Hot Coffee

 

Although we had all presumably experienced the season of Summer before, Mommy and Daddy Newscaster were adamant; we musn’t venture out into the Hot Hot Heat this weekend, it would surely destroy what was left of our weak constitutions, or at the very least castrate us within mere minutes of being outdoors.

Maw and Paw telling me what to do usually enraged me, but I was secretly delighted to hear it this time, the societal obligation to make the most of my off days- particularly days off in the Summer- was an ever increasing annoyance. Saturdays were an especially hard day to motivate myself enough to leave the house. I was working 10 hour overnights Tuesday-Friday, and I generally did not become a somewhat functional human being until like 10-11 o’clock Sunday night. I’d been fighting hard to inject some pep in the early Summer Saturdays, but I felt myself sinking deeper into the couch with every passing freed up afternoon. The triple digits and promise of death if I even so much as put my sneakers on were just what the doctor ordered.

 

There were countless rebels on social media, defying our Guardians and partaking in all sorts of outdoor activities. This one or that one laughing in the Heat-Lord’s face on a beach, this one or that one splashing around without a care in the world with a fun drink in the pool, this one or that one at some dumb little cousin’s backyard birthday party. But also -of course- this one or that one pleading for the world to care that they were depressed and anxious and never liked the Sun in the first place.

I had woken up around noon then laid in bed for another hour. The Yankees were on at 1, so I moved this party to the couch, where I drank coffee and watched baseball for four hours straight.

I was in some kind of masochistic loop of drinking coffee and feeling horrible for drinking too much coffee, then trying to combat that with more coffee, and it was the only thing I wanted to do. My stomach was feeling all sorts of strange, bubbling like a percolator, and I was starting to disassociate from my body, but I kept deciding to pour cups of black coffee. The Yankee game was a blowout. Any friends I had were not contacting me and were not any of the rebels on social media, so I assumed they had already perished in the Summer Heat. I kept drinking coffee and compulsively scrolling through feeds. Some girls whom I vaguely knew were frolicking about in bathing suits, and the outside world didn’t seem as scary as Mommy and Daddy made it out to be. But Coffee was now calling the shots, and going outside seemed even more impossible than it did before. I sent out a group message to see if any comrades were alive, ten minutes past with no answer, so I put on another pot.

Before

 

They hadn’t gotten up yet, aside from periodically dragging their feet towards the bathroom. They were stuck on a loop; waking up, one making a move on the other, falling asleep, waking up, the other making a move on the one, falling asleep, waking up; no end in sight.

It was a little before 11 in the morning when it seemed like they might stay awake for good this time. They made one more move even though James barely had anything left, he was left red from exertion, but he had to strike while the iron was hot. They came and sprawled out, stretched and groaned, then James burrowed his head in between where Shayla’s armpit met the mattress, trying to disappear completely. He took a fake bite of her armpit, and she yelped like a dog whose tail had just been stepped on, then pushed his head away.

She spoke through a yawn, “get outta here you fuckin’ weirdooo.”

James kept burrowing with his voice muffled in the sheets, “I’m stahvin’, c’mon, just a little bite, whaddaya need an armpit for any damn way.”

Shayla yelped again and laughed, “eat your own damn armpit, I need mine, we’re gonna do great things together.”

He burrowed still, “what’s your armpit know about greatness… just a little bite, I’m dying over here.”

She smiled and pushed his head away, “go be a sweetheart then and make us some breakfast, whaddaya think I’m not dyin, too?”

He finally gave up on his burrowing, “you never looked more alive, that’s why your armpit is so appetizing.”

She rolled away from him, “Goddddd, how did I end up with this fuckin crazy person who won’t go make me breakfast?!”

James rolled Shayla back and forth on the bed, like she was pretzel dough. Shayla protested and kept demanding breakfast, this all went on for some time.

 

Around noon, James finally put some sweats on, and looked as though he might go make them breakfast. He laid back down, and Shayla threw her arms up in protest.

“What the hell are you laying back down for?!”

James grinned, “I gotta plan out my prep, what direction do we want to go in with this meal?”

She put her hands over her face, “WHHYYYY??”

He stared straight up at the ceiling, “what kind of journey do we want to take, y’know?”

She rolled over and put her hand just below James’s neck, pretending to choke him, “the type of journey where I’m eating in 5 god damn minutes, K?”

James nodded very seriously, and put his hands together up near his mouth, softly tapping them in deep contemplation, “the type of journey where we’re eating in 5 god damn minutes… ok, great, great. So a very fast journey? We want a day trip? We want this meal to feel like a super fun day trip?”

She rolled off of him, buried her head in her pillow and pretended to cry.

James kept contemplating, then asked, “do you have any Eggos in your freezer? I would kill for some Eggos. Leggo my Eggo.”

