Tag Archives: coffee

Date Books

4 Nov

For my almost-little sister. It was good getting coffee.

 

It’s funny how cancer changes things. You suddenly have the urge to see them more often. To take them out for coffee or have them over to your place, just like you always meant to. Told yourself you’d get around to. Later.

You wanted to, really, until wanting to slipped beneath the pile of work you wanted to get done, the emails you wanted to send, the pants you wanted to buy, the TV shows you wanted to watch – that stack of acts and intentions that life collects on everyone’s desks.

This sense of incessant urgency, it does not come from the fear that something may be taken away from you – or so you tell yourself – but from the affront that she has been given terribly more, and you thought you might help carry some of it.

Funny, how cancer changes things. And then, that’s only thinking about it for you.

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Conviction

18 Jan

I don’t give homeless people money. I just don’t. I’ve had enough personal experience with wavering in the face of choosing a necessity versus the easy way out to know better than to just hand out money.

However, while I won’t give out money, I will give out breakfast, or a granola bar, or a scarf, or whatever it happens to be that the homeless person is actually needing at that moment. It’s much more practical and much more effective than just handing out a dollar bill.

Now for a segue. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings I walk dogs for my friends the Stangels. Because I’m an insomniac and have a bit of a phobia of being late, I occasionally find myself arriving near the Stangels’ neighborhood with a half hour to an hour to spare. So, I’ve created this nice ritual of heading to the Starbucks up the street and hanging out there with a cup of coffee and a spot of writing.

This morning was one of those Starbucks mornings. I became so absorbed in the snippet of story I was writing that when I finally came to, I realized I only had a few minutes to get to the Stangels’ house. However, on my way out of Starbucks, I was accosted by a homeless woman whom I had once bought breakfast for. She asked if I had some change to spare for a cup of coffee. My brain whirred into a quick mental calculation, figuring that I didn’t have enough to both buy the woman breakfast and make it to the Stangels’ on time. Besides, I’m a poor college student. It’s not like I have  that much to spare.

So, guiltily, I said no. No, I didn’t sorry. Sorry.

Really? Really? As soon as I turned to head towards my car, the mental recriminations started. Did I really have nothing to spare? Was I really so destitute that I couldn’t help this woman out? Was I really that busy that I couldn’t spare a few minutes to help? Would the Stangels really care if I were five minutes late to dog-walking? A modern-day “good Samaritan study” I’d read about in which results showed that those who were time-pressed were less likely to stop to help someone flashed through my mind. Then the image of Jesus standing there (hey, I’m Christian) asking for a cup of coffee flashed through my mind next, with me answering “no.”

No, sorry, I’m too busy. No, sorry, I don’t feel like being that generous today…

Yup. That did it. I was thoroughly convicted. I’d reached my car, opened the car door, and set my own cup of coffee in the consul holder. But then, instead of loading myself into the car, I shut the door, turned back around, and fished in my purse for my wallet.

“Actually,” I said, approaching the woman, “actually I do have change to spare. Would you like breakfast?”

The woman, whose name I later found out was Rosalie, smiled.

Turkey sandwich and small cup of coffee it was.

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Morning Joe

2 Jan

Just a spot of flash fiction for you all this morning. Happy hump day!

morning joe coffee 2

Morning Joe

He took a long sip of coffee and then spluttered ferociously. “What is this stuff?” he coughed. “It tastes like cat pee!”

“Oh,” I looked down at the table guiltily. “It’s, erm some old coffee.”

“Jesus!” He began wiping the spots of sprayed coffee from his sports jacket. “How old?”

I shrugged. I honestly didn’t know. I’d just found it in the pot. Good to know it wasn’t worth drinking. I pushed my own mug away from me before I could start automatically bringing it to my lips.

“So,” I ventured, dodging his eyes, “how are you?”

I could feel him glowering at me. “Fine.”

I shuffled my feet under the table. “You don’t sound fine…”

“I’m fine, dammit!” His fist met the table with a loud thump! “Why can’t you ever just take what I have to say?”

I felt the tell-tale clench of my throat and prepared myself to bite back tears. “Sorry.”

Across the table, he melted. “No,” his voice was suddenly all softness and rich notes, like a properly brewed cup of coffee, “no, I’m sorry. It’s just early, and I’m, um, not adequately caffeinated yet. It’s my fault for being so irritable.” He looked down at the spurious brown liquid before him. “It’s, uh, really not that bad. Really.” He took a long draught. I watched him make a face but swallow the joe anyway.

Well, he was trying. Not succeeding very well, but trying.

And it helped a little.

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