Chapter V
Even before Kelly could say anything, the barista said, ” Sorry about that. Common symptoms of de-addiction therapy. Where were we?”
“Do I have to pay you for the drink?”
“If you recover from your pain, only then and only if you are willing, we appreciate the tips.”
The barista calculated the amount of caffeine using the formula taking into account the birth sign, the type of the pain, intensity of pain, her relationship status, her vital stats and her allergies. Still seeing her standing in front of her, he asked, “Any other question?”
“Will I get a cookie?” She couldn’t resist the temptation of asking her.
“Definitely!”
“I love cookies.”
“But remember to say your prayer.”
“What prayer? I am an atheist.”
“No worries. It’s a secular prayer.”
“Okay.” She eyed him suspiciously.
“Please I want you to take your seat. A minimum of ten minute relaxation time is mandatory before the drink.”
She nodded and turned. She headed to the seat no. 11. As she walked to her seat, she glanced over the scattered worst-case-scenario coupons lying on the floor. Carmine had told her that this was the first thing people pick up the moment they walk in the coffee shop, as the coupons could provide a free coffee. The small metal replicas of gods has scattered on the floor as well. A big cardboard with GOD FOR SALE lay next to them on the floor. Whether GOD can be bought or not? And these were definitely foreign gods: she hadn’t seen them around much. Maybe the GODS are moving into a newer territory. She was doubtful about this foreign GOD business as her own GOD didn’t help her when needed, then how come these foreign GODS would be of a help. Not much had changed in the behavior of meditating people though couple of them left since she arrived. This place started to grow on her. Everyone seemed at peace and even though who wasn’t at peace, did look calm and relaxed. Against her expectations, she realized that this place was worth a try.
As she reached to the seat no. 11, she dropped her carry bag on the table and eased on the black sofa. She put on the headphones, looked up and focused the blackness in front. She rested her head on the shoulder of the sofa. The music drifted her into sleep. In her trance, she heard someone, actually him, asking him to get up.
“Ace, Don’t please let me sleep.” She brushed him aside with her hand, in half sleep.
A word ‘Chai’ reached her ears.
“I don’t want that.” She protested, like a child.
“Dirty Chai.” The words reverberated in his ears, as is someone had pumped too much air into them, suddenly.
“I said no.” She got up.
He wasn’t Ace. She opened her eyes, “What?” She felt stupid. She turned to look at other people thinking what would barista would be thinking about her. She blushed in humiliation, lowered her head and licked her lips. With a smile, she said, “Sorry!” What else she could have done?
“It’s alright.”
There was a silence. She felt that she had not been completely forgiven. Sensing that, the barista added, “I guess you must haven’t relaxed in a long time.”
Her face loosened up. He added, “Dirty Chai. Your drink.” He passed the gold cup with a silver sleeve.
“Thanks.” She said.
The barista left to the toppled table and started cleaning the mess created by the white guys, sometime ago. She wanted to ask him what does he meant by ‘Dirty Chai’ but discarded the idea as the smell of the coffee hit her nose. The sleeve around the coffee cup was loose. It moved around as she pulled the coffee cup closer. When she closely examined the silver sleep, she found what she was looking for.
Dirty Chai TM
Espresso (One shot) – One ounce
Chai (concentrate) – One ounce
Mile (Whole)- to make 12 ounces
After ten minutes, she got fidgety. The music in her ears sounded nonsense. She tried to rhythmically tapped the table with her fingers but she was only able to exhale the breath forcefully, in her defeat. Just like some of them in the coffee shop, she stared at the black wall and she expected that peace will dawn on her instantly. It didn’t happen. One moment she thought about meditating and the next moment she pondered what should she meditate over. Every time she tried thinking about one specific thing, other thing came to her mind. And before she could channelize her thoughts in one single direction, something else popped in her head. This something else was related to other thoughts, which she had forgotten but her brain kept them alive by mental associations. She thought of thinking good optimistic thought. Soon this exercise turned out to be futile. Her love, anger, regret, guilt and joy were all interlinked. And unless she could exorcise her demons, the they would haunt her and continue to make her helpless. She felt so impotent that she had this vomiting reflex set up in her, like whenever she went to hills by a bus trip. Also this thinking had left her with no time to think about the things that she really wanted to think. She wanted to pull out her hairs but only ended up uprooting her headphones, which she had forgotten she had on and then into her hairs. Her thinking, she had realized, had become messy just like her hairs. For a flip second, she thought to get up, throw everything, and storm out. But that would have been easy. Then, she got up and headed to the barista. Before she could say and tell him about her decision, he said, “I know it must be really tough on you. So much you have gone through and still you had to face again for your recovery. Trust me if there would be a way, I would have done the same. But hardest path is actually the best path of recovery.”
She stared him.
“I know you must feel like quitting. But you should turn and look at every one of them, they all, everyone in the coffee shop, at one time for another, felt weak at their knees. They felt like quitting but they didn’t. I don’t know whether they had made a progress that you should ask them. This is all what I wanted to tell you. Decision of coming again or not is entirely yours. Thank you for trusting us.”
“Thank you.” She said, as she turned.
“Excuse me.”She had been called.
Couple of steps toward the doors, she stopped.
She looked over her shoulder.
“You forgot your wish.” He raised his hand over the order screen.
Inquisitive, she turned.
“What’s that?”
“Your oatmeal cookie. Here!” He placed the cookie, wrapped in butter paper, in her palm.
“Thanks.”
“Just don’t forget your prayer.”
She eyed his suspiciously. He closed his eyes, in response, to comfort her. When the flustered look did not leave her face, he said, “Answer lies in the butter paper.”
to be continued…
