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DRWickCoffee
Published: 2005-02-06 16:10:41 +0000 UTC; Views: 12017; Favourites: 211; Downloads: 614
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Description I’m still stuck in the old motions you taught me, the tiny movements and mannerisms that ground their way into the material of my grey matter with the sequential passing of days. They say a human forms a habit in twenty-one days. Whoever they are. I don’t think they know this kind of “habit,” this mechanic repetition that anchors me to this plane of existence, this autopilot safeguard. Whatever. I don’t need them. I’ve become something of a misanthrope anyway.

Like every other morning for the past month, I sit on the porch with two mugs of coffee and wait for you to come by and pick me up, and just like every other day I’m late to work. I don’t know why Dave hasn’t fired me yet; maybe it’s pity? Maybe he’s just waiting for the perfect, most spectacularly miserable day to come by, so he can pat me on the shoulder with a smile: “Hey, you’re fired!”

Work passes in a mind-numbing blur of key-tapping, paper-shuffling and coffee trips. I expect you to walk in at any moment and apologize for being late, so I try to keep two hot cups of coffee on my desk at all times. By the end of the day, my garbage basket is soggy with cold coffee and filled with white indecomposable cups. I wonder what the maids think.

After work, I walk to the Acoustic and sit at our table to wait. The staff has been bringing me a cup of coffee everyday with this crestfallen, pitying look on their faces and I never understand why they don’t bring two cups, never mind the look on their faces like someone died. I wait for about two hours, give or take, in the deliciously cloying atmosphere and finally decide that you’re probably waiting for me at my place. When I get up and leave, the cup remains, full and cold and dead.

When I get to my place, I open the door, cursing the damn thing as I try to slam it shut. When are you going to fix that frame? It’s been “a few days,” y’know. Coat goes on the chair, cell phone on the table, keys in the coin tray and I’m off to the coffee pot to make sure there’s some fresh java for you when you finally show your face. I walk to the living room, toeing off my socks on the way to the couch. There I flop down bonelessly, throw down the paper I had picked up for you on the way home, and put my fine motor skills to use by pressing the power button on my television remote. The news is usually on; I never bother to change the channel from one day to the next.

From there, I move to the shower, and as always, turn the water on full blast and stand beneath it until it goes frigid. Damn the rest of the tenants of this dilapidated building; the hot shower belongs to me alone. When the water is so cold that my legs turn purple and I can’t keep my appendages from trembling, I turn it off and listen. The only sound in the apartment is the percolating of the coffee pot and the drone of the man in the screen. Dripping quietly, I look blankly at the two brown bottles boldly declaring the words “Java Shampoo” and “Java Conditioner” sitting on the counter by my own 2-in-1 unscented shampoo. Where are you?

Emerging from the bathroom, I turn the radio on and mute the television. The radio is still tuned into the rock station you love so dearly. I slip on an old t-shirt of yours that’s worn to the point of being barely legible and declares none-too-modestly in age-crackled white block letters across the chest, “Shh. No one knows I’m a lesbian” and a pair of cuff-less sweatpants. I turn the radio up the tiniest bit and walk back into the kitchen, glaring venomously at the door open a tiny crack. Shoving a chair in front of it, I hear the noise of the coffee maker stop and turn on it, brandishing the hairbrush I had forgotten to put down. I look at it for a split-second, seeing the dark hairs sticking out on the edges, knotted and broken, and I feel a strange disappointment – if you were here, you would spaz out and demand with godly might that I clean my brush out. I clean it out anyway.

Setting the brush down on the counter, I pull out your favorite mug, which says simply “i [heart] coffee.” A sip of coffee hasn’t passed my lips for almost a month now. I’ll never let you know it, but I really don’t like coffee at all – I only drink it when you’re here to drink it with. Maybe it’s because you love the black liquid so much that I endure the horrible stuff. I really don’t understand why. I grab my own blank, blue mug and then fill the two to the brim, the steam curling into the air in evanescent patterns that whisper away in a moment, folding in on themselves. The scent fills my throat and my eyes sting with it.

