General Fiction posted November 6, 2019

This work has reached the exceptional level
Nothing up my sleeve

Coffee Magic

by bar621

Coffee Magic
The alarm went off at 6 am waking me out of a fitful slumber. I slowly got out of my bed, making my way to the bathroom where I splashed ice cold water on my face, a ritualistic method I engaged in to bring me into the reality of the moment. Today difficult for my body to accept the reality that awaited me. I was jonesing for my morning mug of Joe, that delicious hot beverage, the mandatory cup of mud. The day just did not get underway until I had consumed at minimum two cups of that heavenly liquid, that bean juice, rocket fuel, the Sweet Nectar of Life! AND I was out of my organically grown & roasted, sold through Fair-Trade Network. “ OY VEY, what to do?

The only answer was obvious, but at the same time the answer, staring me in the face was so intimidating that I stood in the kitchen being incapable of any movement. The closest retail establishment where my life’s blood existed was a couple miles north. My mind raced to come up with an alternative to what was the best and obvious solution. I stood helpless, practically on the verge of tears. Finally, the rational, non-impulsive, well-balanced part of my mind made a decision. A two-mile walk would not be the worst thing I could be doing, as a matter of +fact, I hear tell that walking on a regular basis can be good for you.
Got my truckin shoes on, my Levi jacket, and a suitable topper my mocha colored fedora. But wait, something is missing. I stopped by my full-length mirror and there it was! I almost left the house without my shades. Now I was ready to brave the elements. I rarely if ever left the safety of my abode without first having my morning magic. Today was a different day, however, so I took a deep breath and ventured forwards.
About halfway to my intended destination, I came upon this man sitting in the doorway of a business that obviously wasn’t open for the day. He looked to me as if he were homeless. I asked him if that was, in fact, the case, to which he responded, “Yeah I guess I am, I got all my worldly possessions in this bag, and I’ve been sleeping in this doorway for the last two nights, so I guess you could classify me as homeless.” He then offers me a smoke which I refuse, while removing a joint from my pocket, lighting it and passing it to Raymond (which was his name). I sat there smoking the J with Ray and discussing everything from homelessness, the state of affairs under Donald Trump, to whether we believed in a higher being and if we did, how was it that there was so much suffering in. the world, and why nothing seemed to be getting done about it.
“How is it if there is, in fact, a Supreme, higher being, an omniscient entity, that I, who am, all things considered, a fairly decent person, I am pretty honest, respectful, and treat people as I would want to be treated; why is it that I have to walk two miles to get a BLESSED CUP OF COFFEE!” I shout at no one in particular.
Ray calms me down, and we continue our conversation. As it turns out Raymond Getty is a newbie in the homeless community. As he tells it he was married, had a good job and was moving up within his chosen line of work. One day Ray decides to surprise his wife by getting off early from his job. Well, the surprise is on Raymond who catches his wife on her knees, and it wasn’t praying she was doing. Later that night when Raymond comes home again, his wife goes ballistic and tells Ray she never loved him, and she wants him out of their house. Ray says nothing, throws some clothes and other pieces of his once idyllic life in a small canvas shoulder bag and walks out not looking back.
I’m feeling my nerves starting to jump, without the JOLT, my body becomes a mass of quivering body-parts. I say good-bye to Raymond wishing him the best of luck. We give each other a brotherly hug. When I reach “Cool Beans”, I feel like I’ve been through a meat grinder
The woman barista greets me warmly and asks me what she can do for me. I answer a bit too loudly, being that it is only 7:30 am and most people are still moving kind of slow.
“Let me have a pound of your organically grown, fair trade dark roast, and a shot of espresso, right now, please!
The barista seems to recognize a coffee addict when confronted by one. She produces the shot of expresso almost immediately, hands it to me with a very sweet smile.
“God bless you,” I say and take the shot, sipping at first, then I shoot the remainder. I feel as if I were a car engine which has not had oil for far too long. How good that must feel, kind of like the Tin Man in the Wizard of OZ. You remember how stiff the Tin Man got when he was not oiled?  That’s how I felt, yeah that’s it!
I feel like I want to share these insights with the Barista but first I must learn her name.
“Excuse me, would you be so kind as to tell me your name or perhaps you could whisper it to me. That would make it rather special.”
This very attractive young woman liked the idea of whispering her name to me. Every time she looked my way she would smile and giggle. I was beginning to feel almost normal, I could think past what was immediately in front of me. I must admit, however, what was in front of me currently was well worth spending time thinking about. She both possessed a very unusual and sexy name, Amaryllis belladonna, is the name of the flower, otherwise known as the Pink or Naked Lady. Yes, her parents stuck her with the full name. They let her choose which name she wanted to use. I think both names are beautiful. You can use Mary as a short name for Amaryllis or even Amy. Belladonna which is my choice has Donna as an option or you can use Bella! It’s really a lovely name.  
“What should I be calling you then?” I asked innocently.
Well if you continue to be as nice as you have been and remain as charming as you appear to be, you might just have a chance to meet the Naked Lady!”
“Really, this is way beyond my hopes, but I’m not saying no.” Keep pumping that rocket fuel.
Bella and I have been dating for just about six months, and I have to say it’s been fantastic. She is an incredibly sweet woman, she’s younger than I thought but that is really the least of my problems. Actually, I have no problems presently, I mean who could have any problems when you have a 21-year-old girlfriend who is the sweetest, most glamorous, sexiest young woman, who by the way is a demon in bed.
That is my Coffee story. There is some embellishment of certain parts of the story, some liberty was taken with a few of the facts, and there were particular threads where exaggeration was necessary. Overall besides for the fabrication of certain events, this story is true in so far as my recollection can remember the various incidents.
This is the end of this charming little story!

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