Friday Fiction: "Consciousness"

"Consciousness"

I watch him as he stands there in the breakroom, stirring sugar and cream into his morning coffee.

I smile and nod politely as he turns his head, smiles and says,

"Good Morning."

I look at him and remind myself that

"I am conscious."

Yes, I am fully awake, standing here, feet very still in my high heels.

Heels in contact with the breakroom floor.

"I am conscious."

For this man, this man who stands here in the breakroom, carefully stirring sugar and cream into his morning coffee, also stands in the very center of my secrets and dreams.

He doesn't know that he makes sweet satisfying love to me every night, and he's faithfullly there to pull me from my bliss and unconsciuos state at dawn.

At that time, I must remind myself:

"He's not really here, and I am conscious."

He becomes a vapor, as thin as the air I breathe, evaporating and reappearing here, right here, everyday in the breakroom,

Meticulously stirring sugar and cream into his morning coffee.

"Do you want some?" he always asks, as he holds the coffee pot up, swirls the dark liquid around. "Do you want some of this?"

I look into his gorgeous brown eyes, I take a deep breath, and I say

"No. No thank you."

He smiles, lifts the cup to his lips, and takes a sip.

I smile too, wishing that I was that cup.

Wishing right then that I was... unconscious.

From June 5, 2010 Women of Color Writing Workshop. Writing Prompt: Write using a phrase pulled from a basket. The phrase I pulled was "Consciousness"