A Nice Cuppa

CROUCHING BARISTA, HIDDEN LACTOSE (continued…)

INTERIOR - THE CUPPA - DAY

Ferina hands the box to her father, the thick brown cardboard perhaps the size of two shoeboxes taped together. Dad’s eyes get wide, maybe curious for the first time since he realized he had them way back when.

DAD: (in thought) I love this. Not quite sure how a box of beans and packing tape can excite an old man, but I am. International postage is a turn on.

He propped up the blade on the exacto-knife…and stopped. His hand was barely inches away from a cut.

DAD: This could be considered one of those moments I think.

TUTI: (in thought) How was this gonna work? If I just grab it and run I might have to wrestle Pops and his little girl on the sidewalk outside. Not exactly indiscreet, but I could take the old guy without worrying much. Ferina though…she’s alright.

JUSTIN: (in thought) You’re so deep.

FERINA: (in thought) Jesus’ not on my side.

DAD: And if we can recognize em, we should celebrate em. Right?

Smile. Nod. Fake whatever. Dad extended a finger toward Justin.

DAD: You rolling your eyes kid?

JUSTIN: Stretching sir.

“Days of Cheese.” That’s what Justin liked to ceremoniously call these moments. He’d seen his share during his time at The Cuppa, in the presence of his boss, the Cheesemaster. And the pointed finger made it all the worse, always riding alongside eyes that looked up from a head dramatically pointed down, the “beaten down hero moments before he leaps bare-chested back into the bloodied mob” movie look. The Kurt Russell look…without the cool. But the look was also Justin’s cue to make beverages to toast in celebration of whatever needed to be celebrated. Free beverages on work time. Sure. Here was the breakdown: Ferina - Caramel Coretto; Justin - triple mocha latte with vanilla flavor shot; Tuti - black coffee, raspberry Italian soda chaser; Dad - Turkish coffee. And even with each of them rather particular about the way their drinks were constructed, they held them high in salute to that moment just minutes later.

DAD: To things not yet seen. To the future and the unknown mys-

Enter Paul, loudly.

PAUL: Nice drinks. Dad I’m sorry to interrupt but I need to talk to you.

FERINA: (stunned, though not totally unfamiliar with Paul’s hero-antics, made all the worse by eyes that looked up from a head dramatically pointed down, the “beaten down hero moments before he leaps bare-chested back into the bloodied mob” movie look. An expression of familiarity swept the group) What’s up?

PAUL: I need to speak to your dad hon. It’s fine.

DAD: Don’t you have a job?

PAUL: Ha…brilliant, but no. I just quit.

FERINA: (suddenly silent, choking on her tongue perhaps) …uh.

JUSTIN: HA! Hmm.

PAUL: Not important though. Uhh….okay, listen to this….

He rummages through his pockets, and pulls out a folded piece of computer paper.

PAUL: I have a poem.

JUSTIN: (in thought) I’m never leaving here.

FERINA: (in thought) ….ughkdjksdj….

PAUL: Strange situation, sure, but….hey, a poem! It’ll explain what I can’t.

DAD: (on the verge of a brand new emotion) Yeah.

PAUL: (fully confident)

Are you sad Sad Girl?
let me know
I’ll butter the sun with a hotcross bun
give you a licorice whip sunrise
with sprinkles
if that ‘ll do the trick

Is that a heavy lip Sad Girl?
let me know
I’ll caramel coat every pig, sheep, and goat
knit you a rainbow pinata scarf
if that’ll help the cause

Do I detect a somber air Sad Girl?
let me know
I’ll send you adrift on a ladeeda rift
a one-way ticket to cuddly bunny town
if that’ll raise your spirits

And if not…?
I’ll get the hell outta dodge,
cause I have a life too ya know…

Paul takes a beefy man-breath through his nose, more than pleased.

(To be continued….)