Just a Cup Of Coffee {In Progress}

(Ben Speaking)1

Ah-ha, Starbucks! Yes, the beloved Starbucks; home of a million decisions and insanely expensive coffee. There’s a man behind the counter sporting a plain green apron. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man wear an apron. Of course, unless he’s a professional chef or something. Yes, then men wear those stupid aprons. Me? I wouldn’t be caught dead in a hideous apron like the one that poor, poor , man is wearing. Like anyone else, I am aware that I have no control whatsoever over what clothes I’ll be wearing in my casket since my family will do whatever they please. I will be dead, after all, but boy if they put me in an apron like that; they are never going to be happy in the afterlife. I can tell you that for sure. I haven’t got a clue why I am rambling like this, maybe it’s because I have just discovered my hatred for cooking attire. Did I seriously just say that? Whoa, what is wrong with me today? Oh well, too late now....2

Where was I? Oh yes, Starbucks …It’s amazing how the line can move at any pace at all. It’s always packed in this tiny hangout. Over there is the CEO in a black suit carrying a briefcase in one hand, a plastic coffee cup in the other. By the pastries is a blonde woman, I’m guessing she’s a thirty-something. Twin boys grasp her hands. It looks like the mother is going to be driven to the point of insanity if the children don’t choose their order in the next second or two. No wonder she needed coffee. At a table in the back, a clique of teenagers talk about the latest news, whether it would be politics, entertainment, fashion, music, et cetera, et cetera, while texting on cell phones. Wait, they can do that simultaneously? Whoa, there’s a talent! 3

And have you seen the menu? How can a person ever decide on what to buy? Let’s see…a clueless tourist from a small town in the middle of nowhere would take hours to order. Okay, imagine they order just a cup of coffee. Yes, it would be incredibly stupid and apparent that they are a confused tourist who is not in any way familiar or associated with Starbucks, but let’s just say they did. Yes! One step closer to that delicious cup of coffee! But wait! There’s more! Would you like a light roast or a dark roast? Medium? Do you want original, vanilla, or hazelnut flavored? How about some chocolate, ma’am? Make it a nice yummy mocha! Doesn’t that sound good? Caf or Decaf, young lady? How about some sugar? Cream? We can even whip it for ya! Would you like it iced or hot? Okay, crushed ice or on the rocks? What’s the difference? Oh, there’s a huge difference! You see, blah, blah blah, blah, blah . Is that it for you today? Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try a cup of iced tea? Are you really sure? Alright, youngster, that’ll be five bucks. Five bucks?! Yes, Darlin’, you heard me! Here at Starbucks, we sure enjoy sucking every penny we can out of our customers! All of these questions just for some caffeine to wake you up. Now does it seem like the trip to this quaint espresso-lover’s paradise   was worth it? Do I hear a ‘no’? Gasp! 4

Like I said, Starbucks: Home of a million decisions and insanely expensive coffee… 5

Well, I go here anyways .6

(Alicia Speaking)
 
I’ve always lived in a small town. On Friday nights, there’d always be a football game or some other sporting event where people, women and men alike, would flock like pigeons. You always see these towns in the Hollywood stereotypes, you know? Only two hundred and fifty people reside in this unknown dot on the map. Two streets exist; one goes north and south, the other runs east and west. At the crossroads a single stoplight. There’s a town market along one of these streets; the only place you can do minimal shopping without having to drive another fifty miles to a place that actually has a Wal-Mart. Not that Wal-Mart is bad or anything. 7

The first shop is Darisha’s. She’s the finest florist in town. Well, the only florist in town. In her golden years, the gray hair she posses always seems to be in a tight bun. A smile always adorns her face. My dad does a lot of business with Darisha. A trip to the florist is the perfect fix when he forgets about an anniversary up until the very last minute. 8

Then we have the supermarket. Yes, the supermarket. The extremely small ‘supermarket’ that only sells seeds to plant and gardening supplies you need in order to plant the seeds. You see, most folks around here own and run a farm. They grow their own foods using dirt and water. Not a Mr. Lincoln on a piece of paper. Well, I guess the supermarket sells toys too. That’s quite a combination: seeds and toys, oh joy! 9

Of course, we have a clothing store. The best in town. Again, the only one in town. This is where everyone, and I mean everyone , gets new clothes for any occasion imaginable. Prom, Halloween, Graduation, a horribly styled party to bring back the eighties, or a contrition at church, (yes, we do make mistakes. Don’t try to deny it.)   Graham’s Clothing has got it all. Man, I sound like a living infomercial. That’s not a good thing, is it? Anyhow, if you ask me, which no one does so I’m not exactly sure why I am telling you this, but honestly, I’m not a huge fan of the clothing sold in my hometown. It’s like trying to find designer clothes at a low budget thrift store. Not that anyone cares. I mean, this town is so small and careless about what you wear; you could run around naked and get away with it. I’m not saying this town is filled with Madonna wannabes, but still …
               
