The Stain

This morning, as I drank some drastically sweet tea from Celestial Surprise (or whatever the fuck it's called), I noticed a very distinct coffee ring stain on my kitchen counter. You see, I drink my tea standing... while it's still so hot it burns... It opens my throat, prepares me for the day, you see. Anyway. This coffee stain is here every morning, and while I drink my hot tea standing, I usually wash it away. But today? Today I began to trace it with my fingertip and reflect upon its origin. Where did it come from? Why is it here? I rarely ever touch the stuff. Coffee, I mean. But my flat mate? Well. She lives for it. She must've put her mug down there an hour or two ago. Did it overflow? Was there a leak in the mug? And, so perplexed by this light-brown ring, I began to muse.

What goes into the making of a stain - this accident? It stays with us on this counter-top until someone (yours truly, most likely) picks up the sponge and wipes it away. And then - just like that - POOF - it's... gone. So, in my reflection of the stain, I pause. This is bold. This is daring. Especially for me. (My obsessive-compulsive behavior is clawing at me from the insides, screaming to be released.) But I just keep staring at the stain. Does it have something to tell me? And just as I realize I'm being completely and utterly ridiculous, standing there like some kind of Biblical hysterical hipster trying to discover the meaning of a coffee stain, there's a buzz at the door. It's the first happening to pull my focus from the stain for fifteen minutes or so. (A good happening, one might think.)

But it isn't for me. It's never for me. Someone got locked out, has their hands full, is visiting a friend with a broken buzzer, wants to sell me something; probably their religion. I just push the button and return to the stain.

It's still there. I reach for the sponge. My insides are screaming, CLEAN IT!

But instead I grab my teacup. My sweetened contentment in a mug from the dollar store down the block. The doctor said resist. Resist the temptation to clean the mess and enjoy it. Savor it. Let it be your only friend. Count down from ten. Nine. Eight. Seven... Six... (beat)

Oh, fuck it! I scrub the spot clean and leave a bitter post-it.