Coffee Bean Sorrows

1.9K 51 12
                                    

“Time is on neither side - no one’s wrong…and no one’s right. Hiding pain, Novocain is gonna fade. There’s no good in goodbye. The greatest pretenders forget to remember…the lies. We’re falling together, the ties that we sever…tonight…” – Broken Frame by Alex & Sierra 

*

There are times in a person’s life when coffee was a necessity, with the exception of late nights or restless mornings. If I could, I’d carry a fresh gallon or two in a bag wherever I went just to drown myself in my coffee bean sorrows. Starbucks coffee beans. They may have been a bit overpriced in a number of ways, but they so delicious that I swooped in for a treat about every week.

But on the road, there were few of the little pricey demon shops.

With no decision on whether to be finicky about our choice of “rest stop,” I decided just to order a hot cup of Earl Grey and a platter of ‘the best chocolate chip pancakes in the West.’ Did I mention it came with a side of whipped cream and strawberries? Those were always excellent toppings.

Fitting for my mood. Chocolate always somehow reminded me of depression, but oddly enough, my mind set was not of glum or despair. Just…confusion.

Sipping carefully on the edge of the cut Chine tea cup, I set it down and brought my eyes back down to the notebook I had spread across the table. Every now and again, I’d search something on my laptop and then, clicking my pen in an idle motion, I’d return my attention to the mockery of the white blank page. I was researching information about Sleepy Falls Penitentiary and its Gothic structures, spider webs and intricately woven vines on the exterior of the brick buildings were seeming to be quite promising to the crew.

The boys – mostly Aaron, Billy and Nick – were ravaging their food, as they usually did. Since the booths were rather small and spaced out a bit, I allowed the boys to go ‘ghost mode’ and discuss what information I had tossed their way about their lockdown in a few days, while I chose a cozy little corner all to myself. Me, myself, my thoughts and I.

I kept Bagans in my peripheral vision as he swiveled in his chair at the mini bar. He was silently munching on his club sandwich, and without a second thought, I knew it was caked to the extreme with ham. That ham-loving man…

Closing my laptop lid, I rustled my hair with my fingers in all sorts of directions. Maybe if I looked unattractive enough, Bagans will forget about all about me and the things he thought he felt for me. After as much battling as we’ve done in the past twelve hours or so, I’d figured one of us would’ve given up by now. Maybe I was giving up? I brushed that thought away, shrugging my tense shoulders before I reached into my lap to plug in headphones into my iPhone. Music was my guidance, my metaphorical friend. It provided me with a place to just…fall and forget. Sometimes. Usually, shuffle had other ideas in mind…

First song: Sorry by the very own Buckcherry.  

I bit my lip, my ears ringing with the beginning verses and once I got over the sting of the bridge, in came the chorus. It reminded me of the way Bagans and I stuck at each other’s side no matter the consequence or issue. Like with Laura. As much as I loved Bagans in the manner of a ‘friend’…it was hard to deny the fact that I was falling deeply, madly and erratically in love with him. Fallin’ so fast I knew not where the ride may take me. Apparently, he didn’t either.

Forking the leftovers of my delicious pancakes, I shifted slightly in my seat, and pressing hand to paper, I began to release all my frustrations out. The rhythm of the song changed, making my hand move faster to the pumping rock beats of Bring Me to Life.

A spherical dimension resulted into a perfect oval shape for a head. Beautifully matched adjacent black sketches made themselves to be a dark tuxedo, slacks and shoes. A top hat – which hide the face of the perpetrator with the wide set rim – replaced the hair I originally had planned…the left over grey lines became a voluminous pair of haunting angel wings. My mind was being more bewildering than usual and at that notion, I began scribbling a sentence in Latin at the top in letters that beheld a rather spooky finish. With the final shading touches of the deep angles of the cheeks bones, the rest of the face and the finishing touches on the wings’ feathers…my pencil slammed down on the table with a clank.

Guide My Steps - A Zak Bagans StoryWhere stories live. Discover now