50 Flavors of Coffee

A Story by Jess

Yelawolf and Eminem get some coffee.

“What’s it like to work with Eminem?”

Contrary to popular belief, it’s not as great as one would hope. It’s definitely amazing, like a little leaguer shaking hands with David Wright or a high school basketball player shooting hoops with Michael Jordan. It’s just…I don’t really get along with him.

It’s not that he isn’t a great guy, because he is. He’s just very reticent and aloof sometimes. We don’t talk about anything besides music really. For once I just want to talk about the Cowboys game or how our kids did on their report cards, but he won’t have any of it. He usually tries to keep everything on pace and cease from digressing 85% of the time. The other 15% is me being too shy to say anything at all.

I don’t really mind it too much, though, because I like to get a lot of work done in one day and to just be free to explore the new tricks and dynamics he teaches me. But I also want a little pleasure with my business.

I mean the first time we recorded together �" almost two years ago �" I called him “Eminem.” Suddenly he turned to me and said, “Call me Marshall, man!” And then he gave me this bizarre smirk that I thought was awkwardly adorable. So, I call him Marshall…all the time. He called me “Mikey” once but that was the furthest he got to making friendly commentary with me.

And after these long years, I’ve finally had enough. Marshall’s going to be my friend whether he like it or not.

I don’t know how we ended up in Philadelphia to be perfectly honest. I had a show around that area later in the afternoon, but I don’t know what he was doing. All I know is if that m**********r flew in here for a f*****g trip to a goddamn coffee shop for an hour then I’m going to feel like a needy piece of s**t for the rest of my life.

He wore his typical black hoodie with weird pants that I honestly couldn’t figure out why he ever wore them. They scrunched up in the crotch area and just basically sneezed, “I’m old and boring just deal with it.” The sad thing was, they actually looked good on him.

Thank God he wasn’t wearing a hat though; that really pissed me off. There’s always something a little bit more personal about being with a friend whose head is bare, for some reason or other. I guess that’s why schools have such a strict “NO HATS” policy in school, like things become a bit more serious when you can see the little vandalizing faces. I guess it can be a little bit more complex from my perspective, but I just want to see Marshall’s eyes without him trying to cover up his face with the brim of a Kangol. It’s annoying; he’s like a little chubby kid in fourth grade that eats all the glue because he never got out of that phase in kindergarten. Just because you feel better doing something it doesn’t mean you should be doing it. But anyway…

“Hey,” that 40 year old dummy said to me with an impassive face. I’ve never been so mad in my entire life. He barely even looked at me, yet he decided he had enough time in the world to scan over my outfit like that old hag Joan Rivers on that fashion police show. He furrowed his eyebrows at my socks.

Socks are cool, man. You can do whatever you want with them. So, if I want to pull my socks up to my knees then I’m going to do it and no award-winning fugly-leather-jacket-wearing rapper is going to tell me otherwise.

“Hey…” I replied just as smug. His wrinkly old hands were in his pockets, and they seemed to be moving around nervously between the fabrics as he brought his eyes back to mine. I lifted my eyebrows like I was hot s**t even though I could easily be working at this place if it wasn’t for the man in front of me, and said man turned his gaze to an open table. It was small, like most coffee shop tables are. It reminded me of one of my uncle’s tables in his mobile home down south. He carved it himself and, after hours of hard labor, realized that he cut one of the legs a smidgen shorter than the others. If you were to put down one of the ginormous coffee cups you get here on that thing, let’s just say you’d lose your coffee…not to mention those seven bucks.

It was sparkly clean too; so clean that Marshall wouldn’t even put his hands on it to dirty it. I guess Marshall and I had that busboy thing in common. We wouldn’t dare ruin the hard work of someone who works in a field we were once doomed to.

“A’ight…” he said, clearing his throat. He looked me straight in the eye, with penetrating annoyance reverberating from his psyche, and that’s when I first thought this was a bad idea. “Why we here?” He pursed his lips briefly and I almost choked on saliva. Those lips man…those lips.

