As it flows up through my straw into my mouth, the cool, tart flavour of my blueberry ice tea lemonade dances on my tongue. I love that it isn’t disgustingly sweet like something from Starbucks. I bought the tea at Laura’s Coffee Corner, a cafe I’ve visited to write. The smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies is enticing as I stare at the fine grey dotted lines that flow evenly across the beige pages of my notebook where I’ve scribbled the words I remember followed by a single set of ellipses.
I breathe in. The whizzzzzzsh of the steam frothing milk for lattes makes my mind ask, “A hot chocolate maybe…?” But in this heat, no. I breathe out. The deat deat deat of an order being rung up reminds me to get something onto the page, so I can type it up later.
I remember... But what do I remember?
The buzzing chatter of customers, some waiting in line with a friend, others on their mobile phones. Then there are those already ordering, and one stands out to me as he sounds like Sally from the movie When Harry Met Sally. Others are seated, eating and sipping their drinks while chatting with friends or family. Then, my mind acknowledges the dance remix that’s been playing, DJ Bob Sinclair’s Rock This Party: Everybody Dance Now. The song is really catchy, and frolics in my head like the ice tea did in my mouth. My right foot also starts to tap and shuffle to the catchy beat.
I remember… when the blank page didn’t leave me feeling so paralyzed. A chill runs down my shoulder blades. My hand shakes ever so slightly, and I realize my pen has been digging into the skin of my fingers. The sturdy wooden chair I’m sitting in is warm, and I’ve noticed how my right hand grazes the polished grain of the table I’m seated at. “Okay. Five minute timed writing.” I say to myself in my best cooked up Brooklyn accent. I open the clock app on my iPhone and set the timer to a five minute countdown, saying with confidence, “Steve, you got this.”
I breathe in through my nose, filling my lungs as I whisper, “I breathe in, and I know that I’m alive.” I hold the breath for few seconds, to ground myself in the moment. I close my eyes to the hustle that surrounds me and declare, “I breathe out, and I know that I can write.”
And I write.
Later, I open my Amazon Kindle and find Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down The Bones is open, and I scroll through the highlighted passages I’ve made. This one stands out: “Jack Kerouac, in his list of prose essentials said, “Be submissive to everything. Open. Listening.” He also said, “No time for poetry, but exactly what is.” If you can capture the way things are, that’s all the poetry you’ll ever need” (66).
(c) August 28, 2021 - Steven Hanju Lee