A Mug of Liquid Sanity

Sarah poured a stream of coffee into a thick mug and held it just below her chin. She closed her eyes and wrapped her fingers possessively around the clay. As if anyone in the household would risk a maiming by taking away her caffeine.

The scent always hit her before the steam, nutty and caramelized from toasted beans, a deep and ritualized inhalation that helped her mind awaken. Blinking eyes still sticky with sleep open, she gazed into the dark liquid and lowered her mouth while raising both hands.

A herd of elephants could stampede through the kitchen, and she’d be more likely to lick the spilled coffee from the floor than start cleaning up debris. That assumed she even noticed the elephants.

Hot liquid poured down her throat, and her hands clenched reflexively around the mug as she swallowed. An entire cup was gone in seconds, which only meant it was time for more.

Sarah reached for the coffeepot handle and froze, hand outstretched, her eyes locked on the scene visible through the kitchen window.

“I’m not seeing that,” she muttered. “I’m still dreaming.” Sarah forced her hand to pick up the carafe, poured a second cup, and gulped the scalding liquid fast she burnt her tongue, skipping all morning ritual. She carefully avoided looking out the window again until she’d poured a third cup.

The apparition was still there.

Still clenching her mug of liquid sanity, she headed for the back door and stood barefoot on the covered porch. Her thin cotton pajamas were perfect for early morning this time of year, before the day grew too warm and humid. The lawn still held droplets of dew.

She gawked into the backyard. A creak to her right told her where her husband sat, and she turned wide eyes and an open mouth toward him. “Dennis?”

“Morning, honey.” The creaking continued as he sat in the rocking chair, a self-satisfied smile evident on his face. Battered and muddy work boots pushed off worn floorboards with regular rhythm. “You bring that coffee for me?”

He asked her that every morning, laughing at her protectiveness as she instinctively curled her body around her mug. Dennis couldn’t stand the taste of coffee and never seemed to need an extra caffeine boost, but loved to tease her about her mental fogginess. Morning was their time for ritual, before conscious thought kicked in.

Today was the first time in thirteen years she hadn’t at least given him a smile at the familiar wordplay.

“Dennis, why is there a buffalo on the lawn?”

“Bison,” he corrected, continuing to rock.

“What?”

“They’re not actually related to the Asian water buffalo. Or the African cape buffalo, come to think of it. She’s American. So it’s a bison.”

She stared into the yard. The visitor munched an early morning breakfast of lawn and dandelion, turning at a precise right angle with a deep snort. Sarah was close enough to see mud on horns and shaggy dark fur as the bison eyed her and turned away.

“We’re safe as long as we stay on the porch,” Dennis said, pausing his maddeningly calm rocking. “You want to join me?”

Sarah made her way over to the rocking chair next to him and sank onto the carved wood. Her coffee remained forgotten in her hand as she continued to gaze into the yard. “What is a bison doing here?”

Dennis stretched out a hand and rubbed her back lightly. “Why, mowing the lawn, obviously.”

The bison executed another precise turn, nibbling her way back toward the porch.

“How…?” Sarah didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“Well, you can rent them, y’see,” Dennis said, leaning back and beginning to rock again. “And they’re quite fast. It’s very natural, excellent fertilizer, great for crop yields.”

“We don’t have a crop,” Sarah protested automatically. She glanced down at the dark liquid in her mug and realized it was the same shade as the bison’s eyes. Would drinking it even help at this point?

“Not yet, no, you’re quite right, dear.” The rocker creaked faster. “Their hooves are good at plowing up the dirt, though. I thought we could put some vegetables in this year now that the ground’s warm enough.”

“But,” Sarah said. “But.”

“Aw, Sarah, I know. But it cost less than that weed control chemical junk you wanted me to get. And she’s terribly efficient. Look, she’s nearly done, and she just got here.” The bison was trimming the last strip of uncut grass as she headed toward the two humans.

“When I said weed eater, this isn’t what I meant,” she managed. Her voice held an odd, raspy squeakiness.

“Mmmhmm,” Dennis said. “Smart cookie, too. I put the order in online, she showed up half an hour later on her own. Could have sworn she read the numbers on the mailbox.”

Sarah choked on her coffee, dribbling the precious drink down her thin cotton shirt.

The bison came to the edge of the porch and lowered her head, rubbing a horn covered in clumps of dried mud on the porch floor.

The creaking stopped. Dennis rose and leaned on the railing. He stayed a few feet away from the bison, nodding as he studied the lawn.

“Fine job,” he said. “Great work. Give my compliments to the herd. I’ll add a tip onto your final payment.”

Lifting her head, the bison’s liquid coffee eyes met Sarah’s and blinked languidly. The bison snorted and stamped a hoof. She turned and walked primly down the driveway, each hoof dropping precisely against the concrete surface.

“See you in two weeks,” Dennis said with a wave.

Sarah stared into her mug, wondering if there was sufficient coffee in the galaxy to rescue her overworked early morning brain.

This week’s Odd Prompts challenge came from Cedar Sanderson: “When I said weed eater, that isn’t what I meant…”

My prompt went to Leigh Kimmel: “Your phone lights up, and the app notifies you the camera’s spotted someone at the door. Feeling lazy, you pull up the video and take a peek. It’s a giant murder hornet. And it just rang your doorbell.“