Come One, Come All

a puzzle story

The doorbell clanged as the two, woman and man, entered the establishment. Respite from the drizzly walk home had brought them in, but a steaming chai and a nearly finished community puzzle kept them.

The puzzle was a picture of various fruit, the kind that might be called an açaí bowl in a warmer climate. There were kiwi fruit, strawberries, raspberries, strips of coconut, clusters of crispy granola, and blueberries—so many blueberries. There’s always that one color or pattern, consistent throughout, which stops a puzzler from knowing exactly where a piece belongs. Those were the blueberries.

She immediately took to the task, the way rain takes to an umbrella, but he wavered. Though the café smelled of roasted beans and freshly baked goods, it was not the puzzle parlor of their home. Like an animal at a new watering hole, he turned his head to and fro, scanning the scene for safety prior to imbibing.

All was to be expected, including a man of discontent sitting at the couch against the wall, leaning forward, arms on his knees, working out his own internal puzzle. He tipped the man a friendly nod, brought his eyes back to the mahogany table, and eased into his chair, ready to begin.

Her progress was already good, steady. As not to interrupt her flow, he began by grouping the remaining pieces by color. Any decent puzzler knows their role, he thought to himself. Then looking to her, he felt pleased, knowing how an all-consuming task—separate from any veiled notion of success in the real world—was good and right for the truest parts of her.

Such parity, between a puzzle and life.

Without being aware, the couple’s entertainment brought a softer kind to those looking on.

A lone barista drew shots of dark, rich espresso from the La Marzocca, occasionally peering overtop the warming mugs. With each peek, she felt grateful to see less and less wood through the remaining holes, as if the progress of the puzzle also held the passage of time.

A pair of older women—best friends since high school—leaned across their table to one another, sharing the same gossip their neighboring lockers used to hear. Turns out they’d been in everyday that week, now giddy at the sight of the puzzle near complete.

If this little café was a clock, that puzzle was the going train.

The silent buzz of contented anticipation grew into a cacophony of thoughtless actions in the minds of the two puzzlers. After a slow start, he had reached a state of puzzle zen, choosing, orienting, and placing each piece with a seemingly unconscious accuracy. Thinking had become a hindrance.

Words of encouragement and genuine enthusiasm flowed between the woman and man, as if the shared moments of satisfaction at each interlocking piece outweighed the grand spectacle.

Returning from a place that can only be described as separate from what was right in front of them, the two looked down, somewhat surprised to find only two pieces remaining. In a moment that would be remembered by all who were present that day, the couple looked into one another’s eyes, nodded in agreement, donned their hats and jackets, and exited through the same door from which they had come.

A little help from my friends…

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Special Request (not advertising)

A friend of mine recently quit his job to pursue his dream turned career. Levi Ballard is the owner of Ballard’s Fine Woodworking and just like any budding entrepreneur, is in search of clientele. He offers premade items, but is more than happy to construct unique creations! Check out his Etsy page :)