Coffee Time

Wake up! Now! This is the worst part. No, no, going is the worst part. This is only the beginning of the worst part. And here we go. One, two, three – Up! In my head I am up. Really, I am, but my body is still in bed. So, what is more important – the mind or the body? My mind is submitting to the general concept of waking up - it is my body that is unwilling to cooperate. It is the fear of opening my eyes. Finally, I do it. I get up, but with my eyes opened just a little. I am able to discern shapes, obstacles, things to be avoided and things that I need.

Yet, my eyes are not opened enough, not nearly enough.

This is why, every morning I hit my toe on a broken door. The landlady says she will have it repaired, from the money I give her every month. I keep giving and she keeps promising, even though I do not ask. I just give, and never ask a thing. I am too tired to start a fight with her now. If she says she will have it fixed, then it’s probably true. I don’t need to doubt her - she IS the landlady, and it is MY money. She lives in the biggest and the only beautiful apartment in our little dilapidated building. I call her the Governess.

I continue to the bathroom, successfully avoiding all of the other possible mishaps that my apartment has to offer. It takes me more time with my eyes half-open, but I make it. If I had to open my eyes fully, then I would see all that has been damaged, and remove all things unnecessary, or, Heavens forbid, even build something new. It’s better this way. Less trouble, at least for me. More future work for the poor Governess though (when she manages to find time for fixing my apartment).

I stroll slowly towards the kitchen, and with the most meticulous of movements I make my coffee. I have always wondered why is this my favorite part of the day? I could have it later, on the street, at the office, or when I get back. Why now? Why this? I stir the surface of the cup. A tiny vortex forms, enhancing the scent. My nostrils spread wide to welcome the smell. I smile. But I am not ready to taste it, not yet. I need to be by the window. I need to see her. The one who’s name I do not know. She and I are always drinking coffee like this. She – standing at her balcony, and I – peering through the glass window across the street. We never speak, ever. But we drink our coffee together, like this, every morning, not saying a word, and it is the happiest I have been. She smiles. Our eyes lock long and hard, and then we look away. It’s hard when the mind is still waking up. Time to drink the coffee. She knows…I know that she knows. She knows that I know. The time stops like it does every morning. Black coffee magic – at least how I call it. The coffee is waking her body but her eyes are still struggling. She leaves. I always wait a minute longer than her. She doesn’t come back. She never does. Perhaps she doesn’t believe in black coffee magic like I do. In the silent promise that it gives that one day we will be able to see again. That I won’t leave her or the coffee cup, or this apartment, unless I want to. That the Governess will do good by me and my apartment.

And, just this once, I make another cup.