I can’t remember where and when I had my first cup of coffee. I couldn’t have been younger than twelve or thirteen – there’s no way my parents would have generously allowed their pre-adolescent child to dose a hefty jolt of caffeine to my system. They might have me institutionalized if that unfortunate instance should have happened and I was bouncing off the walls, spitting out random thoughts and sentences at a million miles an hour, all while spontaneously shouting “Whee!” whenever the exuberance struck me. It goes without saying that was a big reason why Coke was banned from our house.
So where was my first cup of joe? Was it a cappuccino in the fluorescent-lit staple of New York City – the pizza cafeterias which roamed the streets, lingering every couple of blocks for one to duck inside and reheat when the cold had stung the face for too long? Was it in the bohemian coffee shop on Main Street, across the from the small farmer’s market my dad and I frequented every Saturday morning to select our tomatoes and squash for the week?
I may never recollect that initial moment when I savored the roasted, bitter flavor which coats my tongue as it slips down the throat and drips an IV of exhilaration into my bloodstream. When the alarm screams for me to wake up before the sun has even risen, my body groans and curses the monotonous routines of adult life; but fifteen minutes later, after a few warm sips of morning coffee, the fog begins to clear and soon I have forgotten the resentment of responsibility which I must face five days a week, even as my stubborn mind wishes it could rebel and drive against the grain.
There is no greater joy than the first sip of coffee. It greets my like an old European friend kissing me on the lips. Its warm mocha touch revitalizes the spirit, and I feel the task of putting myself together again will not be as arduous as I’d thought. Not while my favorite mug is my morning companion, faithful and loyal, never saying a word so that I can have the time to find and process them on my own, as I’d prefer to do. The jumble in my head is too cloudy for another to interject his thoughts and questions so early in the day. But coffee is patient, that gentle parent who helps you on your way. I am its obedient child, willing to accept the motivation it will wash over me within a few moments’ time.
– Written by Miss A on June 15, 2012