Coffee

Back in high school during the winter time, my alarm was always set for 7:00am. I had 30 minutes to get ready. I had it down to a science, my routine. I had to leave, latest, by 7:35am if I wanted to have time to stop by Dunkin and pick up my medium vanilla latte before first period. I would brush my teeth, quickly wet my hair, slob some product on, put on my uniform, grab my bag, and run out the door. Somehow this always took me exactly 30 minutes, I factored in the 5 minutes in case of emergency. It was usually cooler in the mornings, the sun only just starting to cast over the plains of grass surrounding my house. It always sounded different too, everything seemed louder when it was cold. I could hear the faint horn of the train, the roar of the distant highway, and the soft coos of mourning doves, which I never could during the summer. I would turn on my recently played and place my pick up order to be ready in 10 minutes. I always ordered way ahead. Everything needed to be exact, the time I arrived to Dunkin, the parking spot that was always open right next to the entrance, the light staying green as I zipped out of the parking lot. However some days, the schedule was off. I couldn’t find my clean socks, the train had a few more carts than usual, Dunkin was running behind, and I would be late, but I would be late with my coffee in hand.

When my dad was still alive, he was more leisurely in the morning, often making me late to school because he needed his coffee. I would stand next to him, fully dressed with my backpack on, and would watch him make his cup. The bitter smell of the coffee would marry the sweet aroma of the vanilla creamer, the clinking of the stirring spoon would send chimes throughout the kitchen, the sun would glimmer across the marble countertops and make the swirling steam from the cup even more visible. It fully entranced me. Even if I was rolling my eyes at his ease and slowness because we were already running behind, the scents, sounds, and sights always calmed me, and reminded me of how still the early morning was. That no matter how slowly you stirred, things would eventually combine.

Though my routine has changed as I’ve grown up, it always includes my early morning cup of coffee. Out of all of the chaos, movement, and disorder my life brings, one thing that will always be there to make me slow down, even if for a second, is that first sip of coffee.