Our Cafe: An Adaptation of Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi 

You know the type: you go up to make your order, you frantically move out of the way for the next person in line, they scream your name, oftentimes getting it wrong, and they place your drink on the counter surrounded by tons of other unclaimed drinks. But this cafe is not that. As soon as you enter the cafe, your presence is made known by the sound of the old bronze bell above the wooden door, “clang-dong”. It is the only thing in the cafe that breaks the eternal silence inside. Of all the places one would expect silence, a cafe is not one of them. It is unsettling to me. I want to hear the place alive, a mixture of ongoing conversations, some interesting enough to eavesdrop, the sounds of the workers as they go about their duties, and the gentle hiss of steam from the espresso machine. However, in this particular cafe that is all missing. The patrons around me are silent, staring off into space, paying no attention to the others around them. Everytime I am there, it is a singular woman running the place by herself, moving silently around the cafe. I find her aura fascinating, the only way I can describe it is otherworldly. When she moves to the kitchen, she calls to people that are not actually there, and then she will reappear with a cup of coffee, without a single indication that it had just been made.

The cafe brought life to a standstill, leaving one’s concept of time disrupted. This strange energy is what drew my grandfather and I there in the first place. Meeting at “our spot” turned into a weekly occurrence as we both grew to enjoy the way that the cafe allowed us to spend countless hours talking about the memories from our past, our experiences in the present, and our aspirations for the future.

The cafe felt way more personal, like a second home. Oftentimes, my grandfather and I were the only ones there aside from the female worker. The cafe is my fortress of solitude. Much like superman, it is where I feel I get to be my true self, unmasking the person I hide from the outside world. The feeling of safety that the cafe brings me allows me to have such meaningful conversations with my grandfather. He is the only person in my life that truly loves who I am, and the cafe is a safe space to share that.

*coffee break*

The virus brought with it social distancing: we were confined to staring at one another through a screen. What is worse is that my seventy year old grandfather is technologically challenged, unable to work a zoom link or text a simple message without using random emojis. This was another type of distancing I was unprepared for.

I was confined to my house, only leaving in order to walk to and from the blue USPS collection box on the end of my street. Now, on my walk to drop off my letters, people on the streets pull away from me to opposite ends of the sidewalk. I understand. It is the same fear I

have when I think of my grandfather walking past a stranger and falling ill from the brief contact that it brought.

*coffee break*

I had enjoyed the quiet and secluded setting that the cafe provided from the outside world, but now the world has reversed and I need the hustle and bustle of life to return. As months went by, life was full of uncertainty. The world would try to return to some type of normalcy just for there to be another surge of cases and have to go back to isolation. The only certainty that still remained in my life was the day each week that the mailman came to my mailbox with a letter from my grandfather.

One day, I unexpectedly received a foreign envelope. Inside was a singular piece of paper with a stranger’s handwriting. It said, “Your grandfather has been emitted into the hospital due to complications with his heart. He is too unstable to write to you himself, but he wants you to know that he loves you and is proud of the person that you have become. Visiting hours are still not permitted by the state, but as soon as that changes I will call you with more information.” The news got worse a few days later when my mom told me that my grandfather had passed away due to complications with his heart and the virus.

The virus had kept us apart for so long, and now it would be forever. I was overcome with a strong feeling of regret because I was not able to visit him and say a proper goodbye.

*coffee break*

I just had to hope that the letters we sent back and forth were as special to him as they were to me.

*coffee break*

“Dear Grandpa, I have missed our weekly trips to the cafe. I hope that when everything goes back to normal we are able to return and pick up where we left off. I miss our talks, your laughter, and your wisdom. Our talks have helped me process my feelings, your laughter has kept my spirits high, and your wisdom has helped me overcome countless obstacles. This is just one more obstacle to overcome, and while it is hard to keep going, I feel your gentle hand on my shoulder pushing me forward. Until I see you next. Your loving grandson.”

*coffee break*

Businesses began to reopen and society slowly began to find a new type of normal. These stores now had signs on their doors saying masks are welcome and stickers on the floor spaced six feet apart. Unable to return to the cafe, not yet ready to face the memories of my grandfather it contains, I went inside a Starbucks instead. I instantly remembered why I hated the place. Their specialty was catering to the vast number of people looking for a quick fix of caffeine and a sweet treat, as they moved through their busy lives. I was hoping to sit down and enjoy my drink, but the place did not have any desirable seating. The virus made everyone a clean freak, but it must have skipped over this spot. As I looked around, dirty napkins and spilt coffee littered the tables and floor. After ordering my coffee I had no choice but to stand and wait with the crowd of people at the end of the counter. After hearing one of the workers call a name that sounds somewhat recognizable to my own I walk over and grab my coffee. As I walk out to escape the madness inside I take a sip of my coffee. Instantly I spit it back up, a bitter taste hitting every one of my tastebuds. Frustrated by the whole experience, I throw my full cup of coffee into the trash and make my way back home.

*coffee break*

On the anniversary of my grandfather’s death, I returned to our cafe bringing with me the most recent letter I had written to him. I intend to read this letter to the empty seat where my grandfather once sat, to say my final goodbye. As I approached the cafe, I imagined my grandfather waiting for me on the other side of the door. He would be wearing the same large trench coat he always wore and a welcoming smile on his face as if seeing me walk through the door had made his day. When I opened the door I heard the melodic “clang-dong” of the bell and I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. The faint smell of freshly ground coffee fills my nose and I instantly feel a sense of peace wash over me, like all the baggage I had been carrying around with me had been lifted off my shoulders. Nothing has changed in the cafe since the last time I was here. I expected to feel some slight discomfort coming back to the silent cafe. I was wrong.

