, to get my day off to a healthy start.”
This homeless guy was thinking about a healthy breakfast?
“Oh, and throw in a New York Times, okay?”
That really blew Blake’s mind. Could this guy afford all that? The thought flashed through Blake’s mind that when the clerk totaled it all—almost $13—Sebastian wouldn’t be able to pay and would split.
Then Sebastian produced a plastic Starbucks card from his pocket and inserted it into the gizmo where you paid. Are you kidding?
Sebastian stood in the corner waiting for his egg sandwich, next to Blake. A pair of pink Nike sneakers peeked out from beneath Sebastian’s long coat. Pink? Inhaling, Blake realized how ripe Sebastian smelled. Whew. He wished the guy would get his sandwich and leave so he could find out what his story was. Finally, Sebastian shuffled out the door, coffee, sandwich, and OJ in one hand, New York Times and Rollaboard guided by the other.
“Who was that guy?” Blake asked the barista, as soon as Sebastian left.
Over the sound of coffee beans grinding, the young, buff barista, iconic green apron over his denim shirt, hesitated.
Did he hear me?
Finally, the barista said, “Who, Sebastian?”
“Yeah,” Blake said. “Not exactly Starbucks clientele.”
The barista pulled another espresso shot. “Super nice guy. Been coming here for years.”
“Looks homeless. How does he afford that Starbucks card?”
The barista finished off a latte. “Interesting story. Sebastian’s homeless, but he used to be much worse off.” His eyes darted around the coffee shop. “Apparently, struggles with some kind of mental health problems.”
“I couldn’t believe he asked for the New York Times.”
The barista laughed. “I know, right? He’s really smart though. Rumor is he used to be a college professor. We've also heard he was a successful business man.”
Huh.
The barista continued. “He used to live on the street, in a local park. We’ve been trying to help him, like, forever. Talked him into going into a nearby shelter. He’s a lot better now. Especially when he takes his meds.”
Sarah walked over and handed Blake his sandwich. But he couldn’t leave until he found out about the Starbucks card.
“It’s sad though, when he goes off his meds,” the barista said. “Stands facing the corner, talking to himself. You can tell he’s hearing voices.”
“How so?”
“It’s like watching someone talk on the phone, without the phone.” He continued to talk over the loud noise of milk steaming. “Normally Sebastian is very soft spoken, but off his meds he gets loud and angry sounding.”
“Where does he get the money for the Starbucks card?”
“Right, so there’s a lot of money in this community. People donate tons of stuff to that homeless shelter, including Starbucks gift cards. And that purple suitcase he carries around—”
“And those pink sneakers?”
The barista chuckled. “Those, too. Sebastian loves those goofy sneakers. Have you met his cat?”
Cat? Blake shook his head. The barista pointed to the window behind him. Blake turned and saw Sebastian sitting outside. A huge gray striped tabby cat, with a red collar and leash, sat in the chair opposite him, nibbling bites of Sebastian’s sandwich.
I gotta see this, Blake thought. Sitting down at the table next to Sebastian, Blake ate a few bites of his sandwich. He couldn’t resist talking to Sebastian. “I didn’t know you could do that with a cat.”
“Oh, Bruiser’s a fighter. Been through a lot,” Sebastian said. “I kinda saved him. Now I’m his BFF.”
Blake stifled a laugh. “Hi Bruiser.” When the cat looked over Blake could see that his left eye had been trashed. And one ear looked all chewed up.
“The other tomcats always beatin’ him up. Now we’re best buds.” He scratched Bruiser’s head. “Right, Bruiser?”
The cat meowed and Blake cracked up.
Snuggling Bruiser into his oversize coat, the grizzled old guy shambled away, pulling his purple suitcase. He looked back at Blake. “Have a nice day.”
Blake finished his coffee and sandwich and thought, I don’t know shit about homeless people.
