By Zary Fekete
My barista knows exactly how to make my coffee. When I enter the shop most mornings she
already has my order rung up and will sometimes have already started my cup if she happened to
see me walking up outside.
To make my coffee she first flicks the espresso dispenser so enough grounds are in the pour unit
so that when she tamps down the grounds the level of the compressed coffee in the bowl will be
level with the surface of the lip. She screws the pour unit into the main espresso machine and
then presses the button which dispenses a double shot of water through the packed grounds.
After I receive my coffee, after a moment or two of chitchat, I sit at one of my pre-chosen tables
and slowly sip my coffee while I start my work and my barista continues to go about her
business which usually involves cleaning dishes, taking other orders (either from the counter or
from the drive-thru), or restocking the shelves. Occasionally there is a need to grind more coffee
beans and even though this is a loud activity which often causes me to look up from my work, I
like the rich brown smell of the ground beans which slowly wafts across the shop.
Most of what my barista does she is able to do with a kind of muscle memory because she has
done it so many times. In fact, the only times when my barista displays a kind of free-flowing
spontaneity is when someone enters the shop with a child in tow. At those moments the light in
my barista’s face brightens and her movements take on a delicate, darting, hopeful quality as she
singles out the children and usually offers them a lollipop free of charge and continues to cast
glances in their direction after they have sat down with their parents or guardians.
In this way my barista’s behavior toward the children becomes similar to the packed espresso
grounds in the pour unit: tightly concentrated in a small unit of space and time with a focused
energy to yield liquid (or behavior) which has been set aside for greater focus and emphasis and
care.
After several months I felt I knew my barista well enough to be able to tell her how enjoyable it
is to see her come alive around children. I intended my comment to be a compliment proferred
before my expected return to my chosen table. What I didn’t expect was for my barista’s eyes to
fill with tears. She waved away my limp attempt at an apology. In fact, she thanked me for
noticing and told me her daughter was in foster care (for her own safety) after a certain period of
time of careless behavior exhibited by my barista when she was still using methamphetamines.
After exchanging a longer than usual conversation with my barista I sat down in my regular chair
and realized how different everything now looked around me. The seating area was certainly the
same, but the air had a different quality because I now realized how we usually never know what
deep wells of life are churning in the hearts of the people we pass by every day.
Zary Fekete…
…grew up in Hungary
…has a novelette (In the Beginning) out from ELJ Publications and a debut novella coming out in early 2024 with DarkWinter Lit Press in addition to two short story collections later in 2024.
…enjoys books, podcasts, and many many many films. Twitter and Instagram: @ZaryFekete
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