Single Origin Coffee and the Ninth Step

CW: Depicts family dysfunction affected by addiction, trauma, resentment-fueled language, self-harm, and recovery.

Quite frankly, I have been dreading this day…

My knees and legs have restlessly shaken and bounced, to the point where I was getting a charley horse. I’ve tapped my fingers on the lopsided corner table, as if I had an invisible typewriter, all while I gnawed the straw of my iced decaf pour-over to shreds. I have been sitting and waiting for over two hours at this aptly named Death Road Cafe, which she had chosen as ‘neutral territory’ for us to meet.

Maybe this wasn’t meant to be?… Again?

I mean, I can’t even bring myself to fault her if she changed her mind.

I know.

I deserve it…

Then again, the universe wouldn’t let me off the hook that easily. I heard the entrance door swing open. The skull-shaped, owly-eyed bells that were tied to the door handle clanged loudly to announce her arrival. We glanced at one another briefly, but I immediately broke away embarrassingly. I pretended to be interested in the bags of single-origin coffee on the shelf next to me. Of course I had zero intention of purchasing such exotic-sounding beans from some high-altitude place. I waited for her to get close enough to my table so I could ceremoniously act surprised and awkwardly greet her.

She saw through the charade, and instead assertively dragged the chair across from me without much acknowledgement. The violent scraping her metal stool made had my clammy palms sweat even more.

“You have just about an hour. My kid will be out of school by then. I, of course, would be picking him up on time. Don’t make me regret coming here.”

“Ah… Um... Yeah… I totally understand… So... Um.. H…How’s…erm…”

“Do you even remember your nephew’s name?… Who am I kidding? Of course you wouldn’t!”

I wanted to get defensive, but my sister was not wrong.

I was chasing valour and was fighting someone else’s war on the opposite side of the globe when she got engaged.

I was too piss-drunk to remember to attend their wedding.

I was in rehab when she announced her pregnancy.

I was under suicide watch at a windowless institution when she had the miscarriage.

I relapsed by the time this nephew was even born.

I have been absent in the life we supposedly shared.

“What is it this time? You need bail money? Did you give my information to another Loneshark friend of yours again? Or what, did you come to collect your portion from what our dead parents left behind? You only show up when you need something, Johnny… Then disappear like a ghost! Seriously, after all these years, what the fuck do you want?”

This pushback, the lashing out- I anticipated it. I expected it. It still hurts- especially because my sister never had a mean bone in her body before; I did this to her. I have forced her to carry on this wound on her own for so long.

After she seemed content with the first wave of well-deserved pummeling, I waited understandably to see if she wanted to throw more stones. I also patiently paused for the barista to finish violently steaming the milk at a screeching decibel. When I finally had the urge to open my mouth to begin, the second barista with skull earrings interjected with a booming voice that echoed through the darkly lit cafe.

“Ehem… I have a Miso-Peanut caramel latte with less ice, and an Alfajores ice cream sandwich for ….. A… A-ARON? A-A-R-O-N-! Your order is ready and melting!”

As soon as the takeaway latte was called out, the girl who sat across from us, with headphones that leaked blaring techno beats, stood up and inquired demandingly if the latte order was hers. The barista sighed indifferently and replied without making eye contact, “No… This is for Aaron. A-A-R-O-N, your order is ready… A-A…”

A scrawny man who sat at the other end of the cafe suddenly approached the same counter, with a confused look on his face. He got in between the two ladies who were not seeing eye to eye over the coffee order queue.

“Um… Excuse me, is this melted dessert and Miso caramel drink with less ice for A-R-U-N, by chance? I ordered it ten minutes ago. It was also to stay. I have the receipt here, if you could verify.”

“Well... We’ve been calling for you.”

That… Started a heated exchange that wasn't aimed at me, for a change. The increased tension at the pickup counter comforted me somehow. The drama wasn’t just the two of us siblings at this cafe.

