A Message Brewing

There is no word yet created to describe the kind of unexpected and sudden bewilderment that comes from a random notification from someone you have not spoken to in years. What do they want? Do you respond? Do you torture them or exercise grace? Thoughts flooded my head faster than my heart was surely beating. My head swam dizzy with uncertainty as I stared at this alien alert on my screen. How much time had passed I was unsure. Feeling that it was impossible to respond in this condition I put on some coffee. Good ol’ coffee. There for me coffee. Reliable coffee. As I watched the rich chocolate liquid drip into the pot, my mind drifted, milling the grains of coffee on my fingers. The aroma of coffee filling the room with memories piling in, tripping over themselves as if they were afraid they would be forgotten if I would remember them fast enough. My first taste of Coffee: Sitting in the brand new kitchen of a friend of my mother’s. She put mostly sugar and sugar in it thinking I wouldn’t enjoy the bitter taste of coffee. I was annoyed and didn’t like how cloyingly sweet it was. Which is odd because in later years that’s exactly how I would make it. The next memory to stumble in is being late for high school because my mother and I would stop for coffee and donuts and honestly I’m not sure which was sweeter: the donuts or the coffee. Slowly, the sweetness in my coffee dwindles and now my coffee is as black as my heart. By this time the coffee is done and pour it over ice. Watching the ice melt my mind wanders back to the message waiting for me in the other room.

“Hi. It’s been awhile.”

Yes. That is.. a … fact. Can’t argue with that. Not much else to say to that. You know what else coffee needs? Cake. The light on the fridge offers no illumination to the situation. I do what anyone would do: stare longer. The single pickle floating in brine only reminds me of a prop in a mad scientist lab so I give up for good and shut the door. For what reason I can’t bring myself to throw it away I don’t know but I’ll never eat it, it’s just too gross. Maybe I’m waiting for a guest to snatch it up.

Pacing the kitchen, coffee in hand, I still have no answer. Why now? After all this time? All the usual scenarios encroached into my brain space and I try to not give them time or space. I try to be gracious and a bigger person but the truth is I really have no desire to. The realization came almost too easily that it didn’t feel real. It couldn't be that easy could it? Those electronic colors and pixels on the screen are not my father and neither is the person on the other side of all those tubes of the internet. My father was my mother and in later years: myself. With a sigh of relief that feels more like wind getting knocked out of me I notice I’m holding my breath. I’m not really over this am I?

If I’m honest I did want this. Did. Past tense. And if he’s honest, and This is honest. If The Situation is honest. This isn’t really an honest move for reunion. It’s only another superficial play at Doing What You’re Supposed To. Nor will he have any follow through whatsoever. Or perhaps he was inebriated in some way. That’s the one. Sigh. So, what to do? Do nothing. Grieve as if he was already gone. Go for a run. Call Sam. Spiral. No, you’re already doing that. Breathe. Just Breathe. You can do this. I pour another cup and try to think of memories of my father. I haven’t thought of him in years. I didn’t intentionally write him out of my life and therefore: my memories. No, he did that himself. It’s not up to me now to fix that now. Whatever he wants to repair within himself or his life he is going to need to put forth more effort than a “Hey what’s up” style text. This I know for sure.

In this moment I am more proud of myself than I ever have been. The amount of mental work and emotional step work I have taken to get from there to here is extraordinary. Exemplary. I’m pacing again. Slow down. I pour myself another cup. I’m not even sure I’m tasting it anymore. Disappointing. Coffee is one of my favorite things. I try to bring myself back by focusing on what I’m drinking but I still can’t taste it. Coffee tells me that if I won’t be responding to the message I need to do something else with my time. Good ol’ coffee. She always has my back. Always there at every holiday you can think of, served in lobbies everywhere. Soothing, embracing, like an all encompassing hug. Such a simple recipe, a culinary black dress which can be doctored up to black tie affairs. I once had a coffee that was sprinkled with gold flakes. Completely outrageous. But that’s coffee for you. It can do anything. It has lasted the years and has shown it’s worth and resilience. I think I can relate. Or do I emulate? Taking on the attributes of those that have been there for me, or at the very least: been around me all these years. Cold, strong, dark, smooth, alert, at times: sweet. Yea, I think that describes me quite perfectly.

Heading back to my office I think again about the message. ‘It’s been awhile’ Could he not recall the last time he saw me either? As I try my actual best to come up with a reply, my mind grows tired from searching all the blank memory slots where he is not. “Yea, Dad. I haven’t seen you since…”

Nope. Nothing. I leave it on Read and pour myself another cup.