Immortality And Turkish Coffee

Skippy, my cat, had been yawning a lot lately and giving me strange side glances. She did that whenever I forgot important things.

I'd been busy that past year setting up my fashion line. By five a.m., I would go to the gym and by seven, I was at work. My earliest closing time was eight p.m. My company was taking off gradually and on its way to becoming the best in the city.

I held my hand mirror and carefully applied my mascara. Skippy continued to give me an unnerving look. "What? You've eaten your breakfast, why do you look at me so?" I asked and petted her a little. She edged away from me.

I finished my make-up and dressing. I was already daydreaming of the delicious and aromatic Turkish coffee I usually bought close to my office. It was the closest thing to the traditional drink that I'd come across in my city. I drove to the coffee shop and parked my car.

"Günaydın, Miss Celeste. It's a fine morning, yes?" The good-looking barista loved to slip in a few words of Turkish whenever he served me coffee. It was part of the fine coffee experience.

^Source

"Fine morning it is, Buraq. My usual, please," I replied while scrolling through my phone and sending some emails. Once I received my coffee in disposable cups, I started drinking while I walked to my car. The taste was irresistible. I did not have the patience to wait until I got to the office.

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After a long day, I arrived home to find Skippy in a moody state. She had not touched her food. "Look, Skippy. I'm too exhausted to get into an argument with you so I'm going to bed," I mumbled, followed with a wide yawn and fell into bed. She climbed into bed with me.

My skin started to itch all over. I got up and took a bath. I noticed Skippy licking herself. My brain nagged me that I was forgetting something very important but for the life of me, I couldn't remember. So I went to bed.

My alarm pulled me out of a deep sleep by five a.m. Skippy was not by my side.

I took my bath and went to the gym. The receptionist would not let me in. He insisted I had to register first and pay some fees. I asked if he had lost his mind or woke up on the wrong side. He was unhappy with my tone and threatened to call the cops. I returned home grumpy.

I was on a short fuse and needed a good dose of my favourite Turkish coffee. I dressed for work and drove to Buraq's cafe. The cute young man was busy brewing coffee in a stylish copper jug.

"Erm, günaydın Buraq. The usual?" I said, smiling and expecting his usual light-hearted response. Instead, he gazed at me with a slight smile like I was a stranger.

"Ya, günaydın, miss. Welcome. How do you like your coffee?" He asked, his English heavily accented. I froze for a taut, silent second.

^Source

He gave me an awkward smile. "Miss?"

"Buraq, it's me. Surely you remember how I like my coffee."

His fellow baristas stared at us strangely and went about their business. "I'm sorry, miss. You'll have to remind me again. Too many customers," he replied.

Okay, I paused. Something was definitely wrong. First the guy at the gym and now Buraq. I drove to my office and parked the car. I took out my compact powder and flipped it open to look in the mirror. A different face stared back at me.

I gasped in shock. Then I remembered. No wonder Skippy had been giving me strange looks.

Very few people were aware of the existence of my kind—immortals. To preserve some sanity and ensure that humans were kind to us and not turn us into lab rats, we made a pact to change location every twenty years.

Whenever we didn't or forgot in my case, our features and that of our pets, if we had any, would undergo major changes overnight as a defensive shield. This included every part of our bodies, DNA and prints.

What a dilemma. I groaned and rested my head on my steering wheel. My pursuit of establishing a fabulous and popular fashion line took all my attention.

Sadness set in. My office had biometrics fingerprint locks and it wouldn't allow me access if I'd gone upstairs. The alarm would have triggered and the security would have called the cops.

I reversed my car and slowly drove back to Buraq's cafe. He frowned a little when he saw me. "Miss?"

"I want a cup of your Turkish coffee, please."

He promptly served me a cup. I sat by the glass window and savoured Buraq's coffee one last time.

It was time to move. A new city and experience awaits me and hopefully good Turkish coffee to perfect it.

The End