Mama’s Coffee Pot
By Deborah J Lindsey
“I don’t know what to write.” Gwen said and frowned at the blank computer screen.
She walked into her tiny pink and white kitchen and pulled a mug from the cabinet. She also took down a box of coffee that held fifty neatly packaged individual servings. She popped one in the machine and pulled down the handle. The machine protested only a moment before it hissed and gurgled out a perfect cup of “Bernardo’s Best Breakfast Blend”. Gwen removed the cup from the machine and lifted it to her lips. Before taking a sip, she allowed the heady aroma to fill her nostrils.
To her, it was the fresh smell of morning and the promise of a brand-new day and it reminded her of Mama.
Memories took hold and Gwen was back making coffee in the tiny pink and white kitchen on Vermont Street. She knew Mama lay in the darkness, smiling and listening to her coffee making efforts and as soon as the coffee aroma reached her, Mama and her smile would appear in the doorway.
In those long-ago days, Gwen could brew coffee but was not allowed to drink it for it was considered too strong for children. Mama made what she called “kid’s coffee” which was mostly milk and sugar with a hint of coffee to flavor. Even though it wasn’t the real thing, Gwen loved it and the time drinking “coffee” with Mama was a special time that they alone shared.
Gwen remembered learning to make coffee in the new electric percolator and how proud she was when she finally mastered it.
Mama kept her coffee pot on what she called a “Coffee Service.” It was just a plastic tray with two ivy-patterned china cups, a cut-glass sugar bowl and a black and white spotted cow that poured cream from its mouth.
The pot itself was gleaming stainless-steel with an elegant fluted spout and a top with a clear glass dome in the lid. This all set on a black base with a caution that warned in gold letters-
“Do Not Immerse.”
Gwen filled the pot with water and carefully measured out coffee from the ceramic canister with the strawberries twinning on the front. Into the metal basket, she counted - two-four-six-eight-ten-twelve and one more scoop for the pot, Mama always said. Then she placed the top on the basket and maneuvered the entire set-up into the center well at the bottom of the pot. She added the top and pressed it firmly in place.
Gwen waited for the familiar whoosh and groan as the water was sucked up through the metal tube and filtered back down through the dry coffee.
Gwen took her first sip of coffee. The space in the doorway was empty and the coffee tasted bitter on her tongue.
Copyright June 2017 By Deborah J Lindsey
First line prompt for 6/17/17: I don't know what to write.