Jonathan Beech Mrs. Mirecka English 9 Period 7 Cup of Coffee? It had been a long and tiring 5 days. The weather had not been so kind in Singapore lately; it was either harsh sun, or monsoon rains .The trainees in the Singaporean army swore at their discomfort. However, today was a Saturday and I was going to make the best of it. I woke at nine, a luxury I enjoyed only a few weekends a year now. My brother Rodney was still asleep, not rare for a 14 year old teenager. I wasn’t too harsh on him, after all, his mind was still that of a six year old. The clock struck 10 and I had just finished showering and arranging the day’s plans and items needed. Glancing over my gold-plated timepiece, panic hit me as I the watch said it was half past nine, meaning we were already behind schedule. As I sprang for the door, my face managed to connect before my hands and the door swung open with a loud boom. “Rodney! Come on, we gotta get going! Or don’t you want to go to the beach?” “Beach? BEACH! BEACH, BEACH, BEACH!” much to my displeasure, Rodney’s ear piercing cries never stopped. The screams annoyed me to some extent, but over the years, I had grown used to the struggles with Rodney and had learnt to control my anger and frustrations. The sun’s rays gleamed in through the windows of the metallic silver Accord. The weather promised a good morning, but the dark clouds in the far east did not go unnoticed. As we piled our bags full of clothes and towels and such into the boot and stepped into the car, I had a feeling today was going to be another irritating day with my brother, but because I knew I had to for him, I ignored the facts that most previous outings resulted in my humiliation. Pressing my foot down on the right pedal the 16-inch alloy wheels crunched against the gravel, propelling us forward. Rodney sat in the back seat. He was never allowed into the front. There was no way to tell what he would do sitting there. It was hard to talk with Rodney, especially since his physical body was in perfect condition and he stood at 5’8” but when he spoke it was hard to take it seriously. I knew and I hated those who laughed. Sun gleamed off the large Starbucks logo and when Rodney saw the shimmering light, he responded “STARBUCKS! Can we go? CAN WE, CAN WE, CAN WE!?
PLEASE? MY STOMACH HURTS! PLEASE I’M SO HUNGRY AND THIRTSY! PLEASE?” Out of pure desperation for peace, I pulled over. Before I had even finished parking, the gentle click of the door opening, had me whirling my head, I saw a blur of clothing as Rodney was gone and the door was left un-shut. Grunting shifted the gearbox into R applied a little too pressure onto the acceleration pedal and then crashed into a stop. The champagne coloured Lexus behind me was left with a cracked headlight. Something I would worry about later. I swore under my breath as I locked the car and ran towards the entrance to see my younger brother trying to apologize to an older man. The man looked to be in his forties and had a large brown stain on his shirt, still wet. Then it hit me. “I’m so sorry sir. Did my brother do this to you? Oh my god. Umm oh my god that’s hot coffee. Look I’m terribly sorry, can I pay you back for your coffee and shirt?” The man was a good couple inches taller and had arms the size of his calves. The physique of a rugby player. however my voice did not falter, a result of having gone through over a year now of army training. This guy was big, but not nearly close to my British general standing at over six and a half feet with tree trunk biceps, he was as close as a human got to a rhino as possible. The man did not answer immediately, but instead unbuttoned his shirt. One button at a time. The lower the shirt got, the more the burn grew in size… and it became pretty big. He stood there for a while before handing me his shirt. “Give me your shirt, and you can try mine on.” He snarled. I was a little reluctant as for once I was wearing a good shirt, a BOSS shirt. It wasn’t my style but I complied, removing my shirt as a crowd gathered to watch. The man took out his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out 20 Singaporean dollars, grabbed the nearest mans coffee and without even looking at the man put threw the 20 dollars at him. The stranger looked at the man, grabbed the cash and ran away. The cup was a normal Starbucks cup. It had the usual Styrofoam cup, the recycled paper sleeve, it was all normal. However the man now seemed more… dangerous, towering over me with a cup of coffee in his large muscular hands, looking into his eyes, I knew he was mad. I felt intimidated. And then he threw the coffee straight at my torso. Immediately my chest and face felt as if on fire. The coffee hurt like a mother. My loud yells could have been heard for miles. Writhing with pain, my body became numb. The pain seemed to fade and a new suffering was born. Hatred. Hatred for that idiot, as well as hatred towards myself for not stopping Rodney.
I painfully dragged myself off the floor, my legs trembled and I had to take smaller breaths so as to not hurt myself. Anywhere the scalding mixture had touched felt like I’d been attacked with a cow prod. The man glared at me then walked away throwing my shirt on the ground behind him. It was then I realized that he had not only hurt me physically, he had ruined my pride. Rodney was sitting in the farthest corner of Starbucks crying into his knees. He had watched me get attacked and scream in pain. Of everything he could have said right then to me like “are you ok?” he chose the best sentence. “Raymond. Thank you, I love you?” he said with the most innocent voice. No teenage crap that really meant “can you buy me something,” but real, honest love. I don’t know why it was that those simple words were so meaningful, but they caused my hatred for him to subside. Out of pure love only those in a close family will ever experience, I hugged him, tight and close against my chest, the burns no longer mattered. Tears streamed down my face, but who cared. I needed him to know I loved him too.