She slowly turned her head, “no, I don’t have any fuckin Eggos,” as a maniacal grin shot across her face.

He shrugged, “well that would take care of all our problems. Lil Eggo? Lil butter? Lil syrup? Fry a fuckin egg on the side? 5 minutes right there. Good morning, good afternoon, good night, get home safe, know what I’m sayin?”

She stared at him, still with half a maniacal grin on her face, “no, I have no idea what you’re saying. I don’t have any Eggos.”

He sighed, “wanna go out and get some?”

She threw her hands up again, “just make some waffles, I have all the shit for that.”

He grimaced, “so much work.”

“And driving to the store to get Eggos isn’t? Also, Eggos suck, and your waffles are great,” she batted her eyelashes.

He pushed away from her, “don’t try to butter me up, the only thing we’re gonna butter up is some Eggos… Eggos suck, you’re out of your mind. I use to live on Eggos, it’s the only thing I ate for like the first 13 years of my life.”

She laughed, “why?”

James shrugged, “I don’t know, I was a super picky eater. I ate Eggos, scrambled eggs, and like chicken cutlets. And I remember being like, y’know, having like laser focus with the Eggos, trying to get an  even amount of syrup in each of the waffle indent things, like when you’re filling up an  empty ice tray… is there a word for that, the indents of a waffle?”

Shayla suddenly had a very sincere look on her face, “I don’t know, but the image of you as a little boy, like standing on a little stool and trying to get an even amount of syrup in each of the waffle indents makes me want to cry.”

He smiled, “oh Jesus.”

She pulled him back in towards her, “that’s so fuckin cute, I can’t take it.”

He half-heartedly pushed away from her, “alright, ok, I’ll go make waffles.”

She ran her fingers through James’s hair, “nope, we have to go get Eggos now,” she mimicked a little boy’s voice, “and a big bottle of syrup, because a growing boy needs an equal amount of syrup in each waffle indent!!”

He laughed, “what have I done.”

Shayla tried to roll him back and forth, like he was pretzel dough, “no, c’mon, lets go, up and up.”

They threw on clothes and headed out the door, as she continued to mimic a little boy talking about how much he loved syrup.

 

Shayla reached for a cart right before they entered the Stop n Shop, indicating that this had evolved into a mini errand as opposed to just an Eggo run. They debated if the fruit was up to their lofty standards, and switched cart driving responsibilities every time one of them grabbed something off a shelf. They stopped towards the back of the produce section to evaluate the various mesh netted bag of onions, when a boy of no more than 12- with a budding mustache that didn’t match the rest of his youthful face, and a plaid shirt tucked into his dad jeans- preached to a peer of his,

“I’m done with organic, that’s why I eat Chic-fil-a!!”

His confidant nodded as if he had just read an interesting factoid from a New York Times article. Shayla and James stopped dead in their tracks, and with wide eyes looked at each other, holding back laughter and waiting for the tiny boy-dad with Mussolini like convictions to disappear out of ear shot. When they did James broke the silence.

“What was that??” He repeated as Shayla gasped for air while leaning on their cart, her face buried in her hands, “what WAS that??”

After a few more moments of bewilderments and hyena-like yelps she finally responded, “I don’t know, I don’t know,” she was about to say something else when she lost it and buried her face once again.

James panoramically looked around the store, “was he that other 10 year old’s dad? What the fuck WAS that??”

Shayla punched James with her left arm and kept her face buried in her right, then she finally came up for air and tried speaking one more time, “I don’t know, why does he hate organic so much, I don’t get it.”

James just shook his head in horror.

Shayla continued, “let’s just get the Eggos and get the hell out of here, I can’t deal with these prepubescent 40 year olds, it’s too much right now.”

Shayla pushed the cart as James ducked behind her, apprehensively following like they had just entered a haunted house.

They grabbed the Eggos and dramatically darted towards the checkout line, as the young man-dad-boy turned into the top of the frozen food aisle. They went to the self-checkout and finally felt safe. They rang up the frozen waffles along with the rest of the incomplete shopping list. As they headed to the exits Shayla pried further about the Eggos.

“So why’d ya stop eating Eggos exclusively, I’ve never even seen Eggos in your freezer.”

James considered the question for a moment before answering, “I don’t know, I guess it was around the time I started masturbating, so jerking off became an option and I stopped caring about anything else… even my precious Eggos.”

Shayla smirked, “my friends thought I was weird when I told them I started masturbating.”

James grinned, “for real?”

Shayla rolled her eyes, “yea… but I was like, ‘pfffttt, whatever! Fuck you bitches! You don’t know what you’re missing out on with your repressed asses! Feels great.’”

A wide smile shot across James’s face as he wrapped his arm around Shayla’s shoulder and swayed her from side to side while they walked out of the store, “yea, fuck those bitches any damn way, who needs em.”