Counterfeit Memories: Cold Coffee

During my youth I spent summers on my Grandparent's farm in Sussex. It was hard work tilling, seeding, and moving pipe. I wasn't paid but I loved being outdoors. I loved the soreness I felt in my muscles after a long day and the sense of accomplishment I felt providing service.


After working in the fields, I would occasionally catch a ride into Brighton and spend the evening strolling the boulevard or walking along the ocean. I enjoyed the solitude, the sense of feeling lost in a sea of people, the cries of the gulls. With time however, I grew tired of the solitude and began making feeble attempts at reaching out.


A few weeks into my search for companionship, I found myself at a café. While in the throes of self pity, I spotted a girl who was, like myself, seated alone. After taking a long sip from my coffee, I gathered some courage and walked to her table to strike up a friendly conversation.


The connection was instantaneous. We spent the next 3 hours talking and promised to return the following evening to continue our conversations. While I was reluctant to leave, I was also anxious to see what would develop..


That night I didn't sleep. Eyes wide-open, I stared at the exposed beams of the bunkhouse imagining her face, her mannerisms, the sweetness of her voice. Before I knew it, light filtered through the window across the room. It was time to get up. Although tired, the thought of her pushed me through the day.


After my work was done, I caught a ride into town and briskly walked my way to our rendezvous. I arrived early.


I grabbed a cup of coffee and waited---my leg bounced up and down with excitement.


Our scheduled time came and went.


My coffee grew cold and the stars began to make their presence known. I imagined something had happened. I imagined she couldn't get a ride or got caught-up in family obligations. My heart I felt that was the answer but my brain began to create an alternate story.


For the next month I would catch a ride down to Brighton in the evening with the hopes of seeing her.


She never appeared.


Our first encounter left me with a racing heart. Every day since, she's left me with a broken heart and cold cup of coffee.



Washington, D.C., USA 

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©2019 by Taylor Mackay