The Coffee Pot
David scowled as the woman walked away, taking the power cord he’d been playing with. Again.
That woman was always taking things away. Scissors, sticks, shiny buttons, string—if it was interesting, it vanished the moment he touched it.
She was so annoying!
“No, no,” she’d say. “That’s not for you. You could get hurt.”
She said it all the time. With that same voice. Like she knew better than him about everything. Like she owned everything—even him.
Who made her the boss of him anyhow?
Wifflickey kukuk ch chh.
Wifflickey tktktktktktktktk. Plip.
David turned his head toward the counter. The sound came again: steady, rhythmic, magical.
A shiny, bulb-shaped pot sat perched like a prize on its black pedestal, spitting brown-black drops into itself. He could almost hear it calling to him.
Wifflickey kukuk ch chh.
Plip.
Something in the air smelled good. Sharp, rich, warm. Like being hugged. Like something old and nice, maybe. He closed his eyes and let the scent pull a smile across his face.
He opened his eyes again and looked toward the pot. He wanted it. No—he needed it.
He started to lean forward.
“Don’t even think about it,” said the woman, looking over her magazine, her commanding voice cutting through the air like a spatula.
David froze. He looked over at her. She had that look again—the No, David look.
“I’m not kidding,” she said, stepping closer. “You’ll burn yourself. Do you want to get hurt?”
He shook his head. No. He didn’t want that. He hated getting hurt.
Still, he leaned back in his chair and kept watching the coffee pot.
Wifflickey kukuk ch chh. Plip.
The coffee pot was beautiful. It looked like it belonged to someone important. A captain maybe. Or a king.
And he wanted it.
The woman came back, holding something.
“Here,” she said, “look at this. You like the boats.”
She held out a magazine with glossy pages, opened to a picture of a big sailboat. The wood was shiny, reddish-brown like chocolate, and the white sails puffed like clouds.
David blinked at it. Yes. Boats were nice. He liked boats. He liked the idea of going somewhere. He looked up at the woman and back at the boat.
Anywhere but here. With Anyone but her!
He settled back into his chair. His brow unfurrowed. He began to turn the pages, one by one.
There were little ones, big ones, ones with names written on the sides. Sea Dancer, Whisperwind, The Marigold.
Wifflickey kukuk ch chh. Tktktktktktk. Plip.
The coffee pot interrupted his thoughts again. It was almost full now. He glanced at it. Then at the woman. She was watching him.
“You like that one?” she asked, pointing at a schooner with twin masts and blue trim.
David nodded. He didn’t say much. Didn’t have to. She always talked enough for both of them.
“That one’s a beauty,” she said softly. “Bet she could go far.”
The phone rang. The woman frowned and stood up.
“You keep looking, okay?” she said, and reached for the handset on the wall.
“Hello?”
A pause. Then, with more warmth: “Ohhhh. Elaine! It’s you! Heavens, it’s been forever.”
David could still hear her from the hallway.
“We’re just looking at sailboats in a magazine,” she said, peeking back around the corner with a smile.
David looked down at the page again. A large double mast vessel spread across both side of the seam. Strong. Luxurious. Ready to tackle the high seas.
In the background, he could hear the woman nattering.
“Yes,” the woman said into the phone. “He does love his boats.”
David glanced up at the counter.
Kshhhh. Ksssshhhh.
The coffee pot had stopped. The sound was softer now, like it was resting. Full. Waiting.
He looked toward the hallway. The woman was still talking.
Carefully, quietly, he put the magazine down and slid out of the chair.
The wetness of his undiscovered soiled diaper shifted on his bum. It was uncomfortable, but that was her problem. His legs wobbled as he moved but he was careful. He didn’t want to alert that bothersome woman. He would have what he wanted—that coffee pot!
The pot shimmered. It smelled like warmth. Like something he’d lost.
He reached out. He picked it up by its handle. It was heavier than he expected. He reached to steady it with his other hand but it was hot. Too hot.
He cried out as the searing pain flashed into his palm. Instinctively, he drew his hands toward himself, trying to release the pot. But it was no use. His other hand was too far into the handle to just let go.
Behind him, the woman shrieked.
He turned just as she appeared in the doorway, rushing toward him. The shout startled him—his hand jerked, and the pot tilted—but his fingers clamped around the handle, unwilling to let go.
The coffee in the pot rushed from the top as one side fell. A searing wave splashed over his chest, through his shirt, down into his lap.
He screamed and felt himself start to fall.
The woman was already there though, catching him, easing him down slowly, crying.
“I told you to leave it alone,” She said. “And this is why. See what you’ve done?”
David couldn’t speak. He was too busy clawing at his shirt, trying to peel away the burning cloth. And he was ashamed. She had, in fact, told him. And she’d been right.
She helped him though.
Her fingers were gentle but fast.
She pulled the soaked shirt away and winced at the red skin beneath.
“Let’s have a look,” she said.
She surveyed the damage and concluded it would be alright.
She sighed.
“I’ll get some lotion,” she said, voice shaking. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. Just a few little burns.”
He blinked at her. For a moment, her face became something clear and familiar. He knew who she was now.
“Evelyn,” he said, his voice hoarse. “What happened?”
“You burned yourself, Daddy,” she said gently, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “I told you to leave the coffee pot alone.”
He stared into her eyes, searching.
Who was this woman and why was she there?
His chest burned. He looked down to examine it and remembered why. He looked up at the woman and spoke again.
“H-how did you know?” he asked.
Her face crumpled, and she smiled through the tears as she softly patted him on the hand.
“I did the exact same thing a long time ago,” she whispered. “When my daddy told me not to.”
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