The True Story of a Magical Coffee Stick

            I walked to class that day in a haze, I couldn’t even remember breathing, or climbing the stairs, or going through the door. I could feel my world crumbling around me and I was powerless to stop the destruction. I started breathing rapidly, violent thrusts of air jamming in and out. A boy came over to me, he was calling my name. I knew that much. I didn’t know how to respond. I was going to faint, I was going to die. The teacher forced eye contact with me. His eyes were a bluish grey, they were riddled with deep concern. I couldn’t see my eyes, of course, but I know what they must have looked like. They were wild, like a stallion that’s been cornered and trapped. He kept asking me what was wrong. I didn’t answer for a long time. Then the words finally came.

            “My grandpa’s dead.”

            I’d never been close to him, I’d always called him by his first name. One of the few times I’d called him ‘grandpa’ was I’d found out he’d died. He’d beaten my mother when she was young, abused her in so many different ways. I’d resented him for as long as I could remember, why wouldn’t I? I hardly even remembered him, he was mostly just an uncomfortable story. My mother would sometimes tell me about him. I would fill with the deepest hatred and concept when his name was spoken. He’d been sick since I was a child, but it had gotten much worse over the last two years. My mom had to fly to Florida, where he lived, constantly to take care of him. I think everyone knew he wasn’t going to be around much longer a few weeks before he died. I had expected this, so why was I so upset? Honestly I don’t think I’ll ever know. I still think about him sometimes, and maybe one day I’ll figure out what he meant to me and who he was in my life.

            The day before that, I’d scheduled a date with a boy I knew. I’d texted him and told him what had happened, canceling. He asked me if I was going to be at school the next day. I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d thought about staying home, I didn’t feel like facing my classmates or teachers. I didn’t want to move, eat or talk. All I wanted to do was sleep, so I wouldn’t have to think about anything anymore. Originally, this boy and I were planning on going to get coffee. He said he’d bring me some if I came to school that next day. It may not have seemed like much to most people, and maybe it wasn’t even much to him. Still, it made me smile that he was even thinking of doing something like that for me.

            I don’t even remember getting dressed that morning, or the drive to school. I can distinctly recall being dropped off, however, because I know what my face must have looked like. I can only imagine how unapproachable and angry I seemed, and that’s because I was. I was angry and sad and so incredibly confused. The next thing I knew, I was sitting at a table with my best friend. When I told her what had happened, her face dropped and she offered her sympathies. I didn’t want her sympathies, it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, like I didn’t have the right to mourn him. I’d hated him, truly hated him. Yet here I was, acting like the classically bereft family member.  Other friends of mine came and hugged me, and I had to tell them the truth. I told them that I wasn’t close to him, that I hadn’t even liked him. This confession seemed to relax them and make them more unsettled at the same time. One of my dearest companions, who’d known how abusive he’d been to my mother, even said “good” when I’d told her he was dead.

            When my would-be date arrived, he had two cups of coffee in his hands. This gesture warmed me more than any of the hot liquid ever could. He’d place it on and table, and then reached out from behind him and smacked a bag of Smarties on the table.

            And I laughed.

            We’d had a class together once, and in that class there had been a private joke. This boy was a genius, and I’d always been in awe of his incredible intelligence. So, one day, my friends and I had said that he should bring Smarties for every time he says something bright, and just whip them out to give to everyone.

            I couldn’t believe it, he’d actually made me laugh. On today of all days, he’d made me laugh. I started to feel better then, and I could feel whatever had broken in me begin to come back together.

            I don’t think I realized that I was falling in love with him at that point, but as we began to spend more time together it became clear. Maybe it’s stupid of me to say, and I know people will roll their eyes, but those early days of dream-like bliss were some of the happiest of my life. Unknowingly, I’d kept the coffee stick that had come with the drink. I put it in my purse and had intended it to be garbage. It’s funny, isn’t it? The way things change.

            I keep it with me whenever I go, it’s become one of my most prized possessions. I don’t know if our relationship will last, I don’t think anyone knows that. But the symbolic meaning of the coffee stick isn’t going to change.

            And maybe one day I’ll see my grandfather again. Maybe one day he’ll smile at me. And, who knows, maybe one day I’ll smile back.