“Ughhhh…” I drawled out, looking off to the side with wide eyes. I pursed my lips like he did, exaggeratingly so, and blew mindless air through them. I guess I was hoping to find words and sentences flowing throughout the carbon dioxide, but I had no such luck. “To get coffee of course!” I said suddenly like a shmoe. I looked at him with a goofy smile and stood up abruptly, an inch and a half away from banging into somebody.

“S**t!”

I grabbed onto the person’s shoulders to steady myself, and came in contact with one of the most adorable people I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry!” she said, her cheeks flushed and eyes to the floor. She had a little nametag and thrifty apron, tying it all in with a napkin in hand. It didn’t take long to hit me that she worked here. She smelled like cinnamon rolls.

“It’s okay,” I whispered to her. She looked up briefly with a smile and walked away hastily. Nichole. She had pretty hair.

“Take it easy, man!” Marshall said with angst in his whisper. I got the silly grin off my face and gave Marshall a startling glare, to which he rolled his eyes at and walked to the counter like a gangsta. I hate him.

“Hey, yeah, can I get a peppermint mocha latte please…thank you.” I hate him so much. He was so quiet and soft and absolvent in front of strangers yet in front of me he couldn’t care less if I fell into a pretty girl. He even elevated his voice when he said thanks and gave the blonde at the desk a quick smile. Marshall never smiled at me. Hoe bag.

But what bothered me is the blonde woman didn’t even say, “Sure,” or smile or anything. She just glared and walked away, making a cat call to the Nichole girl and I almost flipped s**t. I was craving a cigarette at that point.

“Whatdya want?” Marshall asked politely for a change. I looked at him, then at the smooth metal of the menu, then at the historically modern wallpaper, and finally at the newly placed tiles so effortlessly smooth and gorgeous, and then back at Marshall.

“Nothin’…” I said honestly, and he squinted his eyes. I was just…mad at that point. And I didn’t know why. I felt pretentious and rude and like I was in an environment I shouldn’t be in. I guess I had to face the facts that Marshall just wasn’t the type of friend that I wanted. This wasn’t the type of place that I should be in. For God’s sake, I was wearing camouflage overalls and knee high socks with a snapback in an industrial coffee shop that sold elegant cheesecakes. What the hell was I even doing here?

“Look…” I sighed, frustrated. “Can we leave?” I shrugged my shoulders and waited for the yelling. From that bimbo behind the counter. From Marshall. From the hobo outside with the holes in his shoes. From that girl with the pretty hair and rosy cheeks being chided in the back. I almost felt like I deserved it.

“Okay,” I heard at last. I stared at Marshall with parted lips as he grinned. He understood. “Just let me get my coffee, a’ight? Peppermint mocha is ma s**t.” I laughed all the way to Sunday. He chuckled and turned back to the counter, leaning forward against it like a babe.

“F****n’…”

I could’ve sworn I heard a sharp whisper coming from the back. My laugh soon faded and I struck myself back into reality.

“People are waiting!”

From that moment I knew that Nichole girl was being verbally abused and it angered me to no end. I didn’t want to feel bad or sorry for her, but she was doing the best she could. I stared at the fine array of coffee beans and flower like cupcakes of vanilla frosting and I wondered why anger and opposites had to enter this place so harshly and without conviction.

The girl came running through the back like a bat out of hell carrying Marshall’s puny drink in a rough and calloused hand. She put it on the counter oh so gently and refused to look at either of us as she speedily left…because she was crying.

Before Marshall could stop me I applied my skater boy skills to the fine art of initiating a beat down and jumped over the finely scuffed counter like a scumbag.

“Hey!” I called out. I could feel my blood pumping and my heart racing. I was in no mood for disrespect. By the time I was in the back of the shop and away from civilization of any good sort, I panicked.

“Michael you crazy mothafucka get your a*s back over here!” Marshall called out to me. I stopped in my tracks. When I turned around I wasn’t expecting a forest of short brown hair and a wide forehead. He was the second person I almost bumped into that day. I looked down and saw very fearful blue eyes. If I had anything blue to compare to those eyes that reflected the materialistic opulence of the coffee shop, believe me I would’ve. There just wasn’t anything and my brain was too fired up to work right.

