Just Write {174}

February 10, 2015

I see him coming and fill a to-go cup with coffee, add two pieces of ice because he takes it a little cooler, every time. I hand it to him as he walks to his table and he laughs. He joins his friends at table one, where they’ve ordered without having to say how they like their eggs done, I already know. He takes cream, he doesn’t. He drinks his coffee really fast, he doesn’t. They give me a hard time, I give it back. We laugh a lot. The jokes are not at all funny, but we pretend they are.

Three ladies come in and talk about their favorite things to order, tell me the Reuben was a little too spicy for them. They order soup and rave about it, as everyone does, because this is The Middle Fork. One of the owners comes in to relieve me and I rush over to the building, our Cre8tive Escape. I clean the floors downstairs for tomorrow’s yoga, check in with our friends that rent the upstairs rooms. One is painting. Red pierces her canvas and these days, her heart. We talk and cry, laugh and listen to music. I watch the clock closely, to pick up the kids from school on time.

The sun comes out right before pick-up time, so I get there a little early and stand leaning against the brick wall right outside the door. A lifelong friend walks up, tells me I look someone waiting to have her picture taken. I say I’m just soaking up some vitamin D before moving on. Someone we graduated with walks up and the three of us stand there together waiting on our small people, all the years of knowing between us. We are all greeted with the exuberance and hugs that only elementary-age kids can give. Like we  haven’t been seen or heard from in weeks.

Today the freezing rain started as we got ready for school. It was chaos and rushing as usual. We couldn’t find one pair of tennis shoes, but you can’t wear boots at school all day! I reminded and redirected over and over. I apologized, and explained I had to get them to school and daycare and go shovel and throw down salt. We met the plows, throwing out sand. Buses pulled in ahead of us, slowly. People walked gingerly across the parking lot and the radio tells us this will last, covered by inches of fluffy snow. Now as I type this, the snow has started, thick flakes of the stuff, blanketing the icy roads and walks. I’m waiting for the call from school, come back and pick ’em up, they’ll say, only more professionally…

due to inclement weather….

And most likely, despite the roads or impending doom of a snowstorm, the regulars are heading into the cafe for their basted eggs, coffee to gulp or sip, and updating each other on the trip there. They will say how their roads were, compare and move on. They’ll take their time just like always.


This is the 174th installment of Just Write, an exercise in free writing your ordinary and extraordinary moments. {New here? Please see the details.} I would love to read your freely written words so join me and link up below. You can add the url of your post at any time. Just be sure it’s a link to your Just Write post, not to your main page. (Then link back to this post in your Just Write post so people know where to go if they’d like to join in.) (Any links not following those two guidelines will be deleted.)

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Alissa @ The Illiterate Author February 10, 2015 at 9:54 pm

“All the years of knowing between us.” Love this.

Marnie February 11, 2015 at 3:44 pm

Oh gosh, that weather yesterday just freaked. me. out. I drove into work and then panicked and left only to sit at home all day staring out the window wondering if I should get in the car and go back in. Turns out I probably should have just stayed here and all would have been fine. I was driving in the worst 45 minutes of the day.

Perhaps if I were more like those customers… perhaps with time…

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