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Love In A Cup By G. A. Moore

To the brim was the story, as well as the coffee in his cup. Late night thoughts were keeping Johnathan from resting, but being so close to the end was the future of relief. The streets of the city were full of stories, but so was the favorite coffee shop that he frequented, and so the story was born.

By G.A. MoorePublished 4 years ago 9 min read
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Love In A Cup By G. A. Moore
Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

If the night couldn't get any worse, five thoughts of stories were whirling in my head, like I needed more to think about. I just wanted to get a good-night sleep, for once. The bags under my eyes were starting to look as if they could house another set of eyes. I just wanted the storylines to shut the heck up and begin again tomorrow. I could hear my mother, the want to be philosopher herself, saying, "don't put off 'til tomorrow, what you can do today." She was a hard woman. When I was a kid, she would never let me catch a break or chill when I was just out of it. Right now, I am totally out of it.

I guess it came from being born during the depression-era, and in those times, you weren't sure where your next meal was going to come from and if you even had a job to buy the groceries, especially for a woman. I used to hear that stories so many times, that is embedded in my head, and I wish they would shut that up too. Shut the fuck up mom and leave me alone! I always wanted to tell her that when she was living, but I knew I would get slapped into the next year if I cussed at her. One day I did cuss when I was old enough to know better but young enough to think I could get away with it. I didn't get away with it. Well, maybe, she finally heard it now that she is dead and gone.

"Times are hard for me too, mom."

Here it is 2020, being laid-off because of some virus they call, "COVID-19," and no cure in sight, jobs are far and few in-between because of having to be in either quarantine or trying to work distantly, because you got the virus and the companies don't want to shell out for the insurance or extra fees for taking care of you while you sick, and here it is you gave them blood, sweat, and possibly tears, to do the job they wanted you to do. Yeah, I'm getting paid because of being laid-off, and not sick, but for how long was that going to last. Looking for a new gig is not easy, especially when you at my age, hitting almost 40, and starting all over again; I didn't sign up for this. Today, was the worse cause I heard Johnny had died of the virus and his family is really going to struggle now. I guess I have anything to complain about, but life sucks right now.

Going back to my writing has helped with not losing my mind, but trying to pump them out and stay on track is becoming unbearable. Mom used to say, "I don't know what you going to do with an English degree. Why don't you go after one of those computer skill classes instead? That seems to be the way the world is going... technology... I guess." I actually listened to her. After college, I got a high paying gig as computer analysis, otherwise, I would have to live with her probably forever, and that just wasn't going to happen. Mom raised me most of my life alone, 'cause dad left her, but I was glad, cause he was a mean son-of-a-bitch. He actually did both of us a favor, maybe more her than me.

I remember too many times he would take his anger out on mom. I can hear him still. He came in from work, while I was in my room trying to do homework. The door would slam, and I knew based on the sound that he was mad, "Marge, why my dinner, not on the table. I work long and hard to keep you and this boy in a nice house, and a car so you can go where you need to go, and what do I get... no hot plate on the table."

I ease down the staircase seeing my mother rushing to the kitchen, trying to explain, and the next being slap so hard she had to catch herself. She was a tough broad though, 'cause she never shed a tear. Brushing her curls back into place, "It will be on the table in a few, Dave."

"A Few? You had all day to do nothing, at least you could do is have my plate ready." As he would turn to the staircase, I was already returning to my room to get an ear full from him as well.

"You any smarter today than yesterday." Not that the would know, for he didn't even graduate from high school and I was thinking of college. But, arguing with him was futile.

"Yes, sir, I think I am."

He would huff off to the room to clean up for supper and the rest of the night was like pens and needles. You could cut the tension with a knife. The last time, of many, my mother shocked me and dad. He had come home the same way but drunk. The last blow she gave him, was his last, for with all the strength I know that God had given her, she crawled over to the living-room end table and pulled out a gun. Dad just laughed at her, "What you going to do with that?"

The only thing I heard was, "Johnathan, to your room... now!"

"Mom, don't. He ain't worth it. You'll go to jail and I'll be left with him. Mom... no!"

Trying to get to her, she pushed me away with her other hand, "Go, I say!"

I left, looking back as I was climbing the stairs, but let my bedroom door cracked.

