Bittersweet
Untrained eyes scanned the lively coffee shops in the hopes of revelation. Fingers twitched on the plain keyboard as she awaited inspiration to cloud her mind. Her thoughts were interrupted by the familiar yell of “Judy”. She perked up with realization that her coffee was ready and scrambled to gather herself together. Her clumsy walk was quite evident to the public eye. She eventually reached the countertop and exchanged sheepish grins with the barista she kept her eyes on for so long.
She watched nimble hands place her cup of coffee into the awaiting plain coffee sleeve.
“Did you get any inspiration for your story yet?”
“Not yet, my publisher is getting quite annoyed with my writer’s block” she sighed in response.
“I’m sure you’ll get through it your work is always phenomenal. It will take time.”
Embarrassment spread across her cheekbones as she thanked the barista and wrapped her own wrinkly fingers around the steaming cup. She nodded her head and went back to her designated spot.
This coffee place had been her hidden gem for as long as she could remember. The coffee itself was smooth as flat gold and had gotten her through so many hours of battling writer’s block. The particular barista was new but loved to use her taste buds as a judge for new creations. She mindlessly blew the curling steam as she pondered on what she could pull from the depths of her old mind. She took a small sip of the blazing liquid and was pleasantly startled. The surprise coffee had a slight twinge of orange that was complemented by the minimal presence of cinnamon. She gave the barista a thumbs up as she set down the cup. The smallest of sips left her mind reeling as the taste unlocked deep hidden memories that came to mind at the sensation of orange and cinnamon.
She was welcomed by the memory of the distant orchard that she grew up on. She could hear, smell, and feel the breeze that would shake the tall apple trees that covered the span of the family farm. She was confused on how the taste of oranges reminded her of apples, but oh what she would give to go back to that period of her life. No worries about finances, no stress, no adult responsibilities. She could remember the days where she and her siblings would spend hours under the sun climbing those trees. Her oldest brother taught her the tricks on how to reach the top branch of apple trees without causing the branch to snap under her weight. The memory was so vivid that she almost thought she was watching a movie of her own life. She also remembered the spiced apple cider her mom would make. Her mother always had a cup of her famous homemade drink waiting for her children after a long day of harvesting apples.
Judy could not believe her eyes. It seemed that while she was walking down memory lane, her fingers had transformed that memory onto the laptop’s screen that gazed right back at her. It must have been only seven minutes, but she had already filled up a page’s worth of a passage just of her memory. She grabbed her cup of coffee and took another sip from the cup. This time there was something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it gave the liquid a slightly metallic taste. Yet again, she was brought back to the family farm.
She was welcomed by the sight of her younger self, as if she was no longer welcomed in her own body in the realm of memory. She watched herself shoveling hay angrily in the large shabby family farm. Her old eyes tracked the approaching figure that strutted into the remote memory. Judy did not quite remember this memory, but the sight that unfolded before her seemed familiar. She watched as the new figure’s face unblurred to be one of her younger sisters, Sarah. She studied Sarah’s body language to see her sister’s lanky body exude a haughty presence. Judy couldn’t hear the exchange of words between the siblings from the past but could feel the anger from her past start to bubble in her own chest. She watched as her younger self dropped the pitchfork along with responsibilities to rush towards her sister. Despite watching the scene unfold before her, she felt the strong force of impact hit her whole body. Judy was confused on why she could feel a sensation of her past but allowed herself to observe the continuation of the memory. She watched herself fight and overpower her younger sister. She could not remember why she was so angry at Sarah, but she was sure her past self-had good reason for why she was yanking her sister’s braids along with the kicking, biting, scratching, and screaming.
“Judy”
The soft whisper of her name snapped her out of her memories to be back in the coffee shop. Her eyes blinked in confusion to the sight that welcomed her.
“Sarah?”
Judy couldn’t help but stare at the figure that now sat across from her. Judy always sat at the cafe’s table that was only suitable for a single patron. It did not make sense that Sarah was here sitting directly in front of her. Sarah sat in front of her in ripped overalls. She did not respond to the greeting but could only stare at her older sister with a slight smile stretched across her face.
