One More Cup Of Coffee: THE SILVER SPOON (Easthampton, Mass.)

It’s 9-something in the morning, but boy I slept lousy last night. I find myself thick-headed and zombie-esque, feeling like it’s 5am or some shit. At the next table, a couple pay their bill and prepare to start their Wednesday. “Ready Freddy?” the man asks his wife. When and how did this phrase enter our lexicon? Who is this Freddy? Krueger? Pohl? Flintstone? Or wait, is this woman named Fred? I apologize, ma’am.

A man walks in and claims an unoccupied table. The waitress asks him if he’d like a coffee. He pauses for comedic effect, eyebrow raised — y’know, a funny “Of course I want coffee!” sort of thing. Classic stuff. In that same moment there are simultaneous lulls in six different conversations and the room goes silent. Several patrons look up. We watch these two people — a customer taking his coat off, a waitress leaning forward — both frozen in time, a Greek frieze, a Rockwell painting. Too much attention is paid to this insignificant moment. The silence unfurls, the man maintaining his straight face in a near heroic gesture. How long has this been happening? The walls are dust, the valley flooded, civilizations forgotten. Silence. I lean into the gale force of time, unable to pull free of the glue that traps us all in this endless moment. Silence. Somebody, please. Anybody. Stop this. Flip a table over. Fire a gun. Silence.

“Of course, I want a coffee,” he says.

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