Monday, June 8, 2015

The Promise of Coffee

There was no coffee.
Which was incredibly frustrating, as the absence of coffee tends to be. The promise (notice, not just the suggestion, but the promise) of coffee was 83% of the reason I’d accompanied my mom and grandma to this unending store, which could now also be described as “God forsaken” as all places without coffee are.
What’s even worse is that at the back of the store, where the coffee typically was, there was a silver, tall thermos, fulling the promise before I'd even had a sip. My heart rate quickened along with my steps as I grabbed a cup and filled it to the brim. A big cup.
  As I brought it to my lips, I noticed that this coffee was awfully translucent and didn’t really smell right. But I had already taken a gulp, and the nasty liquid was searing my tongue and throat. It was tea. The most disagreeable tea I’d ever had the misfortune to subject my taste buds to. It was the not-so-perfect marriage between bitter and tangy and just disgusting.
  Before I'd stumbled upon the deceiving thermos, I was floating in an ocean called Bad Mood, but I was able to hold onto a raft titled The Promise of Coffee. Unfortunately, said raft was yanked away from me by a brutal shark titled Liquid Nastiness.
I spend a solid three minutes just staring into my cup like it’s the most perplexing thing I’d ever seen. Why does this stuff always happen to me? Nothing ever goes right.
“Are you okay, honey?”
I glance up to see an old woman standing mere inches from me, looking at me with as much concern as I’d been showing this cup of tea. Her eyebrows were all the way up in her receding hairline, her eyes dripping with the kind of look you’d give a beat-up puppy. I open my mouth to answer, and then close it, feeling the heat of tears behind my eyes and a cry climbing up my burned throat.
“Y-yes,” I say, putting on my most genuine fake smile.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “Are you lost? Can I call your mom?”
She waves a cheap flip phone at me and I shake my head.
“No, I’m fine, really,” I say, smiling even wider. “Thanks anyway.” Then I turn and leave before she say anything else.
Coffee. Supposed to be always there, never disappoint. It’s broken it’s promise.

Oh my gosh, get over yourself, I think. I tell myself I’m being ridiculous and go off to find my mother. Why am I so dramatic?