“Sarah, you’ve been dead for year. You can’t be here. This is not real.”
The mimic of Sarah sighed and leaned forward to look at Judy. Resting her hand into her palm, Sarah’s image said:
“I’m here for you, but you’ve got to finish up your journey first.”
Judy could only stare at the figure across from her. Sarah looked like herself, but the sight before her was not Sarah. She knew this. Sarah died as a middle-aged woman, not as the young girl that was presented.
“I know, I look way younger than when I died, but this form is apparently what your mind is more comfortable with.”
The false Sarah twirled one of her braids bored as she gauged Judy’s reaction.
Judy swallowed hard and nervously asked, “If you are here for me, can I at least finish the coffee? It’s good.”
What looked like Sarah, shrugged and motioned for Judy to take a sip of her coffee.
Judy nervously grabbed the cup and brought the lid up to her weathered lips and let a small sip of the liquid flow down her throat. The tangy taste had a slight variation now this time around. She still was not sure of the hidden taste, but she could tell it was complemented by hints of vanilla.
Vanilla. The frail woman could remember the last time the flavor of vanilla was important to her. Judy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She opened her eyes to find herself looking at her younger self yet again. She felt like a witness as she took in the scene unfolding. Judy watched her past self-fly onto the family’s beaten couch. The old woman recalled and felt the pain of sadness wash over her crinkled body. This was the day that Judy experienced her very first heartbreak. That particular day was the first time she was introduced to the wonders and comfort of plain vanilla ice cream. It wasn’t much later she watched her own dear mother approach the worn couch. Her mother had hastily grabbed the hidden tub of ice cream after the dramatic display of her young daughter’s pain. Judy knew her mother hid ice cream from her and her siblings in hopes to at least have a nice treat to herself. Her mother may have not had any formal schooling, but she was smart enough to know the perfect hiding spot her children would never find. Judy watched as the pair of the past dove into the tub of ice cream. They took turns digging the singular spoon into the tub before devouring each bite. Judy had missed her relationship with her mother. Her mother died at a very young age, but that did not stop the older woman from treasuring these fleeting memories.
Judy took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Her body relax at the sight of the figure that sat in front of her. It seemed as if her mother did not even age one bit. It was as if her mother had not been dead for over 50 years. Judy and the mimic of her mother sat in silence. A few moments passed before words were exchanged.
“I think I know what you are, but what is the purpose of taking the faces of loved ones?” Judy studied her mother’s face, awaiting a response. The mimic of her mother adjusted in the chair yet again.
The Mimic sighed. “Didn’t take you that long. It’s your journey, so whatever face you see here…” the Mimic made a crude gesture to its own face, “is whoever you wish to say goodbye to before you move on.”
Judy nodded her head slowly. “Okay…. If that’s the case, how long do I have?”
The Mimic looked at its now dainty wrist to look at the clunky wristwatch that resided there. Judy didn’t notice the watch beforehand, but she could tell it had seen better days. It was on the brink of falling apart but seemed to still hold onto its strength. Her attention snapped back to the Mimic as she heard the particular statement of: “Well, you’ve been dead for the past three minutes, so you have roughly four minutes left before we go.”
The Mimic adjusted it’s watch before glancing back at her.
“Judy, we are on a time crunch, you might want to take that last sip”
The woman numbly brought the cup to her lips and could smell the sharpness of nutmeg. She licked her lips and threw back the last dregs of the coffee down her esophagus. The taste was bittersweet. The dynamic of orange, vanilla, and cinnamon were now drowned out by the sweet nutmeg and the bitter taste was no longer a mystery.
