Sunday Scribblings # 300 Instinct

She reached for the dark blend. The can was large, red and metal, chilly in the early morning.

She turned on the radio and in that moment she forgot. She quickly turned the volume down until it was barely audible. She did not want to wake him. Lifting up the red, plastic lid was the first delight of the process. She loved to smell the roasted aroma. It smelled of her parents and their percolator.

When she was a girl she loved the smell of coffee. Once she got a haircut at a woman's house. In her basement, the older woman had a little bowl of Coffee Nips. The mysterious candy was wrapped in gold cellphane and crinkled when she unwound the ends. She let it melt slowly in her mouth and felt grown up and exotic and powerful, even while she swung her legs in the big chair.

She hugged the can close. Then the sandy, sharpness of the scoop. Then tiny pebbles against the paper liner. The gurgle of the water. The steam. The promise of the new day.

Her feet cemented themselves in the middle of the kitchen floor and she felt herself breath. The clock gave her 10 minutes before she had to get in the shower and start her quiet routine. It was all so different then she imagined. She was living in their house. She was going to work 9 to 5. She was stuck in the same town where she grew up. Where was the challenge? Where was the glamour standing around in two year old fuzzy slippers?

His alarm went off and she heard rather than saw him turn over. The bed frame was nearing twenty years old and she knew that sound. And the creak on the floor of the side of his bed. Heavy steps and the door shutting at the top of the stairs.

The flyer by the banana holder caught her eye. Imagine going to college at her age with students old enough to be her children. More doors opening and closing as her kids dragged themselves out of their beds. Their hateful alarm prodding them to greet a chilly Monday morning.

Her precious ten minutes were almost gone.

She grabbed the flyer, crumpled it and opened the lid to the trash. With a deep breath, she let the lid fall and shoved the tri-fold paper in her purse. Perhaps it was because it was October. Or a Monday. Things were slowing down at work and there was talk of layoffs. Again. She had the audacity, the blessing, to start her own new normal. The coffee was hot and promising. Her instinct told her it was time for a small act of faith.

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