Reflections over Heavenly Coffee

I am perched atop a low backed black plastic stool with skinny metal legs at the high Formica counter that is desperately trying to imitate marble and yet failing considerably to do so;  the wall of street level windows is directly in front of me and I glance at the individuals I presume to be students and professors scurrying along Mackay to and from their classes.  The cool air hitting the windows or an invisible ventilation duct is causing fleshy goosebumps to form on my pale exposed arms.  Meanwhile, the latte I am slowly sipping is competing with this passive aggressive cold front by gently and gradually warming up the inside of my belly while languidly spreading its heat throughout the rest of my body and into my extremities.  The tall paper cup I am lovingly holding in my left hand while my right is busy composing nonsense already feels lukewarm and yet it nevertheless also feels quite comforting against the sensitive skin of my palm.  The delicate raspberry flavor permeating my grandiose latte tickles and plays with my palate and tongue as I nurse this newly discovered gem, only setting it down when I check the time on my annoyingly silent cellphone.  Drinking this deliciously mild mixture of mocha goodness makes me regret all of the years I have spent not being intimately acquainted with this divine liquid we mortals call coffee.

The conversations unfurl around me and mix with the sound of milk being foamed, cups and saucers being clinked and clanked against one another, the lone cash register's buttons being pressed and it beeping loudly in protestation, loose change being dropped onto the counter instead of into the awaiting cashier's hand and the low and almost inaudible humming of a working dishwasher.  Snippets and bits of dialogues and discussions reach my ears, laughter shared over perhaps now tepid teas and coffees, exclamations over life's hilarity or someone's wit and the peculiar yet muted sound of a few dispersed laptop users either assuredly and fluidly typing away or hesitantly pecking at the threatening keys before them.  The various noises blend into one another to create a coffee house symphony with its own ebb and flow;  at times all of the instruments are playing at once so that there is a pleasant cacophony of sound while at other moments only certain ones take center-stage.  Leona Lewis' song "Better in Time" significantly and eerily begins to play, but I am barely able to focus on the words because images of three particular men are crowding into my tired brain;  I try in vain to reconnect with the distinctly separate and yet interconnected sounds, yet the thoughts and the feelings that are intertwined with them are too strong.

The disappearance of one of these men from my life has left me with a constant dull pain that never seems to go away because I miss his friendship and assuring presence so very much.  Perhaps more so recently since I have taken the teaching contract at Pius and I now have to wait every night at the same bus stop he would often come and pick me up at.  The recent absence of the other, although known and anticipated, has left me reeling in a way that I should have predicted and yet chose to ignore and his laughing eyes and irresistible smile are never far from my mind's eye.  In fact, while walking to the Sushi Shop on the other side so as to grab a small bite to eat, I am obliged to pass by the table where we had sat and shared more than just hot drinks - the memory of that kiss causes a bittersweet smile to form on my nostalgic lips as I attempt to smother and suffocate the volcano of passionate scenes that are threatening to erupt within the private viewing chambers of my mind.  The re-emergence in my surroundings of the last man I am musing over, despite or because of my best efforts to the contrary, has confused, befuddled and angered me;  puzzled because of how I still feel about him, yet frustrated because I should and do know better.

However, as I sit here and people-watch, imagining the diverse yet assuredly complicated relations and connections between the different groupings of individuals that stroll by, I gently but firmly push the invasive and intrusive images of the aforementioned male sort back into the recesses of my mind from where I know they will continue to lurk and from which they will inevitably crawl back out of.  The light brown and black splattered wannabe marble Formica surface comes back into focus;  I let the clatter and noise seep back into my consciousness while I take a second to smile inwardly at myself because I have just enjoyed the most savory and delicious coffee since I fell in love at Second Cup about three weeks ago ... that creamy and sweet maple syrup concoction that is worth every freakin' ingested calorie and most be sipped extremely slowly so as to draw out every millisecond of pleasure and taste ... YUMMY!!

I take a moment to concentrate on the essentials that I have a direct impact upon: I have slept, albeit not that well; I have eaten, only enough to satisfy my daily nutritional demand, but there is food in my tummy; and yes, I am still breathing.  The rest will come.  And, if it is anything like the short-lived glimpse I was given for a month of what it can feel and be like, then I a can wait patiently because I know it will be wonderful ... and it will trump even the glorious maple syrup ambrosia I absolutely adore.