CoffeeBeanShop

Seize The Day

by Jennifer Savage (bio at end of story)

Get up the sudden blast of music from the alarm clock tells me, but darkness still rules the outside so I slap my alarm clock into submission—thank God for snooze buttons—curl up against the warmth of my husband, and fall right back asleep. Mmmm. I love my husband.

Three snoozes later I am cursing the fool who invented those damn buttons and myself for keeping the clock within arm's reach of bed. I rise, slightly less gracefully than the dead. My contacts have dried out overnight, and are now sticking to my eyeballs, which means I can't keep my eyes open without having to close them again immediately. Bumping my hip on the nightstand, tripping over the stacks of too-tired-to-deal-with-this laundry I flung on the floor last night, catching my elbow on the door jamb, I finally make it to the hallway and begin shuffling my way to the kitchen.

Coffee my body screams.

Yes. Now, my mind agrees.

No wait, pee first, my body says apologetically. Obediently I turn away from the kitchen and grope my way down the wall to the bathroom. Once there, I pee, of course; that was, after all, the point. I do not turn on the light. I do thank the goddess of necessities for the toilet paper roll, resting on the back of the toilet because someone used it up and didn’t replace the roll on the holder. I find the saline solution and pour drops into my eyeballs until the false tears moisten my eyes enough so that I can hold my eyes open without pain. Bladder emptied, eyes wet; I may survive another morning. I clasp my hands, stretch my arms overhead, and twist out a few of the kinks in my back.

What about the coffee? my body entreats, sending the first twinges of headache through my skull. I quickly exit the bathroom, stride down the hallway, whip around the corner into the kitchen, and flip on the first light of the day. Ugh. Too damn bright. The outburst of energy plus the glare of a hundred-watt light bulb sends my body back into cringe mode. Maybe my previous optimism regarding survival was premature. Must have coffee.

Grinder. Beans. Filter. Pot. Tools assembled, I begin the ritual. First I unroll and unfold the bag containing the precious beans. Dark Sumatra. Then I plunge my face as far into the bag as it will fit and inhale the thick, heavy, heady bliss of good coffee. Heaven must smell like this. The only reason I at last lift my face from the bag is because I want to actually make the coffee.

I pour the beans into the grinder. Some people just give the grinder a cursory whiz and consider their coffee ground. Not me. I like to shake the grinder, lift it into the air, hold it, sideways, make figure eights like it's a rocket ship out of control. Then, and only then, when the beans have become transformed into a fine powder, do I acknowledge it as properly ground. I place the filter carefully into the holder.

In an ideal world, I'd be using a French press, but mine was broken by the errant hand of my son, and financial circumstances are such that I cannot replace it. I humbly apologize to the appropriate god and beg understanding. I tuck the holder in, turn the pot on, and pull the milk out of the fridge. I rest my elbows on the counter waiting for the drips. Several minutes later I'm daydreaming about fixing my ’69 VW Bus currently resting on the side of the house when I realize that no coffee has issued forth.

Damn. Confusion muddles me. My forebrain throbs. I stare stupidly at the pot. The little light is on. Then I realize—duh—I forgot the water. So, I measure two coffee mugs worth of filtered water and pour it into the maker. Half-a-minute later coffee drips start to fill the pot.

I choose my second-favorite coffee mug in anticipation. It has a toucan on it. My favorite mug was critically injured in a terrible dishwashing accident and, although reglued, is not suitable for hot liquids anymore. I keep pens and pencils in it instead.

The coffee maker completes its job. I pour, pleased with the thickness, the color richer than melted chocolate. Enough milk to make it mud-puddle brown. Then, hands cupped around the mug in both gratitude and supplication, I drink. Oh, what pleasure could equal this taste, this warmth down my throat? With every sip the coffee eases my head, straightens my spine. I love the way the coffee mug fits into the curve between my forefinger and thumb, the way it warms that delicate part of my hand. I take it in slowly, roll the mug across my cheek between drinks. For once, I am able to live in the moment. Coffee Diem.

Good morning.

© Jennifer Savage. All Rights Reserved.

Finalist - Seize The Day by Jennifer Savage

Jennifer Savage resides between the redwoods and the Pacific, where the fog ensures always perfect coffee weather. Her essay, "Learning to Surf" was published in the anthology, Breeder: Voice of A New Generation of Mothers. In addition to working on her prose, she hosts Hip Mama Magazine's creative writing site, Mamaphonic (www.mamaphonic.com - this link will open a new window), volunteers at her local community radio stations, and cooks a great eggplant scallopini. Currently, the coffee most likely to be in her shopping basket is Organic Costa Rican XXX Dark Roast.

Editor's Note: "Seize" was chosen for the first round for the following reasons: Intriguing title, which brought the story full circle, interesting inner dialogue, pleasant, soft read. This is a twist on the theme which kept us coming back to the story. Jennifer's character thinks in an authentic female voice, and we were hooked by that, also. Honest, excellent writing, correct punctuation, no spelling errors. It was the ending that stole the show, however. Very clever.

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