Judy could remember the last time she had fully enjoyed nutmeg fully. It was a few years ago, the evening right before Christmas morning. Her husband had been adamant that nutmeg must be sprinkled directly in the middle of his egg- nog. He had been picking fights with her due to financial strain that only came around the holidays. He constantly complained about the grandchildren. He always called them “ungrateful brats” He was never aware of how Judy’s blood boiled every time he complained about their precious grandchildren. She knew she was the money maker out of the two of them. It was her own works of writing that supported them as a whole. Her husband barely followed through with the little responsibilities he had. She was glad that he tended to go to bed early, especially after he only finished half of his eggnog. She hated that he had always expected her to fall asleep when he did. The only perk of that expectation was that she had time to dive into her novel of the week.
Judy found herself only two chapters in the book before the steady snore of her husband began to get on her nerves. She kept rereading one line of the novel. She couldn’t focus on the story but could only reread the line. She gave into her needs and acted. Judy knew what the words said, but she could not move past this line with the obnoxious train wreck of snoring that occurred to her right. Judy quietly put down her book without making a sound. She gripped the pillow behind her head and pulled it out from underneath her. Her old body turned until she was on all fours. She knew she was frail, but there was only a single thought running through her mine. That single line of the book was transfixed in her mind. She followed that line like it was directions given to her. Judy quietly crawled over her husband’s sleeping form and swung her leg over his body. She barely put any weight on him as she consciously glared down at him. She remembered the exact thought she had, “This stupid bastard. The world can only keep spinning without you, you miserable shit.” The thought was her fuel to launch her body’s weight down on his chest as she found her arms flying full towards his face. She saw his eyes open abruptly right before she covered his whole face with her pillow. She remembered the feeling that overtook her body that night. She had never felt more alive in her whole life. It was something about the power she held as she watched her dreadful and frail husband underneath her. His groans of panic were muffled from the fluffy pillow that engulfed his face. She couldn’t help but be gleeful at the sight that was underneath her. She pushed her full weight onto his chest and admired the predictable flailing of limbs. She pushed through the power struggle until she felt the lack of life from underneath her. Judy gently grabbed the lifeless wrist that fell upon her knee cap. She felt at peace once there was no detectable sign of a heartbeat. She got off him to grab the half-full cup of eggnog. A small smile of success tugged at her lips as the taste of nutmeg hit her lips.
“Judy”
Her eyes flung open at the awful but familiar croak. Her eyes were drunk on the image that sat across her. It was the face of her husband, moments before he had fully given into death. She felt the corner of her lips curve into a smile as she stated.
“Oh, hi there, Mr. Bastard.”
“You really hated this man huh?”
The mimic of her husband was watching her intently. It could tell that the last recollection of her memory was one of her happiest memories.
“I did hate him, but could I request to see your real face before we leave? I’m tired of seeing that awful mug.”
Judy watched her husband ponder before nodding in agreement. She was transfixed on the figure ahead of her. She waited with a curious mixture of fear and wonder as her husband took off the clunky watch. She nervously touched her lips in excitement. She felt a strange sense of warmness touch her fingertips. She brought her hand down and let out an audible gasp. Her hand now held a streak of blood that engulfed the wrinkles on her skin. She had been right in her own assumption to what she was tasting earlier. She had a feeling that the metallic and tangy flavor tasted too similar to blood. In the action of processing the preceding events, she failed to remember the actions that were unfolding against her. She looked up to say something to the being but froze in place. She had a feeling that she was talking to something that did not belong in the world of man, but she could have not prepared herself for the sight that beheld her.
A huge mass of black void sat across from her. Judy felt overwhelmed by the swirling variety of emotions that hit her the longer she stared at the form. Wrathful anger, calm content, ravenous sadness, hopeless happiness. Judy watched as the figure struggled to keep the shape of a human being but could not hold that form for too long. Tendrils of black emerged from the being and started to swirl around her body. Judy couldn’t help but stay frozen in place as she felt coldness overtake her already cool form. The void simply stayed silent and allowed its form to slowly engulf Judy. Judy did not put up a fight, she simply allowed her tense body to be swallowed by the figure. One by one, parts of her body were slowly devoured by the void. She was almost completely gone when her body relaxed. A peaceful sigh left her lips as she uttered the word: “Bittersweet. Soon after, the void reached her lips, and she was gone.
