Bill winced under his eyelids, tossing in bed hoping the act itself could stifle his thoughts from surfacing, but it persisted without shame, like a dog defecating in the middle of the road, daring him to press the pedal.
He tried to squeeze tears out of his eyes, tried to will his body to admit that he was the wronged, the unfortunate, that he deserved at least some pity for living his life.
Bill knew that Lyn was talking about him this morning, that someone can’t tell the difference between a robusta bean and an arabica, and that person was calling the shots in a meeting that he had no business being at.
And the only reason he got the promotion was because poor George was busy handling this person’s mess and the company was short staffed and too occupied to notice that there was an imposter.
The other barista was oblivious to the gossip but perked up in shock that someone could mistake an arabica for anything else.
Why, even a baby can tell the difference, she said at the cashier seemingly to Lyn and to Bill like a secret that everyone was in except Bill, before she smiled and handed him his morning coffee.
That was when Lyn turned around and laughed, where she noticed Bill in his expensive looking suit and adjusting the leather strap of his work bag, looking so out-of-place like a boy dressed in men’s clothes, and Bill felt the pity in her eyes, felt her the slightest shook of her pretty head in pity as she returned to her spreadsheets behind the counter.
He remembered searching the difference of every coffee bean the moment he sat down in his cubicle, but his mind rather marinates the fruits of his failures.
His own memories penetrating his mind like the coffee aroma that never left his skin, moments of him doting over Lyn, him celebrating the raise, him panicking while the meeting room went silent, him being brushed aside from discussions, him noticing others making a big gesture to turn around and look at the wall clock, instead of finding the time on their laptops, right in front of them.
Bill circled through these moments, searching for the pain points that would finally jab him awake, shake his ego to tears of renitence.
None of that worked, and he started to laugh.
Under the cover of his sheets and alone in his apartment, he laughed at the ambition that put his foot from the most famous college straight to the director’s office of the biggest coffee company in the world; he laughed at the courage that opened doors at every conference and networking event throwing names of strangers like they’re close cousins; he laughed at the vanity of believing he was every girl’s dream, a success and a great catch, that no one could resist his charm, not even his ex-girlfriend Lyn.
He laughed until he cried. Exhaustion took over his body, enough to begin the descent of nightmares of his own doing, fabricate or otherwise.