Contemporary Fiction
3 min
Coffee with an Old Friend
Sarah Kishler
I was trying to avoid caffeine because I didn't need anything making me more anxious than I already was these days. After two years of working from home, I was inclined to jump out of my skin if another human so much as tiptoed in my vicinity. Now that I was returning to the office, I didn't want to be jumping out of my skin every time a co-worker said something to me. So coffee didn't seem like the best idea.
But today, I just couldn't keep my eyes open, so I ventured into the staff kitchen to see if anyone had already made a pot of coffee. Someone indeed was in the process of making it. When I saw who it was, I didn't need caffeine to keep my eyes open anymore.
It was my old co-worker and friend Kalila. Who died in 2017.
"Good morning, Sandy," she said. "I missed you."
Miraculously, I didn't jump out of my skin.
"Um, I missed you too." I wanted to hug her but I didn't.
"I thought you died of cancer five years ago. So I'm really happy to see you. And shocked to see you. And overjoyed. And . . . confused."
"Oh, I did have cancer. It was awful. It could have killed me."
"I thought it did! They had a memorial service for you. I was so upset I couldn't go because I had to be at a conference. I sent them a plant."
Kalila began to pour coffee into a mug. "I never asked anyone to have any services," she said. "My brother must have arranged that. He was so sure I was going to die!"
I realized I was shaking. I managed a smile. "I've thought about you a lot over the years," I said. "You show up in my dreams a lot. I'm always so relieved to see you in my dreams, because it means you didn't really . . . wait . . . wait . . ."
"Wait, what?" asked Kalila.
"I must be dreaming again," I replied.
"Oh no, this time it isn't a dream, I promise you," said Kalila. "Maybe you had a lot of dreams about me. My brother said he did too."
"How do you know? How do I know?"
"If you pinch yourself, do you feel it?" asked Kalila.
I pinched my arm. "Yes, I feel it. But . . . I'm not sure you can't feel pinches in dreams."
"Jump up and down," said Kalila. "That's sure to wake you up if you're dreaming."
I jumped up and down a few times. I didn't wake up from anything. I was still there in the staff kitchen with Kalila.
"See, you're not dreaming this time," she said. "You're jumping up and down here in the kitchen. You're not in your bed."
I nodded. But I wasn't so sure. "I've had so many dreams that you've come back from the dead," I said. "I still can't believe you're really here."
"Try running into the wall," said Kalila.
"Are you serious?" I asked.
"If you're dreaming, and aware of it, you'll be able to walk right through it. Lucid dreaming."
That made some sort of sense. I ran, or more like trotted, to the wall. And I stopped before I hit it.
"I can't hit the wall," I said.
"Then that settles it. It's not a dream. I'm really here."
I smiled again. "Either that, or my dreams have become a lot more realistic."
"Keep moving around," suggested Kalila. "The more you move around, the more you'll know you're not dreaming."
"I guess that's true," I said. "Once, when I dreamt I was running, I woke up running in place even though I was lying down in my bed. I was horizontally running."
Kalila laughed. She had a great laugh. I had thought I was never going to hear it again.
"I've got to get to work," she said. "But do you want to have lunch later?"
"I'd love to," I said.
"Okay, I'll meet you in the front lobby at noon."
At noon, I went to the front lobby. Kalila wasn't there. At 12:15, Kalila still wasn't there.
I walked down the hall to her office. Only it wasn't her office because she hadn't worked in it for five years. It was Beth's office now.
"Hi Sandy, do you need something?" Beth asked me.
"I'm looking for Kalila," I said.
"Kalila . . . " Beth slowly pronounced the name as if she wasn't used to saying it. "Isn't she the one who died?"
"Uh, yeah, sorry to bother you."
I couldn't tell if Beth's expression was now of pity, disdain, or vexation.
I went back to the kitchen to see if Kalila would be there again, but she wasn't.
There was still coffee in the pot, and I realized that I never got the coffee I wanted from the kitchen in the first place.
I poured myself a cup, and I couldn't bring myself to drink it. The smell reminded me of Kalila. Kalila could make a good cup of coffee.
And I never saw her again.
This work was an entry to the San Jose Public Library's Fall into Fiction 2022 short story contest.
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