Blue Cup Espresso
Cold sunny Thursday, I drag my depressed ass in to Steady Eddy's all bundled up in my worn black leather coat, black LA cap, black and blue scarf Audrey made for me, my raggedy bag and backpack slung over my shoulder. I want to be alone and do some work. The ritual of it comforts me, climbing the painted concrete steps to the little cafe, plopping down at the table of my choice. Chris and Lisa would welcome me but leave me alone. We're known to each other, a lovely thing.
"Double espresso," I say.
"And a sprinkle of cinnamon?"
"Yeah, and lemon peel. And...could I have it in that blue cup?"
There's only one like it up there -- it's my favorite.
I tear off the corner of a Splenda, stir it in, and take my first sip: the bracing sweet and bitter taste of it perfectly curling my tongue. One simple cup on a shiny table, silver spoon, somebody who says, "everything okay?" Out of the cold, alone but not lonely, on a wintry morning before stepping back into the fray.
A miracle: Exactly what I want.
The soft or shrill voice within us
7 years ago