Next up, there is the café and the hardware store. I only include these two in the same category because the owners of these two stores are brothers. Mike owns the restaurant Mike’s Diner while Luke owns the store called Luke’s Hardware . Such original names, I know. Those two are so creative! Mike’s a nice guy. I always come into his diner to get a cappuccino or whatever he has in supply and he always obliges even if I start pounding on his doors at three o’clock in the morning begging him to start a pot of coffee. Yeah, we’ve known each other for a long time. Luke on the other hand is grumpy. That’s all there is to it. He’s the town handyman though; we couldn’t live without him… literary . He’s also my best bud. He and I go back a long way, even right down to the same hospital. Oh yeah, there’s also a hospital in this pitiful civilization I’ve called home.10

I feel like I should also include Mrs. Jendi’s home in the tour too. She doesn’t sell anything, but she’s gossip central. Her big mouth circles the grapevine twice before any news makes the next day’s headlines. I still wonder what her sources are… 11

This small town life, I’ve figured out, is not for me. I know it sounds really cliché, but I’ve got my sights set on the lights of Hollywood. Who thinks I can make it?
……12

That’s what I thought.   I’ll prove them wrong. You’ll see. Wait, why would you need to see? Okay they’ll see. Just wait. I’m going to be someone.   13

(Ben Speaking) 14

Let me properly introduce myself. You already know I drink a large amount of coffee…other than that, you know absolutely nothing. Well, that, and the fact the fact I have horrible handwriting. Yes, I do think that talking about Starbucks five minutes straight is a horrible way to greet you, you fellow reader of a book of which I live in. Before I go off into another rant about how NOT to introduce myself, I feel like I should start. 15

My name is Ben Hasid. I am an ordinary man, no doubt. I’m not a superhero, Noble Prize winner, or a genius. I work at a medium sized T.V. station where I am a producer. Usually, a producer has an okay salary, just enough to survive on. However, I’ve been at the station for fifteen years, causing my pay to swell several more thousand dollars each month. I had started at the station as an intern when I was fourteen. 16

Usually, the job is boring. Organizing scripts and taking in news stories in an office all day is in no way exciting. I guess the only upside to my job is getting to yell at people. That’s always fun. My life is my job and my job is my life. I know there is more to do than just make money, but I work so damn much that I have very little free time. The only memory of vacation time I know of is when I requested a day off when I went to the hospital to visit my mother after she had fainted from exhaustion. I don’t really know why I even bothered to go comfort her. She just used all of the air in her lungs to yell at me for not getting her coffee (something the doctor had put on the ‘bad food list’; stuff she wasn’t supposed to consume). 17

“It’s just one cup of coffee,” I remember her assuring. “Just one cup of coffee.”    18

                                               Just one cup of coffee…
           
When I am not working, I hang out with my buddy Eric. He owns a local café called Two By Sea . The place is pretty popular since it’s located right on Main Street; the busiest street in town. It has absolutely nothing to do with seafood, but he was really into the whole Revolutionary War thing and it was named after some battle. Instead, it serves desserts. Desserts and coffee. His motto is ‘ If the food’s not good, it must need coffee! ’ I’m not sure if that is true, I’ve never bothered to find out. Yes, I tasted Eric’s coffee before and it’s okay. Not the greatest thing in the world, but okay . I much prefer something from Starbucks. Just…don’t tell him that. Not that you can anyways. 19

What’s up with my relationship with my mother, you ask? I can never really tell. I think it’s because I am not married yet. Maybe she considers the fact shameful since I am twenty-nine and still single. Why is it that men have to be married right away while women can just lollygag and be single into their thirties? I thought that the whole ‘player’ image was a bad thing. Am I wrong? Maybe it’s because I have four siblings who are all younger than me and they are all married well, some with young kids. Maybe my mother wants some more grandkids. I’ll never know. I just know than when she asks for one, I better get her a damn cup of coffee. 20

(Alicia Speaking)21

I’m Alicia, by the way. I guess you could say I’m a drifter. Because of my yearning to escape the jailhouse other folks call home, my heart has been searching for something, anything that would set me free. Free to be away from the neighborhood that exists in the ghost town of Tennessee. This is why I am on a bus right now, heading to some unheard of city in New York.
Some other things about me? Well, I’m the artistic type. No. not the art of sculptures or paintings, or anything like that. Instead, I create music, drama (although I am aware there is already plenty of that in the world), and literature. No, I do not hold a paintbrush or a chisel when inspiration strikes me, but rather, a pen. You can be amazed by the crazy ideas that pop into your head at midnight. Some are genius, others are stupid, and then there are the ones that don’t really belong on paper but are there anyway. A prime example? This story that a confused and lost teenager is writing at this very moment. Okay, let’s get back on track. Where’s the track again?22

Oh, right…I know, I know. It’s another overexposed cliché for an artist to travel to New York. Call old fashioned, traditional, over the hill, whatever the hell the saying is. On second thought, don’t call me any of those titles. I’m only twenty-eight here people! Yeah, another thing…I attended Tennessee State University. It’s about three hours away from my home. Going to that school wasn’t a very good choice with gas prices skyrocketing and my parents begging for a visit. Not that I fulfill their wants anyway. I mean, can you blame me? Who wants to spend a whole summer out in the middle of nowhere? Not me , that’s for sure.23

