CoffeeBeanShop

Mornings With Dad

by Gwen Morrison (bio at end of story)

The rich aroma coils its way up the back staircase and into Stacy's bedroom. She awakens to its glorious fragrance as her alarm sounds with a loud buzzing. Morning is breaking. At 6 a.m. the house is quiet-the only sound she hears it the crackle of the coffee-maker as it filters the last drops of water into the pot. Stacy smiles at the familiar sound. It comforts her. She shivers just a little as she pushes back the flannel sheet. So early in the day she knows the kitchen tile will be cold so she remembers to slip on her fuzzy pink slippers as she darts through the bedroom. She heads down the short hall to the stairs, taking two at a time as she hurries down them. She knows she has precious little time to spend so she doesn't hesitate for a second. This is her time with her dad-morning coffee with dad. As she reaches the bottom she stretches around the corner to flip on the kitchen light. She is overcome at once with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. It fills the air in the tiny kitchen. It awakens in her so many memories of so many mornings just like this. And others that were a little different. She pushes those aside for now, today is a new day.

Stacy hurries to get everything ready for their special time. Daddy will be up soon and she likes to have time to talk. At 15, she can easily reach the highest shelf where her dad's favourite cup is kept. Shoving aside the travel mug and the chipped floral tea cup she spots the one she is looking for. It is the biggest coffee mug on the shelf that proudly reads WORLD'S GREATEST DAD. Stacy bought that for him when she was 6. It has a few scratches but otherwise works just great. Every morning her dad drinks his black coffee out of this big mug. It fits his hands perfectly. Not too big,not too small. He usually drinks it kinda slow-savouring every drop. Coffee, hot and strong is daddy's "get up and go formula" he used to tell her. So she makes sure he gets plenty to get him going.

Stacy pours the coffee carefully as the cloud of steam rises to her face. It is warm on her cheeks. It smells soooo wonderful. She inhales it's scent once again , deeply, as if to carry it with her for later. Placing the cup on the tiny kitchen table she glances at the clock above the doorway. It reads 6:11- right on time. Stacy pours herself some dry cereal-suddenly starving. She knows her dad will only have coffee so she puts one spoon on the table.

"Good morning, Princess," comes a voice from the hall. Stacy smiles. She loves it when he calls her Princess. He started calling her that long before she can remember-so her mother told her. She truly wishes that she could recall every moment of those earlier years with her mom and dad-she keeps trying.

"Hi daddy. Sleep well?"

"Yes, I guess I did. I was so tired last night. This overtime is a killer. How was school?"

"Fine. I got a B+ on my Math test."

"That's terrific. So it sounds like your grades are picking up, huh?" He sips the hot coffee slowly, careful not to burn his tongue.

"Uh-huh. I guess," Stacy looks at her feet, not wanting to talk too much about her OTHER grades.

"I have to work another long one honey," her dad announces.

"Again? Wow, you must be getting worn out dad."

"Yeah, well its not so bad. What with all the medical bills-well you know...." his face dropped- a cloud of despair surfaced and he shrugged. "Anyway," he continued, "I know there's some pizza in the freezer-go ahead and put that in the microwave. It should take about a minute per slice if I remember correctly."

Stacy searches his face. He seems to be OK. It's be a hard year for him-for them.

"Ok dad, " she replies "but what are you going to eat when you get home?"

"I'll be home kinda late so don't worry about me. I will find something to munch on."

Stacy straightens in the chair, making herself taller than her 5 foot 3 frame.

"Fine then. I should have plenty to do. I will probably have lots of homework and reading. My favourite show is on at 8 o'clock-I'll watch that. I'll be fine, really," Stacy sighs. Sure... I'll be great... I'll be great when I get my family back.

Stacy looks across the table again at her dad. With the morning light shining on his face he looks old all of a sudden. He looks older and more sad. Can being sad a lot make you age faster? The once clean shaven face of her father is dotted with greying stubble. The uniform that at one time fit just perfectly, after her mom hemmed the bottom, now seems to be falling off his shoulders. In such a short time so much can change.

"Are you going bowling Saturday dad?" Stacy asks, trying to lighten his mood.

"I dunno....."

"It's been a long time since you went dad, I think Bob really wants you to go this time. He called yesterday to see if you were coming back to the team."

"Is he checking on the team, or is he just checkin' on me?!" her dad snapped.

Stacy stared at him, puzzled. When is he going to snap out of this?

"Dad, your friends care about you. They miss you. You know they still get together for coffee every Sunday morning?"

"They do?"

"Rain or shine, Bob tells me."

Stacy's father puts his face in his calloused hands and rubs his temples.

"It's almost time for me to get going Stacy,"he reminds her as he fills his cup halfway with the hot coffee.

"I love you dad," Stacy blurts out. Her face is feeling a little hot. "It's been hard for me too dad. I miss her too."

The room is silent for what seems like 10 minutes. Stacy watches as her father looks deep into his cup as though he is reading the contents inside. Closing his eyes he sips from the mug and leans back slowly in his chair. Still it is quiet. Stacy's elbows are planted firmly on the table, watching him-waiting for his response. He sits in silence, staring into his cup.

"I know you're right." he says finally. Stacy breathes loudly. "I just don't know how to BE anymore." He sounds so helpless to her, like he was her child instead of the other way around.

"When mom died I felt very alone but somehow I knew you felt even more alone. I've tried so hard to take care of you dad. I get up every day to make sure your special blend of coffee is ready for you when you wake up. I take the phone messages when you are not here-which is always. I clean up,make dinner and take care of myself but it's not enough is it dad? It won't change anything," Stacy quickly wipes away a tear. Her dad puts his head down on the table. Stacy rubs his back as he sobs for the first time since the drunk driver killed his wife 16 months before.

Morning breaks a new day. The birds are chirping a new song. All feels new. Changed somehow in that very moment over coffee at 6:29 a.m. in the morning.

"I love you Stacy," her dad tells her as he wipes his face on his sleeve. "We will get through this,wont we? I will try harder, I promise."

"You'll do it dad. I know you can do it. Some things will be different, and that's hard. I think about mom every day but I know she'd want us to go on - to take care of each other."

"How did you get so smart?" her father marvelled. He had been so blind-wasted so much time already. It was time to live again.

"You know not everything is different, dad."

"Sometimes it feels like it is I guess."

"Well, I 'm the same, dad. I'm here."

Stacy's dad hugs her tight. "Yes, you are and I'm sorry if I haven't been."

"Dad, we will always have our memories of our coffee mornings with mom, too. She would want us to enjoy our morning time together-same time tomorrow?"

"Sounds great," her dad sits up straight "Let's have some of those muffins you made with my third cup of coffee."

"But don't you have to get going to work now?"

"It'll wait." he says as he pours the still steaming brew into his cup, "It'll wait."

© Gwen Morrison. All Rights Reserved.

Honorable Mention - Mornings with Dad by Gwen Morrison

Gwen Morrison is a native Canadian who spent her early years growing up in London, Ontario, Canada. Having worked in the medical field for several years, she now writes full time. She currently resides near Atlanta, Georgia with her husband, four children and Sterling, the dog.

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