by Rena Rogers
So I thought the day began with me. Could I have been wrong? I glanced to the corner of the room. Where Mr. Coffee is, or should have been. “Mr. Coffee! Answer me, where are you?” I yelled. Why isn’t he answering, why can’t I see him? I’ll just quietly wait for her to show. It seems like forever.
The door opens, but wait. It is not her. The lights come on, one by one. It was like watching a ball field light up. “Where am I? Why won’t anyone answer me?” Looking around some more, I notice this guy. He walks up to this huge machine on the counter near me and pushes some button.
“Hey!” I begin to say but before I can get it out, I hear something or someone hiss.
“Shhh. They’ll hear you!”
“Who is that?”
“It’s me, Mr. Bunn.”
“Hi Mr. Bunn, my name is Java. I realize someone might hear me. That’s the idea, I am trying to find her.”
“Who’s her?”
“The lady I came in with.”
“Oh, it is your first time at the office, huh? All of you guys act like this on the first night. However, take it from experience, son. These people here are too busy to pay any attention to you.”
“Not her, she is different. You’ll see!”
I try to collect my thoughts when suddenly I hear her voice: “Has anyone seen my Java cup? I left it here last night.” Yeah, that is right. I remember now. We took this long drive in her car and ended up in some big room, where there were many people. People yelling back and forth about something. I must have fallen asleep; I don’t remember her leaving. It must have been some sort of meeting, about all of that stuff we look at each morning. Don’t know, don’t care. All I care about now, is I am with her again. By her side. It was almost fun; I was able to see her at work too.
As she picked me up I could hear her whisper, “You poor thing, I left you here all night by yourself. I could not even enjoy the news this morning, how could I have left my favorite Java cup? I promise to make it up to you tonight.”
Oh, her voice. So sweet, so soft and I could fill the chills run down my handle as I felt her sweet lips on my brim. As I sit and watch the people pass by, the daylight begins to fade to dark. I think about how wonderful my life is. And how proud I am to be her Java cup. Giggling to myself, I think that this feeling is almost as sweet as cream and sugar and as warm as the java in my cup. But nothing is quite as beautiful.