Coffee Brewing

(Story contains violence, mental health, vague mentions of abuse and swearing)

One may say the smell of coffee is soothing. For some it is associated with early mornings, the mixing of steam from your fresh brew and the white puffs of breath from the cold air. Others may recall the fondness of sipping from a stainless steel mug as they get caught up in morning traffic.

But as the bitter, harsh smell wafts through the air, no good memories come to Clarence's mind. There was no sense of peace or contentment, instead she felt strained, as if the smell was choking her. If she didn't know better, Clarence could have mistaken this for an allergic reaction with the way her throat tightened, eyes prickling with tears and her hands clenching so tight her knuckles began to ache. 

The steady drip of the coffee being pressed for its last bits of liquid made her heart beat against her chest like a wild hare, her eyes glued to the grooves in the old oak table. Her nails had dug into the surface, leaving crescent indents. If she dared to look, she could easily scan the tabletop and see exactly where her nails had tarnished her mothers precious table throughout her childhood.

The sound of the coffee machine began to slow until it went silent, its task completed. Clarence imagined the mug was withdrawn and her mother had added some sort of sugar and milk. Forgetting, or ignoring, the fact that Clarence was lactose intolerant.

A blue chipped mug was placed in front of her. It was so old and weathered that she almost couldn't recognize the cup that she had made for Mothers Day so long ago. She remembered exactly how it got that chip, the memory still haunted her in her sleep. The scar of that night hadn't faded, nor had the burn from every night that followed.

After a few moments of staring at the steaming liquid, she had managed to gather enough courage to look up to her mother. The woman smiled, her teeth crooked and tinted yellow. She didn't smile warmly, not as a mother should, it was a taunt. She preyed on her own daughter's anguish, knowing very well the damage she had inflicted all those years ago hadn't gone away. 

Clarence could practically hear her mocking thoughts going, Drink little girl. I am your mother, you don't have the gall to defy me.

Clarence clenched her jaw, staring at her with nothing but disgust. Never again would this woman see her pain, never again will Clarence cower. She would rather watch her mother starve than feed into her game.

This would be the last time she saw her mother and Clarence wanted nothing more than to leave the memory of their last encounter painful for her mother to recall.

So Clarence squared her shoulders, her voice devoid of emotion, "I don't drink coffee."

Her mothers grin dropped, her beady eyes trying to glare holes into her daughter's head, "Don't be disrespectful, child."

"I'm lactose intolerant." Clarence stated.

Her mother rolled her eyes as if Clarence was just a dramatic child. "Since when?"

Clarence felt her face grow hot. How could this woman claim to be her mother yet not remember a single thing about her?

"Since I was seven and I walked myself to the hospital in pain, thinking I was dying, only to be told I was having bad indigestion from mac and cheese." Clarence spat the words out at her. "I thought you would remember that since you were so angry that they dared call you to pick me up."

Her mother scoffed, "You children and your dramatics. Making up all these stories just to humiliate your mother. I fed you and kept a roof over your head and all I get in return is your attitude!"

"And the money I send you for rent every month, don't forget that. Without me you'd be homeless, maybe I should let you go broke. I'm keeping a roof over your head, so shouldn't you respect me?"

Her mothers face went red and she sputtered out obscenities. She called Clarence every cruel name imaginable, several slurs and only grew louder the closer in proximity they became. She got so close that her spit speckled Clarence's face and only then did Clarence retaliate.

In one swift movement Clarence took the mug from the tabletop and slammed it into her mothers temple. Her mother, despite her large frame, fell to her knees and held her head. When her fingertips pulled away, they were splotched with blood.

"How dare you!" Her mother hollered. "You ungrateful termite! I am your mother, you will-"

"You are fucking nothing!" Clarence rose, standing over the vile woman. Deja-vu writhed in her grasp as she watched her mother stare at her with something that resembled fear. The look of a helpless child. The same look that Clarence wore for far too long.

"You are no mother to me." Clarence said in a hushed tone, the chipped mug still clenched in her fist. "You are nothing to me and starting now you will not receive any help from me to continue your worthless life."

Her mothers mouth opened, then closed. The blood from her temple steadily fell down her cheek. The pain of it must have been the cause of her glossy eyes.

"Go on and cry, child." Clarence recited the words that had been repeated to her so many times. "No one will ever care to listen."

With that she dropped the mug, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders as it shattered on the ground.

She imagined her anger scattering just as the shards beneath her. Her sorrow spilt and began to dry just as the coffee on the tabletop.

Here is where I leave my resentment, She thought as she stepped over her mothers stunned body. To Clarence it was as if she was dead, bled out on the floor and nothing more than an empty corpse.

Here is where I leave my despair, She breathed as she opened the rickety door. The air felt fresh in her lungs, filling her chest with serenity.

She walked down each porch step, listened to each creak for the last time until she got behind the wheel of an old Chevy and drove away from her house of horrors for the last time.