I could hear her, her voice strong and sure, "Dave, I have put up with your shit long enough. I don't know what is wrong with you, but I am not your personal punching bag. I suggest you take your sorry ass out of this house, and go where you need to go before I send you to hell the faster way."

"You and what army. I give you everything."

"And, I put up with everything. I'm not taking it anymore. You never have nothing nice to say, you talk to your son like he just lives here, you haven't had a nice word to say to me in months, not unless it is to have your hands all up on me. I am not someone you can treat like a dog, hell, you treat the dog better than me. I want you out... out I say."

He was about to come takes steps close to her and she shot the gun. I came running down the stairs in shock, but not sorry she did it. She stood their steady on her feet, not a tear in her eyes, but the look that was on her face was so threatening that I didn't say anything. There was a pounding on the door. It was Mr. Phelps, our next-door neighbor.

"What the hell is going on here?" He looked at me, "Are you alright Johnny?"

"I'm fine! It's dad! Mom shot him!"

"What, not your mom, that is the sweetest woman I know, besides my late wife." He rushed over to her, rather my dad.

"What the fuck you run over to her, I'm the one shot."

"You probably deserved it, you asshole. I hear the scuffling going in this house and I am the one that has called the police about the disturbances, but this woman is a saint, cause she bails you out each time and drops the charges, trying to keep peace in the neighborhood."

"The bitch is crazy."

"Yeah, crazy that she didn't let you just rot in jail, or divorce your ass."

Mr. Phelps tended to dad after taking the gun carefully from mom's hand and easing her down in the nearby chair.

He went over to tend to dad, "it nothing but a flesh wound. You'll be fine, but I gather she has had enough of you. Come on over with me to the house, I'll fix you up, but I do suggest you leave her be."

As dad was staggering out the door, "bitch, I'll leave, but you have hell to pay to keep your status of living up. You'll see. Life ain't going to be easy on you... trust me on that."

Mr. Phelps led dad out the house and instructed me to make mom some tea and to keep her quiet. I looked over to mom, and she was sitting there just as calm as calm could be. Yeah, he did us a favor when he left, especially mom.

She did the best she could, actually she did just fine. Thinking back, I probably wasn't making her life any easier, but we survived it just fine without him. I remember getting in trouble in school or sneaking out the house worrying her to death, or when the cops brought me home from a high school dance 'cause I got in a fight that led to bloodshed. Fred Levinsky was trying to ease up on my girl and I wasn't haven't it. He got his, but I got the worse of it, for as soon as the cop left she put a whooping on me for so long, and gave me the longest lecture in life while she was whipping me. When she finished, only 'cause I think I tired her out by running after me, I wanted the cop to come back and take me away. I never saw it as the repeat actions of dad, just her doing what she had to do to keep me on the straight and narrow. I guess it worked, for I haven't had another run-in with the law since that night.

Mr. Phelps would check up on her from time to time. I knew he had a thing for her, but he never pushed the issue, but he was available anytime he think she was in need of assistance. If she came home from work with bags of groceries, he be the first to lend a hand. When our dog got loose one day, he was the one that found her. Sometimes, she would invite him to supper, 'cause she knew he was missing his late wife, Mildred, and mom liked her, so I guess she felt it her duty to look out for him too. They were actually a nice-looking pair, but mom wasn't thinking about being with a man after dad, and Mr. Phelps didn't seem to mind, as long as he could have her company.

Now see, mom was a good-looking woman, based on some of my friend's mothers, and it was testimony when mom used to get catcalls given to her when she came out of the beauty salon. She was all about keeping up appearances. She was working two jobs, one of them I really like 'cause she brought home fresh donuts from the place called, "24/7 Diner," or I would stop by after school and Joe, the manager, was sweet on her too. He had thought by buttering me up with milk and donuts would do the trick to win momma's heart. The poor man didn't have a clue.

Just before leaving my apartment at three a.m. to take a walk to clear my head and get a big jug of coffee to keep myself awake, it dawned on me that I had been racking my brain for nothing when it was about mom all the time. Dead in my tracks, I realized the story should be about her plight and the man that won mom's heart over a cup of coffee... Mr. Sinclair.

fact or fiction
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About the Creator

G.A. Moore

Write, and write, and write again, 'til the words become images in the mind and feel the heart with joy, heartache, or even pain. I like to think that my writing will transcend you away to a place or identify with a character. Enjoy!

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