Saturday, November 13, 2010

Una Posizione di Mattina (One Morning Stand)

"Drink me," My cappuccino says calmly. "Love me," my cappuccino adds.

It is teasing me. It knows how much I enjoy looking at it, going googly-eyed over it, and drinking it. But I don’t want it to go away just yet, because when the cup is empty, then that cappuccino is gone—then the best conversation of the day is already over.

While the foam upon my espresso cannot literally open up a mouth between bubbles to actually speak to me, somehow we talk back and forth every day, revealing our deepest feelings, and our biggest hopes. It tells me when it is too hot or cold and I tell it when I am satisfied or not.

That’s right, I am having a relationship with my cappuccino. And while each one serves as a “One Morning Stand,” I can always trust the friendly cup of Joe to listen, without interruption. Some days, I can even see the coffee smiling at me—or frowning, as if it knows exactly how I am feeling.

Today I have returned to the Jolly Café on the corner, to visit my love Roberto. This will be my fourth cappuccino at the Jolly Café. I enjoy coming here, because while Roberto knows no English, he seems to be the only one to truly understand the relationship that I have with my cappuccino each day. I no longer have to speak to Roberto, as he knows my order by heart. It is as if he and the ingredients were joking back and forth before I walked into the café. I think the milk is probably saying, “Go light on me today,” while the chocolate probably adds, “Treat her special today, give a little extra of me.”

Roberto watches me as a I stare at my cappuccino with bright eyes, then as I intake the heavenly smell of the chocolate on top, and then of course as I take the first sips. He then observes as I carefully remove my journal from my backpack and begin to write of my latest, wonderful cappuccino. He knows that this is a serious relationship that may never be broken apart. You see, it is a relationship where no hearts will get broken.

However, I often wonder what my cappuccino might say if it could use real words with me rather than imagined forms of facial expressions.

Would it tell me that it loved me back? Or would it tell me that it truly hated our time together, that I drink it too fast or too slow or that I cherish it too much?

I imagine it taking on the voice of the candle stick in Beauty and the Beast, singing to me songs of joy, romance, and happiness. But maybe it would take on the deep voice of Scar from the Lion King, and yell at me about how I drink it too much, and that if I keep drinking it each day, it will no longer bring me happiness, that it, filled with whole milk, will make me fat, and that it actually despises my every day brooding.

And then I wonder if it would speak in Italian or English, and if it would understand a word of what I said.

Would it laugh at my jokes and cry tears of espresso with my sadness?

I think if my cappuccino could talk, I might tell it all of it’s wonderful qualities, why I feel the way I feel about it and how I envision us together every single day for the rest of my future. I would explain how it comforts me with simplicity and how I love that it always offers me a hand to hold by reaching out to me through the side of a mug. Yes, I am having a deeply involved relationship with my cappuccino…and if it could talk, I would get down on one knee, and propose…Yes I think if I could—I would marry my cappuccino.

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