Tuesday Morning Coffee

Tuesday Morning Coffee

          Gazing out the window of the kitchen, deep shades of green from the woods extend as far as the eye could see.  In a genuflection to the earth, the soft downy boughs of firs bend deeply with the weight of rain.  Tiny bright yellow-bellied birds flitted here and there, in an attempt to dodge the raindrops and make it to the shelter of one of bird feeders.  Spotted chipmunks scampered quickly from the wood rack to the base of the bird feeders filling their already bulging jowls to near explosion.  They carried their hidden hoard of acorns and seeds to the tiny burrows that line the edge of the woods.  The bitter wet wind whipped leaves of orange and red angrily over the lush green lawn and cold black asphalt driveway.

         Her delicate hand gripped the pot of freshly brewed coffee as she filled the large mug before her.  A splash of vanilla caramel crème caused the dark aromatic liquid to swirl like a cyclone into a muddy hue.  Lifting the mug, her lips formed a perfect “O” as she blew softly to cool the steaming liquid.  The radiating heat of the coffee mug offering her cold hands a meager source of warmth. The mellow taste of the Kona bean kissed with the sweetness of vanilla and caramel brought a smile to her lips as she sipped. 

         Deep blue orbs shimmered softly through dark lashes as she thought about the up-coming weekend.  Even though it was only for the holiday weekend, the long flight to California would be well worth it when compared to the respite gained from being out of the office and away from the imminent decisions that will have to be made upon returning.  Her gaze once again was drawn to the window.  The bright colored pansies lacing the window planters stood in stark contrast to the little gray shed with its black shuttered windows.  On this cold raw morning the flowers were a spot of brightness on an otherwise dreary day.  With a sigh of resignation she made her way from the kitchen, down the stairs, to the office. Her footsteps echoed through the empty house.

         Clutching the mug of coffee in her left hand, her right arm was filled with her composition book and yesterdays mail.  With practiced ease, she balanced the load carefully and opened the door to the office.  Stepping inside she flicked on the lights, her body shivered slightly, as the cool dampness seemed to wrap itself around her.  Without a second thought, she juggled the load she carried and with her left hand reached to the small switch of the copier.  With the flick of her fingertip the soft hum of the machine warming up serenaded the empty reception area.  Long legs carried her to the file cabinets; four of them, stacked side by side like tin soldiers in a fairy tale.  Rising up on tiptoe, she glanced at the answering machine.  The flashing red zero indicating there were no calls that needed to be returned. 

         With only one appointment scheduled for the morning, it was her sincere hope to complete her composition assignment due Wednesday night.  Just a few payrolls to complete and she would be well on her way to addressing her homework.  The daily routine in full swing, she opened the blinds and cracked the windows slightly, unlocked the door and placed the “OPEN” sign on the hook.  In stocking feet, she crossed the icy tiled floor of the waiting area her skin dimpling with goose flesh as the coldness seeped into her feet.  Today would be a warm wool slipper day. 

         Her body shivered as the chill gripped her in its unforgiving clutch.  Her left hand snaked out and flicked on the light in her office.  Always cognizant of the comfort level of clients, the rich-soothing robin egg blue of the walls was easy on the eyes.  The deep blue carpeting offered a corresponding oceanic calm.  She carefully set her mug of coffee on the edge of her desk.  Taking a seat in her large leather chair, she opened the small drawer of her desk and fished through the contents until she found the box of matches.  Sliding open the box, she plucked one match from its bed and slid the box shut.  Reaching over she took a pair of scissors from her pencil jar and trimmed the wick of the patchouli candle sitting on her desk, even unlit, the spicy musk teased her nose pleasingly.  Taking the match in one hand and the box in the other, she struck the match.  A pungent smell of sulfur filled her nostrils as the match sparked a quick flame.  Match to wick, the flame of the candle danced with the subtle movement of air in the room.  With a flick of her wrist the flame of the match was extinguished, a wispy tendril of smoke twirling cyclically around her fingertips. 

         Reaching beneath the desk, her warm fingertip pressed firmly against the cool metal “power” button of her computer.  Once again the hum of a machine broke the deafening silence.  The computer with its grrrs, whirrrs, beeps and bleeps sprang to life.  Lifting her gaze from the monitor, a smile slipped across her soft lips.  The Cirque Du Soleil La Nouba poster hung so lovingly to the right of her desk and just above the monitor, always bringing the same smile.

         As she arranged the papers on her desk, the phone rang unexpectedly. Ringing twice, screaming for attention, before she lifted the receiver from its cradle.  Leaning back in her chair, the leather enfolded her as she listened to the client go on and on about their (perceived) emergency.  Swiveling to the right and then to the left, she patiently waited to get a word in edge-wise.  She glanced up and saw her landscape poster of a storm in the Grand Canyon.  As she listened, her gaze traveled along the hand-painted faux marble wall.  The shelf her father had made long ago, in the likeness of a fishing boat, draped casually with a fish net purchased at a souvenir shop down on the Cape last fall, was in need of dusting.  Having listened to the harpy-like voice long enough and with calm reassurance, she ended the telephone call with a promise to take a look at the documents causing concern.

         The harsh rap at the door brought a smile to her face.  He let himself in, as he always did.  His face was weathered and somewhat wrinkled from too many hot summer days on a scorching rooftop.  His large hands callused severely from the same scorching abuse.  Although hidden beneath a loose button-up shirt, his chest is lean and fit.  He smelled like fresh rain.  His hair quite damp framed his leathery face.  From all accounts, to see him from a distance, one would think him much older than his 42 years.  Looking into his eyes, one sees a young man searching for happiness.  The hope within those gray-green eyes and the genuine kindness spilling forth like a waterfall of compassion could drown the soul with the desire to help.  His large weathered hand gently gripped his usual gift.  The clean white cup with the mauve insignia of "DD's" looked miniscule and provided a stark contrast to his dark leathery sun-scorched hand.  With a smile that lit his whole face, he offered his gift. From those deep soulful gray-green eyes, to his heavily freckled sun scorched cheeks, to his heart shaped lips cracked from the same abusive sun that bleached his fiery red mane to strawberry blonde, his smile was honest and sincere.  She reached out her hand, taking the gift offered, turning her cheek towards him she felt the heat of a crimson blush creep up over her own high cheekbones as she waited for him to take his “boon.”  Leaning forward his sun-parched lips brushed softly against her cheek, the leathery feel far from repugnant.  His chase peck is like the softest brush of refreshing breeze on a hot sultry summer night.  Having taken his “boon,” he leaned back, a satisfied smile upon his lips.

“How are you my friend?” he asked. 

“I am well, my friend," she replied, "now that I have my Tuesday morning coffee.”