Good Enough

It takes too long to steam the milk, so she pours it into the coffee straight from the fridge.
Makes for a tepid cup, but she finishes it in a few long pulls.
Good enough.

The fridge is brand new, as is the stove.
So is the bathroom sink and toilet.
The last tenant died here so they did a complete overhaul on the apartment, including new floors and paint job.
Sometimes it's easier to tear it all down and start over.

She wasn't expecting this.
Sometimes life throws you a curveball; you're thinking fastball and up you go.
Counts 3 and 2, runner on 2nd, one out, bottom of the 6th.
Ten more outs to go.
You've got this.
Head down.
Keep on swinging.

He would have been 19 this May.
Christopher Harrison Jude.
So many birth names. Never a battle she wanted to wage so everyone got their pick.
He crowned and then stopped when she was giving birth as if to say, wait-
I don't know-
I just-
I don't belong here.

His first attempt was grade 9.
Teams were built, appointments made, plans put in place.
Therapy, exercise, drugs, meditation.
Woo woo voodoo and dark nights of the soul wondering if she falls asleep, will he ever wake back up?

The coffee maker hisses and spits, gurgling out the last drop, the glass carafe steaming from condensation running down the sides.
It's survived the last four moves. She couldn't bear to let it go.
When every thing gets lost, some things become indispensable.
Totems. Touchstones. Habits and structure.
A cup of coffee. A baseball game.
She keeps on swinging.





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