“Sheesh. Is everyone disgruntled around here?”

“Hey, hello. C’mon, snap out of it. That’s none of your business. So… You were saying?”

She won’t let me skwerm out of this so easily. I nodded in agreement and cracked my neck nervously to reset. I had digressed long enough.

I took a deep breath, as I had rehearsed for over a year to open up this dialogue…

“I am not going to dishonour you by trying to come up with reasons to excuse my absence, or any of my other damaging actions. I have reached out to you in hopes of making formal amends.”

My discontented sister immediately scoffed and rolled her eyes. Then, condescendingly growled.

“Ha! That’s fresh. You think ‘-oh I am so sorry-’ is going to make it all right between us? Because that’s not even close to being enough!”

I shook my head slowly. I still had difficulty making eye contact with my own sister, like a guilty child, in front of a scowling principal. However, I really meant what was coming out of my mouth this time.

“No, I don’t expect you to forgive me. You do not have to do anything for me. For once in my life, I intend to honour my intentions, but I also know that my words are worthless now. The only way I could make things right is through sober, loving actions, and…I...”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard these empty promises of change before, brother. What makes this time different? Did you join a cult this time? Or did the rehab counsellor tell you to check me off of your ‘let-bygones-be-bygones’ list? You expect things this broken to be fixed with duct tape is naive and downright insulting, you know that?”

It’s so difficult to tiptoe through the emotional landmines, but I endured. After all, she still showed up today, despite decades of me being unavailable to her. As I took another shaky deep breath to continue my amends, Anita preemptively blurted out what she has compartmentalized all this time.

“Look… I’ve grieved you, Johnny. You know how many times I thought you were dead? You know how much I prayed that you would come around and get your life back? 3286 days. Every day. That many! …Until I realized the version of my brother I’ve yearned for all along…. Was never coming back.”

What do I even say to that? ‘Surprise!’… No. Here I go, digressing with sarcasm and humour. Instead, I nodded in silence, soaking all that grief in. It felt like a combination of being waterboarded and being hugged with the cold, hard truth.

Despite the chatter and dramatic distractions all around us, I finally was able to get grounded and open my mouth with all of the courage I had left. I let go of all expectations, hindsight, fears, and the uncontrollable outcomes.

“I know that no amount of what I do today would make a dent in rectifying the hurt I’ve caused you. Yet I will no longer be stuck frozen in fear or overwhelm, and end up doing nothing about it. I have to… No, I want to, Anita. I have never been more sure of anything than I am about taking these actions with you right now. Here’s what I like to say…”

My sister didn’t particularly look me in the eye, and stared at the coffee beans next to me with the flashy labels. I took her silence as a sign that she had no objections, for now.

I continued.

“I would first like to apologize for all the responsibilities you had to take on because of my absence. I also apologize for initially trying to make amends to you four years ago, and ultimately chickening out. I never really knew how to be vulnerable and authentic. I have never been as courageous as you, so out of panic, I effectively pushed you and everyone away. I apologize for being lost for so long. I have grieved that version of our lives, too, where we didn’t lose our parents, and I didn’t spiral out of control trying to cope with such a void. I have chosen to avoid, distract, and hit rock bottom many times over since. While the two of us were all that was left of our family, I abandoned you. I imploded what was left. I am so sorry for my selfishness and cowardly ways, Anita. I regret all of it. I truly do.”

I wish there were ways for me to fix the past, but I acknowledge that things will never be the way they were. Change only occurs when the previous version dies.

This is a living amends that signals a new chapter opening.

That’s the hope, anyway.

I am taking a leap of faith.

That’s all I’ve got…

“Whatever time I have left on this earth, I intend to cherish every single day and make it count. I wholeheartedly commit to nourishing the trust and bond between us, and no longer take that for granted. I know it would never be enough to repay the damage I’ve caused, but I feel this in every ounce of my being. I am so grateful and proud that you're my big sister, and that we both persevered through the traumas we have experienced. I love you very much, Anita, and I missed you, too. I also missed Lucas in every way. I owe him a lifetime of amends for being such a terrible uncle.”

