The Year of Coffee

Scribbled on a napkin and translated for your reading pleasure.

2006 and 2007. The summer, autumn, winter, and afterward of coffee. First Ben worked at Starbucks, and we would visit him shyly. He taught us about all the drinks, the Italian behind the names, the tastes. He taught us about upside-down caramel macchiatos and we drank his creation, the almond fudge frappuccino with delight, regardless of its 1000+ caloric content.
Reilly got a job there, and I'd stay there all day. When Starbucks closed, the three of us would be off for opening night at the cinemas, chips and salsa at Chili's, driving around to Three Dog Night, cruising smoothly at 15 miles per hour just to be silly.
My drink that year was a mocha frappuccino.
Then Eric got a job with the two of them, and that was heaven. Kisses that tasted like coffee, leaning over the counter in between customers to pass a note written on a receipt, writing "I love you" on my change, pressing it into my hand with a brownie, the first real talk of our future in the parking lot of Starbucks.
Good memories are over coffee. Heartbreakingly good.
For that reason I keep coming back, because even though the memories ache to think of, avoiding this place would mean avoiding the moments that await me here. Chapters of books have been written here, lots of homework assignments, blog posts, and unfinished notes to ex-boyfriends. The place is a storage shed of my whirling ideas and lost thoughts, and when I come home from a good session writing at Starbucks, my clothes smell like coffee for days.