Gunk had some coffee
The sun came up and the world awoke. People stumbled gently from their slumber. Sounds arose from the houses. Lights came on. Dressing gowns were donned. Kettles set to boil. Breakfasts made. Another wonderful day had begun. Or in the case of my neighbor, a slightly less wonderful day. He had run out of coffee.
I know this because, when I went outside (on my slippers), to fetch my morning newspaper, I could hear him muttering and swearing through his open kitchen window. Moments later, there was a knock at my kitchen window. It was my neighbor, asking if I might have some coffee he could borrow.
Personally, I am more of a tea person but I can understand the frustration all too well. Every now and then, I also run out of things that I could have sworn were still in stock only a day ago. (Like chocolate cookies). I can only imagine, but it must be quite infuriating to start one’s morning that way. So naturally, I fetched my coffee tin and handed it over, through the open window. “Oh, I won’t need all of it”, John said, “just enough for a cuppa.” With that, he shook part of the tin’s contents into his own and handed mine back to me. He went inside to resume his morning ritual, now with coffee, and I turned back to my paper to resume mine.
Barely a couple of pages in, I heard a thud (or maybe it was more of a “clunk”) from the direction of my window. Apparently, I had forgotten to close it. When I looked back at my paper, out of nowhere, Gunk appeared on my kitchen table. For those of you that don’t know her, Gunk is a small being that lives at the bottom of the garden, in a burrow underneath the shed. The entrance to the burrow is hidden by a pile of rubbish. Every now and then, Gunk visits me to tell me all about her latest adventure. Usually over tea. Often accompanied by a chocolate cookie. More often, several cookies.
Gunk ran around on top of my table, jumped down again, ran around the kitchen, disappeared into the living room, flew out again, ran halfway up the wall, and made a neat somersault back onto the table. All of this in a blur of speed and whirling arms. She then stood before me, bouncing up and down like a rubber ball.
Now, in itself, this behavior isn’t all too surprising. It just told me that Gunk was having a good day or had done something she was rather pleased with. The thing that surprised me was the fact she was bouncing around my kitchen so early. Normally she doesn’t appear until the late morning or early afternoon when I sit down with tea and maybe a cookie (if I have any left).
So I inquired what I had this early visit to thank for. Gunk laughed, rather loud, but also in a higher pitch (or maybe at a faster speed?) than I was used to. “Don’t be silly!” Gunk said “It’s not early! It’s late! Late! Late! LATE!” she squealed. I told her that, since the sun was only just up, it must be early but Gunk did not agree with me. “Silly, silly, SILLY!” she replied. “I haven’t been to bed yet, and I’m not tired, so it’s still late. I don’t have anything to do what the sun does! It can do as it pleases! Hah!”
Before I had any time to contemplate the matter further, Gunk made another flying tour of my kitchen, this time landing on top of my head. She jumped down, onto my shoulder, and landed next to my tea mug. After one glance at the inside of the mug, she turned around and looked straight at me.
Although she was apparently more awake than usual, she also had a tired, tousled look. Her hair was all messy (or, to be precise, even more messy) and her eyes had the beginning of bags underneath them. But the eyes themselves shone as fierce as ever.
I asked her if maybe she would also like a cup of tea, as that is what she usually comes in for. She shook her head and asked me if I didn’t happen to have coffee. She would prefer that instead. I didn’t know Gunk knew what coffee was, let alone that she drank the stuff. Nevertheless, I didn’t mind putting the kettle on to make her some. When I got up to do so, however, Gunk told me that I didn’t need to bother with the water. Just the coffee itself would be fine. This made me raise an eyebrow. I told her that isn’t how one usually drinks coffee. Gunk rolled her eyes at me. “I know that”, she said, “because that’s how they were all drinking it at the restaurant. It’s just much tastier without all that water added”. She looked down her nose at the ground coffee in the cup I had set in front of her. “What did you do to the coffee!?” she asked me incredulously. “It’s all powdery! I don’t want those seeds crushed! Yuk!”
This confused me even more. I asked her what she meant and she started to give me a look but, halfway through, she sat down instead. From what she told me, I could make out that “those seeds” meant coffee beans. Apparently, she had hitched a ride on the bus into the big city yesterday (or “earlier today” as Gunk put it) and ended up at a restaurant.
Gunk is well known for being fearless and brave. “Well known” might not be the right term here, since I don’t think anybody else knows Gunk, other than you, dear readers, and me. But those of us that do know Gunk, know that she is very fearless and very brave.
One of the things that makes Gunk so brave is that she is never afraid of trying something new. Something unknown. Something that she would not, under normal circumstances, do. So, at the restaurant, she had tried some coffee. She stole sips from the customers at first, but after she discovered where the coffee came from, she had switched to just chewing the coffee beans instead. After having had her fill (and filling her pockets, in case she wanted more later), she was too bouncy to wait around for the bus to take her back, so she had run all the way home, eating more coffee beans along the way.
When she got back, she had run out of beans. Following her nose, she found more coffee beans at my neighbor’s house. She had eaten all of them. Then she ran around town until the sun came up. And that is when she thought I might have some more coffee for her, so she came here.
By the time she was done talking, she looked a lot less bouncy and a lot more tired. She rolled up into a ball (scrunching around in my newspaper until she had made a comfortable nest for herself) and promptly fell asleep. Gunk slept all through the day. Every now and then my cat stalked past, his tail as thick as a feather duster. She was still sleeping that evening. I placed a couple of cookies next to her, for when she woke up, and went to bed myself.
The next morning, when I came downstairs, Gunk was gone. So were the cookies. Not just the ones I had left for her, also those from the tin on the shelf. (As I discovered that afternoon when I wanted to have a cookie). I didn’t see Gunk for a couple of days after that. When she came into the kitchen in her usual fashion (through the cat flap) we had tea and cookies together. I did offer her coffee, but she didn’t seem very keen. I guess Gunk found out she is more of a tea person too.
All stories in this repository are created by Ben & Pimmie
Peachey/Schoorl
and licensed under a Creative Commons
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