Colors of Copenhagen

Nick had to make several attempts to make his writing straight, “Try our new Chock-A-Mocha, Cinnamore-Latte or …” He was left-handed, and every time he started a new letter, it wanted to take a step down the ladder. He could not lean his hand on the board and thus endanger the letter before. He was not sure who would make this shift with him, so he wanted it to be perfect.

In came a lady in her late thirties, her black heels clicking on the floor. She was talking on the phone in a low voice. Nick imagined her to be a dedicated career pursuer that probably had not spent a day of her life outside the Danish capital.

“Skinny Latte,” she said, only paying attention for one second.

“Alrighty,” Nick said with a big smile and was ignored. He tucked the smile away and turned around, rinsed the portafilter, dried it, and ground coffee into it.

One little joy was the scent, streaming into his nose, evoking a welcome memory of the kitchen, mommy pouring a cup, and pushing it across the kitchen table for him, not with skimmed milk, but with real whole milk. In his memory, the rain would always be pouring outside. It would be the feeling of dry clothes after having been soaking wet. His hands would probably be sore after hammering fence posts into the mushy ground.

Pressure on the coffee with the tamper to get it just the right firmness, and Klink, leftover coffee dust fell to the ground.

Turn it into the group head, and a soft jab on the button. Espresso slowly started pouring out the spouts.

Flush the milk pitcher and…

“Hi,” someone said behind him.

A drop from the wet pitcher hit the floor; Nick’s hand was frozen halfway to the table. The pitcher hung helplessly in his loose grip as he turned.

“Hi Nellie,” he answered.

Her coffee shop smile was soft, and her hair was captured and tightly hugged by a hairband in the back.

“How are y…” Nick began, but his simple question was left to hang unanswered.

“What can I do for you?” Nellie asked a man behind the career lady.

Nick sank to his knees and got out a jug of milk. The shot should be used within 30 seconds, and the milk wasn’t even steamed yet.

“Chock-A-Mocha, Cinnamore-Latte, or…” Nellie read out loud.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t make it to finish the sign,” Nick answered, and then with a scratch of the forehead, he asked, “Can you maybe do it?”

“I guess,” she answered and picked up the chalk. She wiped Nick’s writing away and started writing with her right hand.

“Okay, anything else before I’m out of here?” Nick asked and backed towards the changing room.

“Could you take a quick look at the trash cans first?”

Nick nodded, and with a roll of garbage bags, he went on his last task of the day. As he came closer to the first, the plastic mugs were spilling out. It was too full, meaning it would undoubtedly fall all over when he opened it. Why had he not checked it earlier in the day?

Plastic cups fell on the ground and spilled sticky syrupy leftovers onto the floor. He picked each one up and carried the bag with him to the containers out in the back.

When he returned, someone had thrown a sticky cup into the trash without the plastic bag in. The liquid had made a mess in there. Nick went to get a cloth to clean it. Afterward, he quickly put the plastic bag in and closed it.

Only four left.

The outside trash can had a sickening smell of cigarettes and dog poop.

Finally, the next one was less full and quickly emptied.

Nick swung the last bags into the container one at a time. One got stuck on the rusty old container and ripped. Garbage sprayed into the container and outside.

Nick covered his eyes, and tears welled up. What was he even doing? He kicked the rotten leaves and slammed the container shot.

A buzzing took him out of his fit and drew his attention to the phone in his pocket. He pulled on it just to look who called.

“Veronica,” he muttered and let the phone sink back into his pocket. The buzzing suddenly seemed soothing, and the stray trash was quickly picked up.

When Nick was done with the garbage, he put the rest of the plastic bags back and said, “See you, Nellie.” At the same moment as she turned on the steamer. She didn’t hear him, but it generally did not seem to matter to her, whether he lived or died.

Nick was free until tomorrow. He went into the changing room and took off the corporation T-shirt. He put on a sweater that his grandmother had knitted years ago. He had been using it as a jacket since he had found a hole in the winter jacket from last year.

He punched the door open and held his breath until he was well past the containers. Then he took a deep breath and tried to smile at the grey clouds. Butterflies were fluttering in his stomach, and he got out his phone. It had been six months; he had not talked with Veronica since his going away party back home in the north. Frankly, he had been clueless about what to say to her.

They had snuck away and sat on stacked bales of straw and looked at the stars. It had been spring, and the opportunities seemed endless to him. She had told him that she was sad that he was leaving. He took her hand, and they didn’t dare to say anything more, just looked at the stars.

“Hi, it’s Nick.”

“Hi, Nick!”

“What’s up?” Nick asked and tried to sound normal.

“Are you coming home for Christmas?”

“I want to, but I’ll have to see with the shifts,” Nick answered. He did not really want to be in Copenhagen during Christmastime.

“How are you, Veronica?”

“I’m fine, just normal. How about you? Your work? New friends? Copenhagen, are you going out a lot? Looking at art and such?” she said and almost lost her breath.

“Honestly, I never thought I should be this fed up with pouring coffee,” Nick answered.

Veronica laughed wholeheartedly.

Nick was encouraged, “You know, it’s such an old cliché, but I haven’t found what I was looking for.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Veronica asked, her northern dialect barely allowed the words out of her mouth.

Nick did not remember when the last time was that someone asked him something and actually waited to hear his answer.

“I thought that it would be colorful in a big city, but even the leaves just fall and rot,” he answered and kicked at the wet leaves that were smeared onto the sidewalk.

“Surprising,” she answered.

Nick wondered when it would be possible for him to hop on a train that could take him away from this roaring city on this strange island.

“Not really,” Nick said and shook his head, “It seems I failed.”

“Failed? No, you tried. It’s the place you were looking in that failed,” Veronica offered.

“Touché,” Nick said, he was smiling like he used to. It had started raining again, but it did not bother Nick. “Veronica, I don’t think I can wait till Christmas.”

“What’s that?” Veronica asked.

“I’m also sad that I left.”