“…Hm, so you did read my letters I’ve sent about him… Well, those are one hell of a promise, Johnny. Look…You change for you. Don’t do it for me, alright? I don’t want to be made into your safety pin. I can’t allow myself to expect a miracle over and over, only for you to explode my heart on repeat.”

“I am aware of that, Anita, and I understand. However, this isn’t a promise. I am taking an oath. I am committed. As much as I honour you with this path, I am ready now, more so than any other time in my life, to initiate this change. I have been sober for 537 days; I do service, sponsor others who don’t want to be stuck anymore, and I… I have a job now that helps those like me get sober gigs. It ain’t much, but it’s fulfilling.”

A long awkward pause ensued.

A stalemate.

My sister and I both sighed simultaneously. We both noticed that we still do that. We still didn't make much eye contact, but we were breathing the same air. Something shifted. Not sure. Then, Anita’s alarm on her watch broke the silence.

Our time was up.

“Hey, so... I need to go pick up Lucas now, but… Before you go, I noticed you were eyeing the beans next to you earlier. I want you to try this one… Camino de la Muerte …”

Anita reached over, grabbed a bag of beans, and pressed it against my chest.

I read the front label out loud. My Spanish hasn’t been polished in a long while, but wasn’t it just the translated version of the cafe?… When I searched for more reasons for my sister’s insistence, I carefully read the back of the label, the region name, and the artisan behind it all. Then, it all came flooding back.

“…Yungas… Bolivia…”

My sister sat back in her chair, taking a deep breath. Anita calmly observed me, allowing that geographic place, with its weight and significance, to embrace me gently. I looked at her in disbelief. This time, she didn’t avoid my gaze.

She nodded.

“It’s Papa’s farm. It took forever, but… We’ve reclaimed it. Took out the dead Typica roots and gradually started growing red Catuai and yellow Caturra plants. All of the coffee served here is exclusively from our farm. Even that Decaf you have been sipping goes through a Sugarcane process. It’s our family's legacy in every sip.”

I don’t know why, but at that moment, I felt more than just two estranged siblings sitting together. I felt the reassuring, loving presence of our Papa and Mama through those beans, too; a sense of genuine connection I thought was forever lost. My eyes gushed with tears that had been suppressed for so long.

“Welcome home, mi hermanito…”

For once, I was glad that the baristas were hounding out loud another customer’s name wrongly at the pickup counter. The voluminous atmosphere and the dim lighting hid my ugly crying from others at our corner table.

“Come by Finca el Camino de la Muerte when you are ready. Just let me know when you plan on it. I will have my husband pick you up at the airport, since the roads leading up there are not for the faint of heart. Tu sabes. I would love to show you around.”

Anita gently got up, hugged me, kissed my forehead, and then left the table. I was still too shook up to get up, but I thanked her profusely for making the time today. She waved to her employees, and then with one look back, she was out in the streets. Gone with the wind. The Morenada bells that were tied to the door handle clanged just a bit more gently than before.

Strange enough, the interior of the cafe seemed brighter than when I first entered it. My eyes began to notice old family heirlooms placed proudly on the shelves, next to bags from Finca el Camino de la Muerte, Yungas, Bolivia, 1600m ASL.

The name of the cafe wasn't as intimidating as it was just a few hours ago. This place... My sister's place, our family's farm... This fateful day has given me a whole new perspective on life. A sense of belonging... Even the screaming Barista couldn’t dampen the sense of peace and enlightenment I was feeling.

“I have a Nitro Mocochinchi Lemonade and Picana stuffed Salteñas for…K-I-T-T-Y-!”

“…Excuse me, um... You mean KATY, right?”

“Well… we’ve been calling for you.”