‘Coffee Talk’
Gugulethu Ndlalani is a self-taught visual artist and photographer from Soweto, South Africa, born on September 20, 1998. His work is deeply influenced by the rich cultural heritage of Soweto, a township renowned for its historical significance and vibrant stories. As the creative director of a collaborative project called Brokenvillages, Gugulethu focuses on storytelling that reflects the African narrative, particularly the experiences of black individuals who navigate the complexities of daily life.
Coffee Talk
I had not spoken to her in a long time when I received her WhatsApp message.
“Do you wanna have coffee sometime this week?”
“Sure, let me know when, where, and at what time.” I texted back while enjoying my granola.
We settled for the café where the staff knows me on a first-name basis. I arrived early before the morning crowd. She came in complaining about traffic and parking, she ordered a cold latte while I asked for a hot flat white. We chatted about summer break vacations and back to school night until the waiter came with our drinks and our conversation moved into a new direction. On the first sip, I deformed the heart designed on my coffee’s milk foam. I must have paused too long admiring the artful precision of the barista because she leaned in closer demanding my attention. She lowered her voice as if she were to spread a rumor or confess an indiscretion.
“Can you share your secret to happiness?
“What?” I could feel my forehead lines appear as I frowned in confusion.
“Please, I’d like to know.” She insisted.
“What do you mean?” I said straightening up my back as if preparing to fight back.
“Happiness looks good on you. You smile, you work, your children respect you, you have a stable marriage, you cook, you bake, you exercise, you...” she paused as if running out of verbs. “You don’t even have domestic help.” She looked way raising her arms up in frustration almost out of breath. “I mean, where do you find the time to do so much? Please, I need to know your secret.”
I smiled with a dash of embarrassment. Was she giving me a compliment or shaming me for appearing as an overachiever?
“I suppooooooose” I said elongating my word, “effective time management?”
I served myself some water while she twisted her mouth and looked at her watch with the impatience of a spy who is not obtaining the classified information his target promised to deliver.
“How are things with you?” I said attempting to change the conversation.
“I’m not well,” she said as she turned to call the waiter.
We both ignored that within a year, she would be divorced and abandoned. She began to rummage through her purse, and standing up she moved forward her chair under the table and said,
“You should be as miserable. Who do you think you are?”
I laughed, I couldn’t believe I was reliving middle school drama at 40.
She continued, “Why do you think we don’t invite you to our get-togethers anymore?”
She threw money on the table for me to cover her bill, she placed her purse on her right shoulder, turned around and walked away. Her pony tail moved at the rhythm of her fast- paced steps. She looked like an entitled teenager unable to get her way.
I used to take the elevator directly to the garage to avoid walking through the courtyard of our apartment complex until our coffee talk. The next day, in a brand-new outfit
I walked by her apartment wearing the high-heeled espadrilles she complimented once. I took my time enjoying each step for I knew she would be sipping her cold morning Nescafé in her ground floor balcony, sitting in the darkness of the morning shade. I delighted in the fact that under the sunlight, my happiness made me shine.
Marlene Wood’s iammarlenewoods@gmail.com poetry was published during the pandemic and one poem was recently accepted for the WILDsound Writing Festival. Additional work can be found at www.marlawoods.com and on social media @marlaswordplay.
