Farewell Coffee Machine

The coffee machine is broken. After a week of tinkering- descaling, cleaning, factory reset, and time off, she is still broken. I unplug her. A cup of instant coffee offers no pleasure, no consolation. I sit on a barstool for an hour, trying to decide which machine to buy next. I’m exhausted from my swim in the pool crowded with strangers. A woman there introduced herself, outlined her pool agenda, and interviewed me before I could get in. Then the local swim team coach arrived and began preparing the lanes, signaling the necessity of my departure.

There had been something at the bottom of the pool. At the bottom of the only lane available to me. At first, I thought it was a giant clump of hair. Eventually, examining it with every pass, I observed that it was actually a giant clump of hair wrapped around a torn piece of intertube. A rubber duck was imprinted on the clear scrap of PVC. Tiny bits of tree debris were tangled in the hair, reposed in the curve of torn intertube, and swirling around the clump as though they yearned to be added to the amalgam of debris.

I give the coffee machine one more try, but she is dead. My best friend in the world after the cat. I unplug her. A new machine is ordered. The old machine remains on the counter all day as I fumble through my to-do list. Mentally, I plan my parade to the big garbage can where I will lay her to rest until trash day. It isn’t until I smell an unfamiliar fragrance around my husband’s face and neck that my grief rolls in, hot, wet, rumbling. That’s the moment I know how much I hated the swim and wish my coffee machine had not died.

---

Please like this post or subscribe to Jellied Gold. I publish three paragraphs once weekly, so if you haven’t already…

​And if you like books, coffee, or cats, or pool trash, please drop a penny in my hat!