CoffeeConvo

The bittersweet conversation mingles between sips with the steam from our coffee. I have two hours to pleasantly kill before work- no better way to spend it than at Starbucks with the queen of coffee herself. The extra hot vanilla latte has never tasted so good. I think of how many times I’ve sat at this square table across from her in the little café, and how many times I will after this morning. We’ve covered so much ground here. And an average stop-by java bean consumer would never suspect the miles traveled in one sitting between the two of us- riding life bareback and not knowing what will be next, rather, talking it through one morning at a time over a cup of coffee and crisscrossed legs beneath a wearing table. I can feel it already though- the cold draft of something different this time, and I know it’s not just someone walking in and letting the outside sweep through.

“I still can’t believe you’ll be in Italy during the last summer I’m here.”

For once in my life this is the last thing I want to talk about right now. I both welcome and fear next summer. I anticipate the joy of returning to Italy, in a way that stirs the lingering passion in me for missions, for reaching my lost home. I await with eagerness the jolt of jet wheels on the ancient Italian turf, and the hum of the singing language, and the familiar faces I long for desperately. But with it I sense sacrifice. What will you make me give up to go, Lord? One last summer with my friend. I swallow down the thought with another sip.

“You know it’s not exactly easy, Kati. It’ll be strange coming back and you’ll have already left. But I’ll drive down to Newburg to see you as soon as I’m over jetlag. Promise.”

I give her a wink and she smiles, but the grin fades quickly.

“Mandi, I don’t know anymore...”

“What do you mean? I thought George Fox was the perfect school for you?”

“Nearly perfect. I’ve been looking elsewhere, too. I’ve applied at some California schools, and some in Washington. I guess I just feel the need to keep searching ... I hardly know what for.”

“I’m certain it’s completely normal to feel unsure of where you want to go, especially entering your senior year of highschool. Just take it a day at a time.”

Advice I need to learn from myself. Kati twists her cup around doubtfully.

“Easy for you to say; at least you’ve got a plan.”

A plan? Hardly. I want to be a missionary, that’s all I can say with utmost certainty. Everything else spins like a thousand grains of sand trying to land on a beach. The ocean is wide but the shoreline is thin. I explain to her and she understands, still, I sense so much doubt. Unspoken fear of the unknown rests behind her eyes where no one can see, but it’s there.

“Things are changing so fast and so drastically. Sometimes I want it to hurry up; sometimes I want it to slow down. Know what I mean?”

Of course I do. I live those thoughts, but I’m learning how to maintain them realistically, and she is too. But she doesn’t need lecturing right now- I can tell from the nervous sway of her foot clad in brand new tennies, and the anxious gaze out the window beside us. Definitely time to lighten the conversation.

“Hey, why are we worried about this? Haven’t we always wanted to be nuns and live in a convent together?”

She laughs. Hard. Welcome back, Kati. But the seemingly imperishable smile fades again.

“Yeah, except you’ll go off to Italy next summer and fall in love with some drop-dead-gorgeous Italian man and then what will happen to that plan?” She laughs at her own wit, “a hopeless romantic can’t be a nun!”

“Whoa, okay first of all, I may be a romantic but not a hopeless one. Second of all, I’m not going to fall in love with some Italian guy. Talk about the perfect way to kill my goal.”

She knows me well enough to know that. Still, rolling her eyes sarcastically, she takes a sip of her coffee.

“So maybe not in Italy, but you’re bound to meet someone.”

“I’m not going to ‘meet’ anyone. I’m convinced that if he’s not here, he’s not anywhere. It’s why I don’t feel the Lord calling me away to college- every plan for that has failed and it’s conveniently working out for me to stay. It’s strange, Kati. Something’s keeping me here...”

“Yeah, and something’s kicking me out of here. Why do we have to go in two different...”

“I’ve got a grande decaf extra-hot no-foam ristretto latte!”

Suddenly I remember the one obstacle in conversing within the Starbucks atmosphere. The baristas, I’m sure, are trained to shout out the order calls so that everyone in the café can hear what drink they just finished making. We both laugh and grab our purses to go. I don’t want to. There is still so much to say, so much to nail down, so much to talk through with ears that understand. We hug tightly as if to say, I know just what you’re thinking about this life, and I’m there too, excited and fearful.

My latte is cold, and that’s a good sign.