Walking to the living room with a mug in each hand, I have to pick my way over clothes and shoes of yours scattered on the green carpet and by the time I get to the couch I’ve decided that when you move in next weekend, you won’t have to move much. Putting the two mugs down on the folded newspaper, I smile a little crooked smile and tip one of your shoes over on its side with my bare foot – y’know, the black ones with the chunky heels you bought so you could finally be taller than me? I can remember being at the store – the only thing I foresaw you doing in them was tripping and breaking your neck or some other vital area of your skeletal structure, and when I voiced my little observation, you laughed and said that you’d get lessons from your younger sister before attempting ‘pedestrial’ travel.

When I hear the neighbor pound on the wall I know it’s 12:30 and sure enough, bam! bam! sounds the human cuckoo clock. Standing, I stretch and groan – it’s Friday night and you’re not here yet? Letting out a sigh, I grab the two coffee cups and take them to the kitchen. Pouring the coffee down the drain, I watch it swirl away and I get this nagging sense of loss that I can’t quite place my finger on. I decide abruptly for some reason to shrug it off as I set the mugs in the sink with a soft chinking noise, and retreat to the other room, snapping the light off on the way out. Back in the living room, I turn the radio off and stare blankly at the silent television for a moment, the picture not even registering over the static in my brain. I walk over to the screen and push the power button, plunging myself into a moment of oblivion then slowly swimming my way back up into the world as my eyes adjust to the shadows.

Walking into my room, I half expect to see you lying there, scrunched in a nest of sheets and blankets, but the bed is empty, the blankets cold. The fan is whirring, as usual – you and your “I can’t sleep properly without the fan going” issue. It’s all right though; I think I’m developing an “I can’t sleep properly if you’re not here by me” issue. Crawling into bed, I clutch the pillow you lay your brown-maned head on and bury my face in it. I can smell the faint remainder of your coffee-scented shampoo, and my ribcage seems to shrink around my lungs and heart as my eyes begin to sting again. My whole body tenses up, my muscles taut as bowstrings as I screw my face up, clenching my eyes shut. Why am I crying?

As the tears subside, leaving throbbing eyes and sticky cheeks, my body feels heavy and weak even though I’m not moving a muscle or twitching a tendon. The breath of the fan feels good over my flushed skin and I let my eyes slip shut. A cold, soft feeling washes over me, and I can see your vivid emerald eyes behind my swollen lids, smiling at me.

They say people can die of broken hearts and I decide hazily that maybe, for once, they might be right.

[Out in the living room, a neglected newspaper lays on a dark-wooded coffee table, unfolded not even once by its particular consumer. The headline, in all-capital New York Times bold font, proclaims in its own detached and formal way “HATE CRIME VICTIM’S KILLERS STILL UNKNOWN AFTER ONE MONTH.” Below the headline, a beautiful woman smiles out, her green eyes sparkling even on the thin, dull paper and her short chestnut hair curled under her cheekbones. Across her face, a ring of coffee speaks her name.]
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Comments: 199

intricately-strung [2009-01-28 04:20:28 +0000 UTC]

This is beautiful...I'd offer constructive criticism if I could, but I find this perfect. It was very moving ^_^

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DRWick In reply to intricately-strung [2009-02-05 03:51:52 +0000 UTC]

Thank you very much.

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TwentyFiveLighters [2009-01-09 02:44:51 +0000 UTC]

This is beautiful. Amazing.

I almost cried.

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DRWick In reply to TwentyFiveLighters [2009-01-15 20:09:02 +0000 UTC]

Thank you very much. I still love to see comments on this piece.

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MagicalFingers [2008-11-23 10:29:54 +0000 UTC]

Congratulations! This piece has been FEATURED in my latest news article, "Powered By Caffeine"! [link]
Don't forget to give it a fave!

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Techno-sexual [2008-04-19 23:12:13 +0000 UTC]

This is a very beautiful, tragic story. I kept hoping throughout that this mysterious person would be there waiting in the end. It is so incredibly sad that she wasn't.