This is why I am resented by my family. (Yet, they still   have the nerve to love me. What gives?!) My holidays were always filled with study sessions and shifts as a cafeteria cook. Rarely did I fill up my holiday vacations with family reunions.   Double majoring in Literature and Dramatic Arts really takes a toll on your schedule. In my free time that I pretended I didn’t have for the sake of my family relationships, I participated in campus activities. I’ve found that singing in choral groups, writing for the literary magazine, and hanging around the guys at the radio station, is a great way to meet people. I felt sad to leave all of those great guys behind, but I guess my tolerance for absolute boredom is extremely low. A week after I graduated, the voice living inside my head begged for change…or maybe it was just me.24

Either way, the story I have written has led me to this moment, this moment of sitting next to a homeless man whose snoring is relentless and smell is the odor of a corpse. His head rests against the window as the lips on his face are parted enough to see the pink tongue within. Not a very good sight, if you ask me. Why am I even paying attention to these things?!     It makes me sad, really, to see such a troubled man. Tattered clothes are all he owns and the only thing I’ve seen him pull out of that green overnight bag he carries is a billfold. In it, are pictures of his family. 25

The first one is of a young girl. She had hazel eyes and chestnut curls. There was a smile on her face, although it was clear that something bothered her. You could see it in her eyes.
  
“It was the first Christmas without her mother,” I heard him mumble softly. “I had finally gotten her that Barbie doll she’d been wanting. But after the funeral, all she’d ever wanted was the lilacs to place on Margret’s grave.” 26

I had made the mistake of asking what had happened to the mother. Apparently, he had lost Margret in a drunken driving incident in 2002 and his daughter Shelia, a year later due to a brain tumor. “Ever since the death of my family, I have been searching for lilacs. Both Margret and Shelia loved lilacs and every time I see one growing in a garden, the memories take me back to the time of happiness, and I embrace it with everything I have. My greatest fear is that I’ll forget them. I’m starting to forget them. If all of the memories fade, the purpose of my life will deteriorate with them. I never want that to happen.” All I could do was stare at the glassy appearance in his pupils. 27

(Ben Speaking)28

It’s another silent day in the suburbs of New York. The newspaper lies spread out on the kitchen table as I wait impatiently by the microwave. How long does it take to heat up a stinkin’ cup of coffee?! A little over reactive, you think. Yeah, maybe so. Maybe the years of loneliness have taken their toll. Maybe, my mother’s womanly intuition had been right after all. Maybe, I need to find a woman. Maybe, just maybe , insanity is invading my brain. I’m agreeing with my mother for heaven’s sake! What has the world come to?! Still a little melodramatic? Sorry . 29

Channel 23 news flashes across the screen of the television in my living room. It’s the best news station around here, and I’m not saying that because I work there. Okay, I’m a little biased. And I’m probably lying because New York is the largest T.V. market in America. There are probably hundreds of other news stations in the state. So what?30

Today, the headline is directed to at a man who dedicates his time to helping the poverty-stricken. I’ve seen him around town a couple of times. Gregg   Johnson, that’s who he is. A family man with three children. Sometimes his daughter joins him at the mission during the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. She’s a cute little thing, a tooth missing from her pearly white grin. 31

Relating to the news story, is the death of a homeless man. No one really knew who he was, but the last place he was spotted at was on a Greyhound bus. The coroner believed he died from a lack of food and water. That poor man. It must be awful living your life knowing that there is no one to come home to at night or anyone to lean on during hard times. And then to die, not only to live , but die , as a nobody. That’s just a shame. 32

Who am I to talk? I live day in and day out with nothing to do but stare at scripts with a pen in my hand, editing dialogue that travels back and forth between news anchors. It’s not like I’ve done anything earth-shattering. I’ve never had my name in lights or printed on a gold trophy. Like I’ve said earlier I’m just an ordinary man; and a lousy one at that. 33

Would people look at me differently if I dressed as Santa and entered a daycare with a big ole red bag slung over my shoulder? Will children with toothless grins greet me offering gratitude? Would charities kneel at my feet if I donated my spare dollars to AIDS research? Will the men and woman in the hospitals thank me for my efforts as they suffer from potentially fatal illnesses? |34

If I could bring a single smile to a woman, man, or a disabled child, maybe, I could make something of my life. Maybe, the empty voids of my soul would be filled with a sense of accomplishment. Maybe, I would, for once in my life, I would fulfill my mother’s expectations. But then again, that last task is a hard one to complete. But maybe , I could. It may be time to find out. Beep! Beep! Maybe, it’s time to get my coffee cup out of the microwave. Correction , it is time to get it from the microwave. 35

And maybe, maybe …36

I’m just too lazy, too ignorant , to make a difference in the world. 37