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Bitter Coffee


Arch-Angel

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The bitter taste of the Starbucks coffee was hardly a concern. Normally, Chris would complain about how it tasted a bit processed and that he wasn't about to put in a fifth Splenda, but today wasn't one of those days. Today was the day Chris needed to rest himself, his mind, and his heart. It's been a while since he has had to make a decision he believed would mark the rest of his life. He chose to be answerable or accountable, reliable or dependable, and to be focused on one thing.

 

Responsibility.

 

For a person.

 

This person wasn't as any person, as he just agreed to be there for that person. Through thick and thin, and for as long as need be. As long as possible. It his Erica, his girlfriend, for Pete sake, but he felt, in some way, now tying the knot. No ring, no Bachelor's party, no wedding, no reception, no Honeymoon. Married. He felt married.

 

"Since when does it feel this bad?" He thought to himself, "Why am I not happy? Do I not love her?"

 

His coffee cup, cardboard, bony white with green, Mother Nature logo, was still in his right hand. His cell phone in the other. The most important phone call he might ever had, on the most typical day. It just hit him that the taste was sitting in his mouth, getting worse as it dried up as he left his jaw hang while in plaguing thought. He hasn't been responsible for anything in so long. He's gone to college, he got his degree in English, he worked his way into Grad School, but that was just passable to him. He could've decided to live his life extremely different. His parents had money, they were happily married, and it seemed that they haven't lived a hardship since Chris's Appendicitis scare when he was fifteen. And that was because it was a camping trip. Yes, he felt lucky to have survived, but he isn't traumatized by it anymore. It was a medical emergency in the middle of the woods, and it was treated. That's it. But this, this was something different. He repeated the words in his head, and he didn't like them. He didn't believe himself. It wasn't true to him.

 

"We're having a baby. You're going to be a father."

 

"How do tell someone that on the phone?" He said out loud, realizing he spoke too loudly. Some people looked up, then went back to their original preoccupation, believing it was just better to leave the lone coffee drinker to settle his own stress. It's the smart option: someone is in distress, so best not to get involved and let them handle it. It's their problem, they'll sort it out. Heck, they might become a stronger person. And when they have kids and grand-kids, that person can help them through that stress because life blessed them with the opportunity to learn from trial and tribulation.

 

"Kids?" Chris whispered in thought, "Grand-kids, even?"

 

The thought of it made his head spin like a dreidel. He wasn't going to let his kid do this in life. Not make the same mistake.

 

"Mistake! No! Not a mistake! He is not going to be a mistake!" He shouted in his thoughts, "He is a blessing! A wonderful surprise!"

 

He looked down at his coffee, still bitter, still warm. Then Chris realized that he just gave the baby a gender. He realized he subconsciously wanted a son. He thought of the baby as a boy, and not only just a boy: his boy. His son. He imagined a tiny newborn, so adorable and so at rest, with not a care in the world as he cradled the child in his arms. He wanted to protect that little one. His little one. He was going to grow up. Get his first baseball cap. Become a Yankees fan because he wanted to be different, and to tease his old man when the Sox lost a game to them. And they would play catch, and he would go to school. And he would study hard, and he would work hard, and he would be a great athlete, and would go to college. And Chris wanted to love him all the way. And even if he didn't do any of that, he would support him. If he got bad grades? Help him out. If he didn't know how to work? Teach him. If he wasn't good at sports and liked acting or singing or whatever? Help him become more then he imagined. If he was gay... well, even then, he was going to love that little boy that he once held in his arms. And at church, or at barbecues, or at parties, he would wrap his arm around the boy's shoulders, bring him up to his friends, and say, "Hey fellas, I want you to meet my boy."

 

He laughed to himself and thought, "I love the son I don't even know I'm having. Oh, my gosh."

 

He chuckled some more. The entire time he was sitting there for at least an hour. His butt felt numb, and he realized he was sick and tired of Starbucks' ###### chairs. Their natural glow and fake wood panels. Their funny way of saying sizes like Grande and Venti. Most of all, he was tired of buying the same burnt and bitter coffee and hating it, then coming back the next day to buy it again. It was a habit. It was ritual and he just realized it. Here he is, right now, sitting in a Starbucks, not doing anything. Now, he has to do something. He is going to drive to Erica's house and tell her that he was going to stay by her. Through thick and thin. He is going to tell her that he was going to take responsibility, and he was going start making changes in his life for this child. The boy he never met, but loved so much.

 

He got up from the uncomfortable chair. He grabbed his coat. He took his coffee and headed to the door. He dropped the half-empty coffee cup right into the trashcan and watched it fall like a rock. The lid opened up, and the brown liquid spread out and released itself from the cardboard prison. He stepped out of the cafe, and he took a breath of the crisp, fall air and felt the chill go up his spine, and underneath his skin, feeling every one of his hairs stand up with pride. He swallowed, and remembering the taste of the past, knowing it would be the last time he ever would.

 

His phone began to ring.

 

"Chris, I'm so sorry. I read the box wrong."

 

 

 

 

 

 

~AA

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I honestly can't tell if this is simply a story you have written or an account of something you just went through, but either way it was quite emotionally engaging, and is also exactly why I read this blog.

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Well then you, sir, are a very good story writer. As I said, it was both engaging and at the same time realistic and believable. Very good qualities to have.

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