A Piedmont Porchlight Story
Hattie was setting fresh mugs on the counter when I noticed one that had a little chip in the handle. “You ever think about throwin’ that one away?”
She looked at me like I’d suggested burnin’ down the Coffee Cup. “Why would I do that?”
“It’s chipped.”
“So?”
“It don’t match nothin’.”
She smiled. “Honey, it matches me.”
Curtis Pope laughed. “I’ve been tellin’ him that for years.”
I picked up my coffee. “You know, I’ve always figured old coffee cups taste better.”
Curtis nodded. “Now there’s a statement I can get behind.”
Hattie poured herself a cup and sat down for a minute. “Why’s that?”
I smiled. “I learned it in the Navy.”
“Oh Lord…”
Curtis leaned back. “Here we go with another sea story.”
“There was a Gunner’s Mate on my first ship named Manning. He had the ugliest coffee cup you’ve ever laid eyes on. The inside was as black as nine feet up a bull’s arse!”
Hattie wrinkled her nose. “That bad?”
“Worse.”
“He asked me to fill it.”
“So, I did what I thought any young sailor would’ve done. I scrubbed it. Inside and out. I made that thing shine.”
Curtis stopped chewing. “You washed another man’s coffee cup?”
“I surely did.”
Hattie covered her face. “Oh, Honey…”
“I didn’t know. I thought I was helpin’.”
“What happened?”
I laughed. “Manning looked at me like I’d sunk the ship.”
The whole booth started laughing. “He said, ‘Wright, real sailors don’t wash their coffee cups.'”
Curtis nodded solemnly. “He’s right.”
Hattie pointed at him. “You hush.”
“No. I mean it. They say the coffee tastes better.”
I looked over at Curtis. “I don’t know whether the coffee tasted better, but I never washed another man’s cup, and I’ll tell you that for nothin’!” That got a laugh from everybody.
After a minute I looked down into my own mug. “Funny thing is, I’ve still got my Navy coffee cup. Not the white one they first gave me. The one that came later. It’s been with me through more mornings than I could ever count. It’s moved from one house to another. Survived a marriage. Seen good jobs. Bad days. Birthdays. Christmas mornings. And more sunrises than I reckon either one of us could remember.”
Hattie smiled. “I’ve got one like that.”
“The chipped one?”
She nodded. “My mama drank coffee out of it. Then I did. It don’t match a blessed thing in my kitchen. But if I drink out of anything else, the coffee don’t taste right, and it just don’t seem like mornin’.”
Curtis grinned. “My wife keeps threatenin’ to throw mine away.”
“What do you tell her?”
“I tell her she’s welcome to try.”
We all laughed. I thought about my Mawmaw. She had one old coffee cup. Didn’t match the saucer. Didn’t match the plates. Didn’t even match itself anymore. But every morning, that’s the one she reached for. Not because it was pretty. Because it was hers.
Funny thing about old coffee cups. The coffee probably doesn’t taste one bit different. It’s the memories that change the flavor. Every little stain reminds you of another morning. Another conversation. Another sunrise.
Another person who once sat across the table smiling into a cup of coffee. Outside, the eight-twelve freight whistled as it rolled through town. I looked at my watch. “Little late today.”
Curtis smiled. “So are we.”
Hattie stood up and picked up our empty cups.
She stopped and looked inside mine. “Jim…”
“What?”
She turned it just enough for me to see the faint brown stain beginning to cling to the porcelain. “I believe your cup’s finally earnin’ its keep.”
I smiled. “Hattie, I reckon it’s got a few more stories left in it.”
She nodded. “So do you.”
olbigjim 