The writing is great-no need to think you over did the details---that is essential in this story. The details made it what it is...

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DRWick In reply to Techno-sexual [2008-07-07 22:10:14 +0000 UTC]

Thank you very much.

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Techno-sexual In reply to DRWick [2008-07-13 05:52:32 +0000 UTC]

You're welcome.

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KyraShangea [2007-12-26 16:29:34 +0000 UTC]

Hey, Danielle, I just had to point out... the person who featured your deviation is banned now. XD

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DRWick In reply to KyraShangea [2007-12-26 18:00:37 +0000 UTC]

LOL

I hadn't noticed... weeeeeeird.

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KyraShangea In reply to DRWick [2007-12-27 05:32:03 +0000 UTC]

XD; Yeah!

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silent-pirate [2007-12-18 03:39:55 +0000 UTC]

this is a beautiful piece, and I really feel the sadness and the love. you haven't overdone the portrayal of emotion, no, it's just perfect. you've written this so wonderfully that the emotion really hits you. I could go on probably, but I think I'll just end this now with a "Great Job" and a

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keithsodak [2007-12-04 22:46:30 +0000 UTC]

tragically beautiful. i can see the scenario so clearly in my mind. Have you ever considered making a screenplay for a short film based on this story?

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gadgetguy606writing [2007-10-23 03:45:27 +0000 UTC]

Wow, that is intense. The little side note at the end really hits the point home. Its a little ironic that the person bought the newspaper for the person who was mentioned in it. A very powerful message.

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Mewreille [2007-10-14 03:01:12 +0000 UTC]

This is really, really beautiful, and so well-written.

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dyg-daydreamer [2007-09-25 09:55:41 +0000 UTC]

I'm just speakless and totally touched.. very beautiful read!!

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maslowmassacre [2007-09-13 08:58:38 +0000 UTC]

that was fun

i want you to know it may actually change me in some way

sometimes words fail to express themselves

so thank you

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hopeless-dreaming [2007-08-06 13:48:34 +0000 UTC]

i read this story about 2 years ago, and the other day i found myself thinking about it again.

that is a sign of wonderful writing. <3

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uikoa [2007-07-21 02:34:12 +0000 UTC]

This was beautiful.
Thank you for writing this.
Your word usage is absolutely amazing. It's not so overdone that you lose the story, but not so underdone that you feel as if you might as well be reading something written by someone in the 3rd grade. Not to mention that the way you told it was astounding.
Well done.

👍: 0 ⏩: 1

DRWick In reply to uikoa [2007-07-24 16:57:52 +0000 UTC]

Thank you very much! I'm glad you enjoyed it.

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DreamCatcher773 [2007-07-05 01:28:11 +0000 UTC]

They say a good story inspires you. This inspires me, and evokes a lot of emotion.
Very well written, as well.
<3

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DRWick In reply to DreamCatcher773 [2007-07-08 19:52:32 +0000 UTC]

Thank you very much!

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TheRealNeix [2007-03-27 03:52:40 +0000 UTC]

I can truely say this has moved me. Well done.

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DRWick In reply to TheRealNeix [2007-03-27 04:07:42 +0000 UTC]

Thank you! I like it that people can still read this and be moved; it's such an old peice.

Thanks again.

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TheRealNeix In reply to DRWick [2007-03-27 04:10:59 +0000 UTC]

it's so wonderful reading it for the first time.

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candy21candy [2007-03-12 15:22:49 +0000 UTC]

wow..

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tripping-on-this [2007-03-06 10:37:57 +0000 UTC]

this is fascinating, it really drew me in despite the length. definitely one of the better things i've read on DA, well done.

👍: 0 ⏩: 1

DRWick In reply to tripping-on-this [2007-03-08 16:27:59 +0000 UTC]

Thank you for the compliment; I'm always amazed when people praise this so articulately.

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tripping-on-this In reply to DRWick [2007-03-12 08:47:54 +0000 UTC]

you're really welcome- thanks for replying!

