365 Cups of Coffee

Three: Turtle Latte

    The car ride to Portsmouth in the morning is far shorter than I’d hoped for.  I’ve become a fan of long drives; it gives me time to think or write, but we’re parked before I have a chance to even really write more than a sentence of the new story I’ve been working on since last night.  Swallowing hard, I step out of the car, into the sunshine.  Heat from the sun beats down on my neck.  I am wearing jean shorts and a yellow tank top, but it’s still stifling out.  After Georgia, I never thought any place would feel hot in comparison. 

    “Hey,” my mom says, handing me $20.  “Take this.  Meet us in the park tonight at five and we’ll get dinner and go see the show afterwards, okay?”

    I nod, and take the cash, stuffing it in my pocket.  Although I liked the car ride, maybe this will be better.  I’ll be alone, free to explore, truly, for the first time in a while.  My mom hugs me tightly before we separate.

    “Don’t get into any trouble.  And if anything happens, remember –”

    “Get out of there as soon as possible.  I know, mom.  Trust me, I know that more than you do.”

    The words are harsh, and I can see it in her eyes, but she knows it’s true.

    “I don’t want to get caught up in the middle of anything.  I really don’t.  Did you think I wanted to be there when –” My mom’s eyes cut me off; they’re red and gleaming, like she’s about to cry.  Damn, I just don’t know when to stop.  Everything is fragile lately.  But so are my emotions.  They can be set off with the tiniest push. 

    “I know you didn’t,” she says.  “But that’s done now.  Just try not to think about it.”

    “That’s impossible,” I whisper. 

    “I know,” she says, and scoops me up for a hugs again.

    In the past, I would have felt embarrassed, breaking down like this in the middle of public.  Now, it doesn’t seem to even matter anymore.  Now, I need the comfort. 

    “Have a good time,” she says.  I know it tears her apart to see me leave.  She thinks it will be the last time she sees me alive.  Every time I walk away now, I can see that in her eyes.  “And stay downtown.”

    “I’ll try,” I say.

    Portsmouth is full of little shops.  It’s right on the coast, near the ocean.  I came here when I was younger, about three years ago when my family came up to visit my aunt and uncle when they still lived in New Hampshire, so I know the gist of where I am.  My first goal, as always, is to find a café.  Nothing calms me down like a good cup of coffee.  We parked towards the edge of downtown, so I follow a street onto the center of town, looking through the shop windows.  After walking by myself for a little under ten minutes, I find myself looking across the street at a café with chairs set outside, people sitting down with laptops and reading newspapers or talking with friends while drinking coffee.  Crossing the street, I go inside.

    The first thing I come across is a display full of gelato.  My mouth waters.  I haven’t had gelato in over a year.  A board full of coffee flavors is just to the right of the gelato, and below that is a case full of desserts.  They look amazing: chocolate pyramids, hazelnut tortes, peanut butter brownies . . . I don’t even know what to order. 

    This is how I’ve been getting myself by, through one day to the next: I go to coffee shops and bakeries, find myself a couch to sit on with a treat and a different flavored coffee each day and write until I can’t think straight.  I don’t have my laptop with me right now, but I do have a pen and a notepad, something I’ve been bringing with me everywhere now that I’m writing far more frequently.  I think I’ve found the perfect spot to sit down for the next few hours.  Once on line, I decide to order a turtle latte, and then I find a seat to place the coffee and my notepad and pencil down at while I order some gelato.