Spiked Coffee

You made me a cup of coffee the morning after you slept with her. As I watched you buzz around the kitchen humming and looking questionably at my saucepans then leaping on my kettle, I felt warm inside. Maybe I should have noticed that you were being too kind, too sweet, too lovable. That you were obviously compensating. “Obviously…..” It was also obvious that no company has that many meetings, after hour parties, business trips, buffets, projects to be worked on with a colleague at the end of the day; one company can’t give so many excuses. Yet, as you pour me a cup of coffee, dark, as usual, into the mug next to me, with your smile and deep hazel eyes closer still, I felt warm inside.

“We should go on a trip.” He said as I blew on the coffee, “somewhere discreet and romantic, where only we matter.” He put his hand on mine, the kitchen had vanished, only his eyes remained. “It’s been too long since…,” he expired, shaking his head and looking down, “since I haven’t felt like a stranger.” At that point his head snapped up, his gaze hitting me in the heart.

How could I refuse? How could anyone refuse? I realized then that my mug still hanging in the air, near my lips. In a strange way it seemed logical at the time to have a sip of coffee, to prove that I agreed and wanted him. Accept what he had made or something.

As the dark liquid passed through my lips and into my throat I noticed a flicker in his eyes. I understood what had happened. Yet I remained completely calm and I have been calm ever since. The gleam in his eyes had frozen my insides as the spiked coffee burned the inside of my throat. I felt guilty, angry at myself for having drunk his coffee, for having let him in my life, inside me. The coffee had been in my favorite mug.

A mug my best friend gave me for Christmas too many years ago. It was in my last year of High School and we had all agreed that this year, for the first time give each other Christmas presents. Part of the whole ‘coming of age’ phase I guess. As we waited to go to the cinema, the last time we were to be together before Christmas, we awkwardly and without pretention distributed the small nothings. The mug was light orange with legions of cows painted on the side, each in its own stance. Some were smiling, others waving, on even dancing disco, Travolta style. I have never, since that day, been able to drink from that mug.

I looked up from the cup to realize he was still there, still here with his expectant look on his face. I smiled fearlessly staring him straight in the eye. I felt my mouth move, my hands pushing the mug away.

“That’s an idea.”


Dark, as usual, as I look out the window. I’ve lost daytime somewhere along the line, now every time I look outside its always dark. And I’m up late again with one lonely light bulb to keep me company, staring on and sipping coffee. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m falling out of love. The fire in my heart is slowly dying and each day that passes… passes. Maybe deep down I’m crying out for you, my knight in shining armour, to come and save me. That my insomnia, my evasiveness and sickness is just a plea for help, that I can’t wait for you to hear, that in fact all I am doing now is waiting. But that’s not true. All I’m doing is digesting. Trying to fit into my mind and my heart the idea that you have cheated on me.

Of course we’ve had arguments. Some times about the wrong things, sometimes about the right. Never anything important: it’s a bitter truth but actions speak louder than words, louder than feelings. For example, we never did go on vacation, things got in the way, work, cost, but the real reason is that we didn’t want to go.

I can’t remember when you came out with ‘it’. I was in bed preparing for another sleepless night while you were lying next to me, then you starting talking. I didn’t want to hear but like a deer caught in the flood lights, I let your warm, firm words wash over me. Your lips were so close to mine… I got up when you’d finished and walked through the bedroom door. I didn’t quite know where I was going but I did know you hadn’t tried to stop me. That hurt more, somehow, unreasonably, than everything else. Yet I would have hated you and been even more disgusted if you hadn’t had the respect to let me go. I found myself in the kitchen, so I made myself a cup of coffee. I doubt that I’ve moved since. The coffee has turned cold, but I stayed, with my tried eyes, bent back and small life I stayed.


I look back now over what had happened to me and what I hadn’t done. Her name was Kathy, she was young, powerful, though our birth certificates had the same year, we were many generations apart. Or at least we were for him. Cruelly, he punished me for being a companion, regretted the period when I was unavailable and ungiving. But the reality was that you just weren’t happy with me. Christ I felt stupid when I finally realized that simple fact.

The day you left, I left you. I never called again, no postcard or email, no Christmas card and if ever I see you walking down the street I’d come up in polite, cold, neighborly fashion. And that would be it. But you remain in my mind.

Sometimes its when I wake up with a beautiful morning sun, the light peeping through the curtains with gentle sound of birdsong outside and in. I turn over to snuggle in your arms. Then I remember you’re not there. Stupid little things like that are the typical landmines; clothes, smells, films, songs, restaurant, streets.
I was a hostage in my own life, I see that now. Until, one day, an image floated into my mind that has given me respite. He’s driving in his company car with its dark leather seats, focusing the upcoming road. Trees flit by and it’s a beautiful sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. You reach for the cup holder and grab a polystyrene cup, extra large. With your eyes never leaving the road ahead you drink the coffee deeply before putting it back down.

And for some reason, to know that coffee isn’t always spiked. I can wish you well.