Caffeine

It was about a week ago, and Spencer and I had just gotten our keys. We’d moved most of our things into our new apartment, but we stayed one more night at the hotel to take advantage of the “free accommodation” that we’d already paid for through program fees. That Monday passed slowly. It dragged along and made me weary.

“Hello! My name is Leah.” I stood in front of a class of third graders.
Wide eyes and a lot of smiles.
“I am 22.”
Whispers. “¡Que joven!
“My favorite color is purple. And my favorite animal is a tiger.”
“Un tigre!”
I smiled in front of those many pairs of eyes.

The teacher’s lounge in my school was flooded with smiles and questions. We spoke in Spanglish, and we drank a bit of bad coffee out of tiny plastic glasses. The coffee tasted bad, but I drank it anyway; I had only been drinking tiny snatches of coffee here and there. I missed it.
“Ehm, have you done something like this before? With students?” The teachers looked at me expectantly.
“Not exactly. I have worked with kids before, but not in a class setting like this.”
An exchange of glances.

The afternoon classes passed just as the morning classes. There was a lot of talk about animals and colors and weather and whether or not I had a boyfriend. And by the end of it, I was tired of introductions and new people. I was given a ride back to the hotel and had to small chat in Spanish the whole way back.

Spencer asked me how my day was, and I said fine. More small chat. We, too, were only just beginning to know each other. The day before, Sunday, we had gone to a random café to drink tiny Spanish coffees. Ask for a coffee, they give you a shot of espresso. A mini coffee. Not enough for me. Spencer and I had sat together and talked about what our majors had been and what we hoped to do with them. We talked a bit about boyfriends and a bit about regular friends. We talked about the cloudy sky and the prospect of sun.

We were getting really good at small chat, and so I told her about my first day of school and how it was fine and all that. But after we said goodnight, I sat in my room with a headache. A headache for all the newness, for all the new people. I knew I should see it as an adventure, but in that moment, I just wanted sameness. I wanted people I already knew, and I wanted coffee to come American sized.

That Monday night, I dreamed about coffee. I dreamed of it steaming hot and swirling black. I woke up with an epiphany. Maybe I wasn’t so tired of new relationships after all. Maybe it was my caffeine addiction crying out to me, demanding attention. I left the hotel earlier than I needed to get to school. I had twenty extra minutes, and I was on a mission. Is there time to buy filters? Probably not. Doesn’t matter. I let myself in our new apartment and marched straight to the kitchen. I looked in the draws and cabinets. No filters. Fine. No matter.

I tore a paper towel off the role and set it sweetly into the coffee maker where the filter should have gone. I poured the grounds in. Lovely. The water next. Beautiful. Flipped the switch. Fantastic. And waited for the slow drip of coffee.

The coffee maker purred for me.

Tuesday, I walked to school with a bounce in my step. I ran through English games and activities in my head. I planned. I schemed. I looked forward to smiling big at the new faces with all the new names. I was ready to conquer.

I knew it was the caffeine coursing through my veins, but it felt a lot like confidence.