Stains of Coffee

The dark clouds covered the sky over the suburbs of Cincinnati, Ohio. There was no sign of birds today to create beautiful music for one's ears to hear. «Another Monday! Another day!» Yousef said as he inhaled deeply with his eyes fixed on the mirror, dressed in his white T-shirt, and his hair unbrushed scattered in all directions. He stood there in silence and motionless as if he was seeing the reflection, which stood before him for the very first time. A tall man, rather slim, with sad eyes exchanged views with him. The clock sitting next to his bed ticked as he followed his daily routine. He washed himself, put on his brown suit, ate toasted bread with two boiled egges, and drank black tea with a drop of honey to add flavor.

He grabbed his umbrella and brown leather suitcase with little strands of thread sticking out here and there. Yousef locked the doors to his two-roomed apartment in the outer part of the city, and walked down the staircase because taking the elevator was quite a risk since it broke down every other day.

For a man who made a fortune, living in such place was very cheap as well as no match for his status, but this did not seem to bother him at all. A four-walled box covered by a roof was suffice to rest his head after a long day at work. The walls in his apartment were pale and white. The white lace curtains, so light, that they danced whenever wind gushed through the window. The piano held the weight of Yousef’s past and added color to the dull walls.

The sun did not seem to be in favor of sharing its light. Before stepping a foot out of the corridor Yousef took a short peak to find drops of rain falling into a small puddle and witnessed the reflection of the tree branches.

To the left of his apartment, he always met his neighbor, Max Kibler, who sold handmade products.

«Mr. Khalid,» you are looking great today!» The neighbor called out behind the brown kiosk standing under a big umbrella covering them from the rain. He in return greeted the vendor with respect.

«I have a new belt. Maybe you would like to take a look at them.» Yousef attentively observed the different varieties of new products spread on the velvet cloth.

«How much is that?» his fingers pointed at the belt made of a black strap and silver- finished frame-style buckle.

«Sir, you know that all my belts are made from the finest materials. However, I will give you a discount and sell it for $20 since we are neighbors.» He knew well that the belt the vendor held in his hand was made from the cheapest material that existed, and the fake leather had a rather smell to it which screamed, «Fake!»

With a smile on his face, Yousef opened his wallet, «here you go.» He handed the man a fifty-dollar bill, he was well familiar with the vendor's financial situation. The neighbor returned the change with the customer's purchase, however, Yousef insisted the man to keep the remaining amount.

«Buy your wife a dress. Make her happy,» just when he was about to move forward, he stopped. «But before I leave I will give you one advice. Never lie and feed your family with the money you earned by doing so. It is a sin to be untruthful.»

«God Bless you, Sir,» Max Kibler said with joy, yet a feeling of guilt.

«God bless.» Yousef always took the long journey to work. He took the early subway, then transferred to a city bus and traveled downtown. He enjoyed walking and seeing different faces, even though he never approached to introduce himself to anyone, he liked observing strangers because their eyes spoke of their stories.

How can a man with Mr. Khalid's status ride a subway and a public bus? Was he modest? Or did Mr. Khalid live by different principles? Questions of many kind puzzled the minds of his neighbors and colleagues.

The smell of the asphalt rose from the ground due to the heavy rain and the scent of the underground subway tickled Yousef's nose as he entered the station. He bought a ticket and rushed to catch the next metro, which was to arrive in less than two minutes. The doors opened and with his brown shoes that matched with his brown suit, he made his jump into the wagon.

The subway was heavily inhabited, different aromas, some sweet and some strong, occupied the small space. There were at least thirty people inside one wagon, with thirty different facial expressions. Some stood before him with a frown, which he interpreted as “misery.”

To be continued...