*coffee break*

Like a ghost, the female cafe worker who was always there, appeared in front of me with a warm smile. She looked the exact same as before. You could see the stress of the past year on most worker’s faces, but she had no indications of such stress. She already seemed aware that my grandfather would not be joining me today, like she too had received the devastating phone call. Perplexed by the woman, I sat down in my usual seat, playing with the letter in my hand. I miss him so much, but being in the cafe made me feel more connected to him, slightly lifting my spirits.

The cafe worker returned from the kitchen calling out behind her to no one in particular. She took a seat adjacent to me and handed me a steaming cup of coffee. “This one is on the house,” she said. I thanked her and we sat in silence. She finally broke the silence to ask about the envelope I was clutching. “It is for him,” I quietly mumbled, pointing at the empty chair across from me. Hearing those words come out of my mouth, I knew it sounded stupid, and I wholeheartedly expected the worker to laugh. Instead, she gave me a sincere smile and her eyes lit up. “There’s a way to give him that letter, you know?” she said. I was not in the mood for such jokes, so I abruptly stood up and began to make my way over to the door. She got up after me and grabbed my arm, pulling me back to my seat. Telling me to wait there she ran back into the kitchen. I was now in a bad mood, but I was intrigued by the strange way she was acting. I could hear her in the kitchen talking to someone, but I couldn’t hear any other voices. It sounded like an argument, or more so like a child being scolded by a parent, as I heard her pleading for forgiveness.

The worker sulked out of the kitchen looking guilty for what I could only assume was the comment that she had just made to me. She slumped back down into her chair noticeably upset. I had no idea what to say next after witnessing the bizarre event. Eventually my curiosity got the better of me and I inquired about what she had meant about giving my grandfather the letter. Looking over her shoulder into the kitchen, she looks back at me, her expression now serious.

“There is a way that you can give your grandfather the letter. There is a magical force to this place that will allow you to see him again. However, I warn you that this needs to be done for the right reasons. You see, if you choose to go see him, the reality we are in now will not change. You cannot prevent your grandfather from ever getting sick or passing away. Warning him about his future could alter your past relationship with him, so think about what you want to do carefully.” After the worker went through all the rules associated she looked at me for a decision. I could not pass up the opportunity to see my grandfather again, so I accepted the offer.

The cafe worker went back into the kitchen and after a few moments brought out another cup of coffee. It was clear that this was no ordinary coffee. The steam coming off of it shimmered in the air and a sweet smell engulfed the room. The woman placed the cup in front of me and instructed me to think of an exact moment where my grandfather and I were seated here in the cafe. One last rule I was told is that I must finish the coffee before it gets cold in order to return to reality. I took a sip of the coffee and instantly felt its effects. A surge of energy pulsed through my body like an electric shock had just passed straight through me. While most coffee

keeps you awake, this sip had the opposite effect. I struggled to keep my eyes open as I fell into a deep sleep, an image of my grandfather on the inside of my eyelids.

After a couple heavy blinks, like I had just woken up from a deep slumber, I picked up my head looking around the cafe. My grandfather was still not sitting across from me and a wave of sadness washed over me. I looked around confused trying to gauge if anything had really happened. My ears picked up a sound coming from somewhere in the cafe, which echoed throughout the silence. Steady leaks from the ceiling had droplets of water falling synchronously into buckets scattered around the cafe. I was never so happy to see a leak. I had successfully gone back to the day that was one of the worst rain storms the town had ever experienced. We had chosen this table because it was the only one left untouched by the rain. I looked over to the door at the sound of the bell as a large man in a trenchcoat walked in.

*coffee break*

“I see you’ve already gotten yourself a cup of coffee,” he said. I was reminded of the special coffee and instinctively took a sip, still hot. The woman who I had just talked to a few moments ago in the present brought over a cup of coffee for my grandfather and I swear she gave me a wink. We began talking like we always did asking each other about our day. Hearing his voice again gave me chills as I honed in on every word he said making sure not to forget a single detail. When it was my turn to talk I pulled out the letter that I had intended to read him from the beginning. Trying not to get choked up, I cleared my throat and began to read it. “Dear Grandpa, I have missed our weekly trips to the cafe. I hope that when everything goes back to normal…” I stopped myself mid-sentence. Looking over at my grandfather, I saw the confused expression on his face. He had no idea what I was talking about.

At this time, the letter was pointless, he had no idea I was trying to give a final goodbye. I folded back up the letter and put it away. I wrapped my hands around my coffee cup trying to find the words to express how I was feeling. I was alarmed by the lack of heat being emitted from the cup. I quickly took another sip reckoning that I only had a couple more minutes left with him.

With our last minutes together I wanted to do something special, something that I could never forget. However, nothing came to mind. I realized it was not a special moment that I came back to in the first place. I remembered this day by the leaking ceiling, not the special memory that we had made that day. What was special to me was spending time with my grandfather and having someone to talk to who really understood me. So that is what I did with the rest of our time together. We had just another normal conversation.

*coffee break*

On his way out the door, my grandfather turned back to me and said, “I cannot wait to read your next letter.” With that the door opened and closed the sound of the bells echoing throughout the cafe, “clang-dong”.

John Alessandro is a Natural Resource Conservation major, set to graduate in Spring 2026. His writing draws inspiration from the novel Before the Coffee Gets Cold and his experiences during the pandemic. Through creative writing, he has crafted a short story that reflects the love he holds for his family.