With Coffee on Thanksgiving

Coffee is freedom! I grab my Red Velvet Latte, thank the barista and head out. She reaches for the phone. I glance at her, but make my way out of the shop. People are looking at me as I pass them, but the coffee is nice and warm and I am looking to enjoy it outside.

I go back to my spot, and sit facing the street. The cafe's outdoor umbrellas have heaters installed in them, so I am in a cocoon of warmth. People look at me as they pass by. Hurrying on with their lives, to be with the ones they love.

To have and to hold they say. Thanksgiving is the time to be grateful for the things in your life, they say. Big surprises come in small packages, they say. I put my purse on the table. It's heavy. I breathe in the smell of the coffee. Someone suggested this in office the other day and I have been meaning to try it. It truly smells divine. Coffee is freedom! If I could bottle a few scents forever, it would be rain and coffee. No fresh cut grass, the wet smell puts me off. 

I can hear sirens getting closer by the second. From the sounds, at least four of them! I won't give them trouble. I wait in my seat, aware of the fear and anxiety around me.

I am grateful that I finally broke my shackles, grateful that I finally stood up. Too long, the shadows of oppression bound me, too long have the tears stained my pillows. I kick his foot once more. I pour the coffee on him..blood and coffee mix. Coffee is freedom! I sit patiently absently kicking his foot, smiling...smelling the red velvet and my freedom.