Flash Fiction: Coffee and Me

Coffee and Me

I never tire of the aroma of coffee brewing. Coffee and I were introduced to one another when I was in my late thirties. The first day of my first year in law school, I sat next to a woman about my age. We had drifted together toward a cluster of seated women. I held out my hand to her, “I am Susan, glad to see someone my age.”
She smiled and nodded. “I am Carolyn, me too for sure.” The other small percentage of women looked young and naive to us. As it turned out the majority were anything but naive. A circle of gay woman tried to engage us while the sexually active scoured the man pool. At the noon break, we walked out to the school gardens and seated ourselves on a bench. She offered me half of her sandwich and from a large thermos, she had stowed in her canvas lunch bag, she pulled out a stoneware mug. The smell was aromatic, the taste hot, steamy, bold and complex. It was a delicious black elixir. We split the drink that day. It quelled the day’s apprehension and took the chill off me. It felt like love at first scent.
“It’s Peets coffee freshly ground, signature, hand done, dark roasted blend. The shop is right here in Berkeley, a California treasure. Have you been there?”
I had of course only been to the shop but a few times. A Berkeley landmark that I knew as a Cal student which I could only have afforded around payday. And I rarely drank coffee. However, I had found two new friends, coffee and Carolyn. I decided I was worthy of Pete’s, and never let either of them go. The other younger students filtered back to the quad with their lunches and steaming coffees in signature cups from pricey shops off campus.
Late that afternoon I was called out of the class to the office where I had an emergency telephone call from my neighbor who was watching my children after school until I returned. She had called to tell me that my 13-year-old son was being retrieved from a manhole in the center of our cul-de-sac by the fire department and that he was safe. Evidently, our sons had been playing together in the manhole and when her son and the other boy climbed out; the two boys had put the cover on the manhole as a joke and could not get it off for my son to scramble out. She was in a mood and shrieked, “When will you be home?”
The next day at law school, I told my new friend what had happened and why I had left early the previous day. “Guess what,” she answered, I have kids too, I completely understand. How are we going to get through three years of this?”
“Together, I imagine.” I spoke. We both laughed and wondered if we would make the goals we had set for ourselves. That week she brought the roasted coffee and we ate lunch together and soon a few other women joined us and the men, all 126 of them took turns meeting the small enclave of woman as the days went by.
The two of us soon decided that each week one of us would prepare the thermos of coffee and we would share our lunches. We were both divorced, with children and lived on tight budgets, with some child support. I mostly lived on student loans and a work-study program where I was paid $4.50 an hour. Not much to pay the hefty tuition and provide for children. Gourmet coffee and eating out were luxuries we could not afford so we never indulged in the gourmet coffee shops around campus. I began to cherish my coffee breaks with Peets and Carolyn. She taught me how to make coffee at home in a French press so I could begin my day with my newfound love.
By the time I was working full time, my coffee was necessary, and our friendship deeply cemented.
Time moved forward and I eventually took a job in Miami where my coffee interests expanded, and I found myself at the walk up stands, which offered a variety of Cuban coffees. Café Cubano I loved has a distinctive molasses-sweet taste with caramel-coated foam. This being the result of the first drops of brew pounded with sugar into syrup creating the foam at the top of the cup, which the Cubans call espundio.
Cafecito, another type too strong for me, though it was only an ounce and a half I tried it but moved on. One of my favorites, the Cortdito was cut with steamed whole milk, which was delicious. But perfection for me was Café con leche, a Latin latte, of warm steamed milk with a shot of Cuban coffee clarito, or mediano for perfection, a pinch of salt and Voila!
My coffee experience in Miami captivated me like a foreign lover where I planned each stolen moment, so I could sit peacefully on the beach drinking my perfect blend. This opportunity created a joyous balance in my life with duty and pleasure becoming equally as important to me in a way that I have never been able to do. Now that my children had grown into young adults with my youngest graduating from college I was living the single life.

Too soon, my job transferred me to Washington DC where coffee was trending in all flavors and beans. Now I purchased my coffee beans from a Barista and seriously studied the ethics of coffee. I loved the smell as I ground my fresh beans every morning. Fair Trade USA was founded in 1998 and Trans Fair began certifying their trade coffee in 1999. Fair Trade coffee, direct trade and shade-grown coffee consciously evolved my coffee taste again. I bought only the dark roast still using my French Press, grinding my own beans, checking the economics of properly grown coffee. Coffee from Ethiopia, Guatemala, the Americas and other developing nations were carefully scrutinized for their business practices while the coffee itself was smooth and balanced, the freshest and the best. The Fair Trade movement started earlier in some other countries but in the US it seemed to move forward in geographical spurts. Today about 78% of American consumers trust the Fair Trade Certified label and 1 in 3 of US consumers are willing to pay more for the certification.
Coffee called to me again in trendy little shops. I discovered a new comer to the east coast called “Starbucks.” The product stole my coffee addicted heart. For years, I drank a tall latte with a double pump of vanilla and then branched out to more adventurous combinations; Sumatra, Dalgona Cafe, Touba, and Italian roast without the caramelized sugar. My job transferred me to Arizona, where I still loved my morning coffee. However the  climate led me to explore the iced coffee flavors of white chocolate Mocha and Americano. At the same time I started drinking Matcha green tea I ordered from Japan. Slowly, they began to sell pure matcha tea in the states. I now find it at Starbucks and the iced green tea Frappuccino, with or without whipping cream is a pure panacea. The Starbucks recipe is on YouTube and I practiced making it until I honed the recipe where I could make a flawless cup.
Nevertheless, as time goes by I indulge myself with a Starbucks gift card and drink my green tea whenever I choose. It is a luxury in comparison to the shared hot thermos coffee days with Carolyn in law school.
Yes, I still love my morning Joe, but amazingly I gave up my French press and ground beans and bought a Keurig one cup coffee maker. Now I use pre packaged pods of java and have it instantly brewed for one. The romance of coffee is gone, no grinding the beans, the steeping of the boiling water in the French press, the waiting for the press to allow the slow descent of pressed grounds is a ritual I miss. I feel a bit of sadness like the loss of shared rituals felt when leaving a cherished lover. I don’t buy Peets or Starbuck much any more as I have fallen in love with San Francisco Bay Coffee from the city I love. The pods are made from plant based commercially compostable mixture which allows the moisture, heat and oxygen to decompose and nourish the soil. This company believes what I believe. That social responsibility and a superior product go hand in hand. The company supports and works to enhance working conditions, invest in sustainable labor and partners with small farmers. This is done through Enveritas a non profit organization whose three pillars of sustainability are social, environmental and economic pillars that work to eradicate global poverty within the farming industry by 2030.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee jogs my memory log of the camaraderie of our study groups when I met coffee with Carolyn. Coffee hot and dark fueled my energy, increased my endurance and helped me focus on the varied aspects of my life that first year of law school. Coffee nourished me in my busy loneliness, when my children slept. My study breaks were filled with folding clothes fresh from the dryer and cooking meals ahead of time early into the dawn. Multitasking those nights were mostly spent reading case after case in preparation for the following days classes. My faithful companion, through those long nights was always a pot of bold, dark roasted coffee in a glazed terracotta mug.
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