Burns knew he could be wrong. He swished a mouthful of the warm liquid and could almost get it. It was not vanilla, that he was sure of. Was it almond, then? Or caramel? The coffee and steamed milk complicated the matter, but it was his allergies that really threw his taste buds for a loop.
He thought of standing up and returning the latte for what he had originally ordered, but the longer he sat trying to guess the flavor of what he had, the more he realized how nice it tasted. It was a change from his routine.Every morning he stopped at the same place on the way to work. The muted forest greens, rust walls and carpeting relaxed him. It felt safe, a haven, no matter how temporary. The fact that it was such a familiar place, so known and comfortable, added to the feeling that he was protected. As soon as he walked through the doors, the familiar surrounded him as the pleasant smells of coffee wafted by his nostrils. All the sounds that fit the place filled his ears — the gurgle-hiss of milk being steamed, the pounding, rapid taps as the baristas dumped used coffee grounds from the little holder so they could refill it anew, an endless cycle as more people streamed in.
Then there were the voices, some loud, some soft, all blending into a sort of background noise, just on the edge of resolving into meaning, but always just out of reach. He liked it that way — indistinct noise without the demand of having to listen, decipher and possibly respond. The people around him were held at a distance by the conventions of social agreement. The magic of the haven did not fail him.
So he sat on the hard white maple chair, cozy and normal beneath him, the delicate grain on the table in front of him was a circular map, the lines rivers and contours of a world that existed only in his imagination. The only new thing, the only thing that did not fit was the new flavor, the mistake. But, it was okay. He felt proud to be handling it so well, to be so calm. Yes, he felt he could just sit there and finish the drink quietly before having to go back out in the world.
But, how would he know what flavor to order if he wanted to try this new one again? He would have to go to the counter and ask. A bead of sweat formed along the edge of his receding hairline and he felt his face flush. No, he would just have to either guess the flavor or forever give up the choice, ordering his usual and maybe hoping that another mistake might come his way and shake up his routine.
He decided to try again to discern the flavor. He had sipped amaretto before and seemed to remember that amaretto was almond based. Yet, what he was drinking was different, so he concluded that it must be caramel. He let that idea roll around in his mind, playing with it with an imaginary tongue and he decided he liked the flavor of it. Satisfied, he sank lower into his chair and relaxed, staring at the lines in the wooden table.