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Arinea [2007-02-19 09:53:02 +0000 UTC]

I absolutely, completely and utterly loved every moment of this piece. It's easy to tell in the beginning that something is wrong, and the feeling grows and grows as her story continues. By the end I was almost crying. Extremely wonderful.

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DRWick In reply to Arinea [2007-02-28 16:25:19 +0000 UTC]

Thank you very much; I'm always suprised when someone comments on this peice, because it always seems to be such an adamant comment about the emotion and the movement, when I tend to forget about Coffee sometimes.

Thanks for refreshing my memory.

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Arinea In reply to DRWick [2007-03-01 02:01:20 +0000 UTC]

Haha no problem. I don't think this piece will be easily forgetted for me. It's beautiful.

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KyraShangea [2007-02-14 18:15:48 +0000 UTC]

.. And I'm still jealous over the DD. It's impossible for me to get one with anime work. ;-;

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dizzychim-chim [2007-01-03 23:27:42 +0000 UTC]

Wow. I really like how you took something as simple and constructed a whole reality and relationship around it. Very skillfully written.

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DRWick In reply to dizzychim-chim [2007-02-01 23:02:22 +0000 UTC]

Thank you very much! This is a pretty old piece; glad to know it's still got some kick to it.

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sol019 [2006-11-16 08:20:37 +0000 UTC]

Ah... simply wonderful

The thing is, I'm addicted to coffee

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DRWick In reply to sol019 [2006-12-04 18:28:11 +0000 UTC]

Hehe, I'm glad you liked it.

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dcschmo [2006-08-14 09:25:07 +0000 UTC]

Every time this piece shows up in my random favorites I reread it.

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DRWick In reply to dcschmo [2006-12-04 18:28:27 +0000 UTC]

I feel honored, hehe.

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Winterfang [2006-07-29 03:34:18 +0000 UTC]

It's great, how at first you don't know that the person isn't there, and then you slowly wonder, "Where are they?" And the end gets you.

Beautifully written.

👍: 0 ⏩: 1

DRWick In reply to Winterfang [2006-12-04 18:28:56 +0000 UTC]

I'm glad you got that feeling from it; I tried pretty hard to make sure it had that aspect, hehe.

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xclockwork [2005-12-23 02:21:22 +0000 UTC]

This is so beautifully written. I love the twist at the ending; I spent the entire story loathing someone who could desert someone who loves them so much, and suddenly my mouth just fell open.... Your words really capture the sense of loss and devotion that your narrator is feeling; wonderful.

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DRWick In reply to xclockwork [2006-01-06 22:59:40 +0000 UTC]

Thank you; sorry it took me so long to respond.

I'm glad the emotion captured you the way I meant it to.

Thanks for the comment.

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RivkaZ [2005-12-17 02:21:06 +0000 UTC]

Have I mentioned lately how much I ADORE this piece?! :fangirls:

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DRWick In reply to RivkaZ [2005-12-20 05:11:55 +0000 UTC]

Awww...

You make me blush with your fangirly-ness.

Also, I like your sig; I can identify.

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RivkaZ In reply to DRWick [2005-12-20 06:16:37 +0000 UTC]

XD yeahhhh.... I figure a lot of people these days feel that way...

-and you deserve teh fangirlies! YOU AMAHZINK!

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DRWick In reply to RivkaZ [2005-12-20 13:11:17 +0000 UTC]



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SwoonyElena [2005-12-09 22:19:03 +0000 UTC]

Oh my god... this is amazing. The methodic, sad beauty of it is so perfect. I suppose words like devastating come to mind. I envy your skill and applaud your writing.

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DRWick In reply to SwoonyElena [2005-12-20 05:19:15 +0000 UTC]

Thank you! It's really refreshing to hear that this is still a good piece, even through I wrote it so long ago.

Thanks for the warm fuzzy, hon. ^.~

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SwoonyElena In reply to DRWick [2005-12-21 02:35:25 +0000 UTC]

hehe, yes, well I' a bit behind the times, but I got to it through the favorites of a friend of mine.

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