Work 3 : Bittersweet Grounds

 

  “Robusta.” I mutter as I finally reach for the half-empty bag of coffee grounds that I’d been glaring at for the last half hour. I’d lost that damn container, the one you made with the monkey staring curiously at the blue butterfly that you placed carefully on its finger. Can’t remember where I placed it or if someone had come in and decided it’d look well on their counter as well. Maybe it was in the pile of things I decided to sell on a whim for extra cash. I hope it wasn’t there.

  I select my usual amount and set it to brew after adding cup or two of water. The kitchen is silent as it has been for a while now. So silent that my bare feet against the polished wood floors echo throughout the walls of the apartment like a hand-drum symphony. Or would it be a solo, since I’m the only performer? Doesn’t matter. The coffee is ready as I grab my black mug. Adding my typical amount of cream and sugar, I pour my steaming brew within and stir, watching the components blend together, in a beautiful harmony. I sigh to this observation. It’s nearly sickening.

 I take my first few gulps once it’s cooled down a bit. It’s sweet. Sweet like the fine spring days I spent in the park, having skipped one of my mediocre classes that I’d only taken to supply myself with ample credits to graduate. Sweet like the scent of that apple-cinnamon shampoo and conditioner set you used on your shoulder-length raven hair. Sweet like the chocolate-colored eyes that sparkled under the sun when you sat beside me, calling me a delinquent and playfully lecturing me as I ran my fingers through your hair and held your soft, trusting hand as I convinced you all would be fine and that I’d be attend the next class. Sweet like the smile that’d come across your face after I planted a kiss on your forehead. Sweet like your kisses overall.

 The next few sips are sweet as well with more flavors beginning to make themselves apparent. Packed with flavor. Packed like the nights I’d be up working on assignments that I’d procrastinated on while you stopped by my dorm with hot cocoa and your heavy, soft blanket to spent the night. Packed like the nights when I’d wrap you in my arms and give you motivation when you, teary-eyed and yawning, had lost all of yours on similar stressful nights of repetitive paper after paper. Packed like the twin beds we sometimes shared, refusing to admit that we might be a little uncomfortable with the little space we were free to move in but also taking pleasure in the closeness. Packed like the suitcases that looked ready to burst as we filled them with our belongings, taking turns stomping and sitting on the luggage to get those zippers shut as we made our way to our independent apartment later that summer.

  The next few sips coffee were more and more cool, losing some of the sweetness it originally carried. Cool like the Halloweens we spent on our couch, watching reruns and reciting the lines to our favorite scary movies. Cool like the sweat that seeped from your pores as you shook with fear from the scary monsters and cool like the wind that would send a chill down your spine in the night, causing you to jump and grab onto me, somehow visualizing me as a HE-MAN who’d keep the evils away. Cool like the cranberry sauces slathered onto our pieces of turkey when we took turns visiting each other’s families, hoping to gain something embarrassing about the other to joke about in private. Cool like that Christmas Eve we spent outdoors, having a snowball fight like children before I purposely collapsed to one knee, visibly shaking but not from the cold but from that act I was about to commit as you came over to check on me and I worked up the nerve to pull the ring I’d been holding onto out of my pocket. Cool like the tears against the frosty winds as you cried and called me an idiot as you nodded and leapt into my arms.

  The amount of sugar and cream must’ve been lacking. Now that I’m nearing my final gulps, the sweet flavor is now faded, unappealing, and bitter. Bitter like the years that came after the happy spell we shared. Bitter like the noticeable change in your gentle, graceful way of walking. Bitter like the sound of your body hitting the ground as your brushed your teeth that morning. Bitter like the visit to the hospital that came that day and bitter like the news we received. Bitter like the false hope we shared of you getting better as you tried your hardest to smile for my sake. Bitter like the nights I’d spend mulling over our life together so far and how I hoped to hold onto it. Bitter like the talks we shared about stars through the view of your window. Bitter like our last kiss. Bitter like the cold, rough feeling yours carried. Bitter like the empty stare in your eyes as you tried to look into mine. Bitter like your last attempt at a smile. Bitter like the tears I cried as I drove home, nearly hitting another car on the way back. Bitter like the mornings I’d have to wake up to without seeing your radiating smile. Bitter like the empty spaces that now existed in my life.

The mug is empty. It had been for a while now.

- SunBoy