The Very Last Sip

A sound fills my small kitchen, a churning, gurgling hiss. It’s a sound I love to hear, one I look forward to every morning. Along with it comes an amazing odor, an aroma so rich and complex that it defies easy description. It’s like the universe opened a door to everything good and waved a hand to spread the smell of perfection.

The coffee is ready.

With my mouth watering, I grab a mug and tip the carafe, pouring a generous measure of dark, steaming liquid into the cup. No cream or sugar for me, nothing to mask, alter, or interfere with the glorious taste of my first sip of the day.

In case you hadn’t noticed, I love coffee. I have my whole life. I grew up in Colombia, and started drinking the nectar of the gods when I was about four or five. I credit coffee with my good grades and commitment to hard work. My love of coffee spurred me to sign up with a corporate growing plantation, where I worked like a beast for twenty years. I saved up enough money to buy my own piece of land, high in the central Andes, in the absolute best climate for growing the beans that run the world.

I turn from my brewing set up—no simple coffee maker, but an array of three different devices, cobbled together to craft the finest system for percolating God’s gift to humanity—and walk to the broad windows that form the east wall of my home. The view is splendid, a vista dropping away down the steep slopes, carefully terraced and irrigated, where I grow my magic. Outside, the light is dim and gray; the sun hasn’t yet risen, and I can feel a faint predawn chill through the glass.

My plantation is small, but highly specialized. I put my college education to good use, my understanding of chemistry and botany allowing me to combine seed strains and growing conditions to produce a bean that some call pure nirvana. A Zenlike experience in a coffee mug. I don’t like to draw comparisons, but my brew is so smooth, rich, and complex that it’s like it wraps your tongue in a warm, comforting hug.

I raise my cup again, take another sip. The hot, strong flavor fills my mouth; I swallow, and it warms me all the way down. I feel more alive, more complete. There is no part of my day I enjoy more than this, my first cup, and I do nothing else while indulging in it. I don’t pull out my phone or open my computer. I care nothing for the news of the day or messages from friends and loved ones. I allow nothing to sully this ritual. For the next few minutes, nothing can come between me and my coffee. It’s an experience that must be savored, from the first sip to the very last.

Of course, the world doesn’t like to be ignored. I can hear my phone chiming and chirping, texts and notifications and alerts coming fast and furious. But all that can wait. It’s not that what’s going on out in the world isn’t important; it’s just not as important as coffee. At least, not to me.

As I stand there, enjoying the view and relishing my coffee, a faint tremor passes through the ground. I put out a hand to touch the cold glass, steadying myself, feeling the pane tremble against my palm until the shaking stops.

No, the world doesn’t like to be ignored.

I tilt my cup, draining the last of my heavenly brew. A sigh of contentment escapes me as I lower the mug. Maybe another cup?

Why not?

I return to the kitchen, ritual complete, the gods within me appeased. As I pass the kitchen table, I open my laptop. The screen lights up, the browser opening to the last viewed page and refreshing. I catch a glimpse of the video as it starts to play. A map of the Pacific Ocean is displayed, with the so-called Ring of Fire highlighted in orange. A large spot on the western shore, in the South China Sea, glows an angry red with pulsing waves emanating out from it.

I look away, frowning. I don’t want to know more; I know how bad the situation is. What good can come from distracting myself from what I enjoy, by following the end of the world on social media?

My phone continues to buzz and chime. I take it out and glance at the screen. It’s all warnings and dire prognostications, evacuation alerts and shelter-in-place instructions. Scattered phrases catch my eye, like “Magnitude 10 or greater” and “ocean-wide tsunamis expected.”

The ground shakes again, maybe a little stronger than the last one. I clutch the back of a chair to steady myself until the tremor passes.

Like I said, the world doesn’t like to be ignored.

I turn off the phone, lay it on the counter. Then I pour myself another cup, sipping it slowly, keeping my back to the table and my computer. It figures that a global cataclysm would strike, when I’m finally on the cusp of success.

I spent years perfecting my process, experimenting with plant hybridization and soil biomes. When I finally got everything to my satisfaction, then came the challenges of production, distribution, marketing. Creating a business and a brand, earning recognition and attracting customers. Winning a few choice awards helped, but mostly it was getting out there and pushing my product, all while barely managing to keep my finances in the black. Lean years and all that. Now, I’ve finally found a measure of success. Sales are good. I’ve been planning to expand, buy more land, increase production.

And then a super-volcano emerged under the Pacific Ocean. The quakes are getting steadily worse; major cities along the coasts are being evacuated as tsunamis race across the world. The massive rift in the Earth’s crust is already close to breaching the surface of the ocean, and once it does, it will spew ash and toxic gases directly into the atmosphere. The climate will be impacted beyond our wildest fears, triggering a new ice age.

So, it’s the end of the world.

I sigh. I won’t be able to grow another crop of my special coffee blend. Even the smallest disruption to the climate will change the growing conditions significantly. And, of course, soon there probably won’t be anyone left to appreciate it.

I take a slow, loving sip. It’s still so good.

That’s what’s most important to me: that people enjoy their coffee. That it gets them through the day, and fills them with contentment. That’s why I made my brew, built my business. I just wanted people to have a little more joy in their lives. No matter what else happens, I think I did that.

Again, the ground shakes, making me stagger. Somewhere else in my house, something loses its battle against gravity, and falls with a crash. It takes a minute for the quaking to cease. Definitely stronger than the last one.

I cradle my mug and sigh. There’s nothing I can do about that. But I can enjoy this cup of coffee.

It’s an experience that must be savored, from the first sip… to the very last.