Dear readers,
This post begins a series of work from the incarcerated students in my college creative writing course. The works speak for themselves. I hope they bring you a wider perspective of the world. Please enjoy these pieces of writing and share them widely. My students are excited to have new readers.
Sincerely,
Jen Hurley
Now the thing about coffee is that I didn’t always like it. Loved coffee ice cream, but I just didn’t go for a cuppa joe. My first wife was into tea, so our morning brew was often an exotic blue- or purple-flowered tea, purchased mail order from Le Palais des Thés in Paris. It seemed to do the trick during the marriage. Alas, my wife moved out and took her beloved tea.
One week after the divorce, my parents came to visit from Ohio and asked if I had any coffee. I had a small jar, perhaps five years old, of Folger’s Crystals, in the back of the spice cabinet, that we must have used a tablespoon of in a recipe. Well, that just wouldn’t do at all. My parents promptly drove to Wisnom’s Hardware to purchase a stovetop percolator and filters. My dad had packed in his suitcase his special blend of A & P Black and Chock-Full-O’-Nuts, and after brewing up a pot, he offered some to me. I had to admit, it was delicious.
From then on, coffee was my morning go-to, and I tried, with moderate success, to duplicate my father’s blend. Some years later, the Keurig coffee maker entered the market, and that was a game-changer. In addition to all the varieties available on Amazon, I have tried damn near every available K-Cup on the planet. But the pièce de résistance was when my son started working at Peet’s Coffee when he was 17, a position he held for nine years. As a barista, he was entitled to one free 10-count box of K-Cups per week, so I was always stocked with Peet’s varieties. I finally settled on Peet’s house blend. With double cream and two sugars, it can’t be beat. The cherry on top was my purchase of an Ember, a rechargeable heated coffee mug in which my coffee stays at a precise 152 degrees for up to 90 minutes. Ain’t life grand?
Now I find myself incarcerated, and as my parents said so many years ago, bad coffee just won’t do. So I’ve developed a very special jail blend that—no kidding—I might attempt to duplicate on the outside. One third gunpowder (basic black), one third Taster’s Choice, and one third Colombian. It doesn’t quite match Peet’s house blend, but it’s damn close. A half packet of Splenda, a third of a cup of milk, heated on top of the hot pot, and a creamer packet: It is ambrosia.
I have used this time in jail for growth and self-reflection, which is the result of twice-daily mindfulness meditation, reading one book per week, and attending a multitude of classes. However, my morning coffee, perhaps more than anything else, gives me those few moments of actual joy—yes, joy in jail! I have been depressed for 22 years, and I can honestly say I am now no longer depressed.
The aroma fills my nose as I stir, the heat threatens my tongue as I drink, and the slight chocolate notes warm my heart and remind me that everything’s gonna be OK. Thank you, coffee.
You and your students are amazing
I loved reading this, the tongue being threatened by the heat is a great image. More, please!