“But…” I started like a child. I almost spit on him. He just wrapped his arms around me and swallowed me in an embrace just ghostly tight. I was so surprised I almost didn’t hug back. My whole body was immediately warm from his touch.

“Just relax. She’s a big girl.” It startled me how melodic Marshall’s voice could be. It was like one of those Christmas songs that come on late at night on the radio as to not disturb some people ready for bed. Let’s face it, nobody wants to hear “Jingle Bell Rock” the Skrillex remix edition at 11:00 at night.

I tried to take in what he said but it just flowed over my brain like chocolate. I was perplexed by the fact that nobody seemed to exist or say or do much of anything with us just standing in the middle of a coffee inventory station randomly. But it was nice. It was like being in your mom’s cozy little home on a snowy day with hot chocolate and your favorite blanket. I held him so close to me that I felt like more than a friend. The only time I’ve seen him hug anyone this tight was with 50 cent that one time.

“I’m sorry I’m so…off-putting,” he whispered. Pssh. Off-putting. What does that even mean? “I should

be nicer to you.” He then detached himself from the hug and gazed at me with the friendliest expression I ever did see. I opened my mouth to say something but up his toes went and there was his mouth on mine. It was like some Harry Potter s**t. I didn’t realize old men could move that fast.

And suddenly my overalls disappeared too.

I should’ve been freaking out. I should’ve been yelling and saying we were going too fast. I should’ve saved the coffee before it got cold. I did none of those things.

I just remember his skin being so soft and his lips gliding across my neck like a vicious mosquito…not such a good simile but either way he was sucking the life out of me. I wanted a friendship and what I got was public sex.

I wrapped his naked thighs around my waist and placed his cute little hind end on one of the many shelves of chocolaty spices. He squeaked at the sudden cold but relaxed into the palms of my hands as they stroked across a field of soft hairs. This was like some stupid love scene from a s****y movie but you know what? I didn’t care. I was having sex.

I bit on his lip when I entered him; honestly it should’ve been the other way around but god he was so tight and warm and the whole room smelled Santa’s workshop. I was worried about hurting him but he just made the most blissful noise that should’ve belonged to a woman. I felt like my entire universe was being lifted from the soles of my feet to the flexibility of my skull as his body sucked me in. I felt hot muscles contracting and pants decorating my neck.

“Ohhh…” he sighed in that voice again and oh my god how was I going to do this? I just wanted to talk s**t to this girl’s rude boss and now I’m f*****g my boss. I should probably thank that girl when I can walk again.

I pushed my way into him with a force unmatched by Newton’s second law. Marshall clawed his way into my back and the roots of my hair danced with delight at the sensation. I fell in love with the feeling. I said hi to the sighs. I molded to the life beneath his chest. This continued with steady breaths and gentle pushes at his muscles which continued to vibrate against my flesh and I just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Ughhh,” he moaned and my rage from the day pooled inside him like the coffee out of that big a*s machine in the back. My spine shattered with the weight of his “Michaels.” We were sweaty and gross and in no mood for coffee but very much in the mood for round two later. I called him a hoe bag just ten minutes ago and it seemed like now I just wanted to f**k his brains out.

My clothes stuck to my body in a funk and I made sure he looked appropriately handsome before we stealthily walked back out. There were three people there. We could’ve transformed into yellow Lamborghinis and no one would’ve noticed. We didn’t see the blonde monster but we saw the exit sign and hightailed our way out of there.

“Wait!”

Marshall turned around first, and the smile on his face said it all. I lifted my head to peak behind me and found that pretty girl Nichole waving around a mouse-serving of a coffee cup.

“You’re not gonna let this peppermint mocha go to waste, are you?” she laughed. Marshall giggled and it just might’ve been the most adorable sound I heard all week.

"What's it like to work with Eminem?"

I’m a lucky guy.