“Hot Coffee,” Twin Peaks Week, Part 1/8
(See Twin Peaks, Video 1)
Setting: Thea and Cam are sitting in a booth at the Coffee Shop diner. Late afternoon, October, 2008.
You know I’d never seen Twin Peaks before—before I met Cam, I mean. I mean, I’d heard of it, of course. I knew the song, I’d seen pictures, but for some reason, I’d just never seen it. I’d never watched the show.
Cam was shocked. Like, nothing shocks him, but he made some comment once, I don’t know what. Oh, no, I know what it was, I know, I know. It was the very first time we went to Coffee Shop, the first time I took him there. He was watching Sharon refill the cups of all the Elders, the old men who sit there every day, like they’re hold court at the back of the diner.
There are four of the, the old men, and they’ve been going to Coffee Shop since like the dawn of time. So it’s like an unspoken rule that no one is allowed to sit in their booth unless they aren’t there, and it’s the only double-sized booth in the place. Anyhow.
This place . . . he said, nodding his head: This place is perfect. One thing, though: I just wish she had the outfit, he said, looking at Sharon, sighing.
Who? I said.
Sharon, he said. That’s her name, right?
Yes, Sharon, I said.
Perfect name, too. No, I wish she had one of those blue waitress outfits, he said, smiling, watching Sharon walk back over to the counter, and then he leaned over the table, like he leaned in like he had a secret or something he didn’t want anyone to hear. And he goes, Thea . . . I’m gonna let you in on a little secret: every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Two cups of good, hot black coffee.
I was just like . . . I mean, I looked at him, and I was like, I thought I was weird, but no. You are weird. I mean, no idea what the hell he was talking about. I was drinking Diet Coke, you know?
Twin Peaks, he said, and I nodded, like, Oh, okay. Whatever, you know. He goes, You’ve seen it, right?
Twin Peaks, you mean?
Yes, he said.
No.
No? he said, and he was looking at me like . . . like I didn’t know what, really. Like I didn’t a man had walked on the moon or something. Kind of irritating, actually.
No, I’ve never seen Twin Peaks, I said, and honestly, when he heard that, Cam practically fell off his chair. Or the booth, I guess, whatever. But seriously, he was so blown away. I just nodded no, don’t know what you’re talking about, and his mouth fell open. I’m not kidding: I shocked him.
Well, then. We have to go. We have to watch it, he said, closing his book.
Have to, I said, watching him. I thought he was just kidding, you know, like teasing me.
Must. Watch. Twin Peaks, he said, and I didn’t know if he was serious or not, but I took it that was our cue to leave.
So after we left Coffee Shop, in the car, on the way to my house, Cam started telling me about David Lynch, how much he loved David Lynch. Seriously, Cam worshipped David Lynch. On the way home, that night, he said David Lynch was a true artist, and I asked what that meant, true artist?
Someone whose work changes your DNA, he said. Think about it: isn’t that the connection between art and science? Art changes you, right? he said, and I nodded, agreeing. How do you define it?
I don’t know, I said, shrugging. I knew, of course, but it’s hard when you never really have those types of conversations, especially if all you’ve ever wanted is to have those types of conversations. Like when it happens, finally, you don’t even know what to say, what you actually think. At least I didn’t.
No, really, he said, what does it mean to you?
Faith, I said, my voice practically cracking like some pubescent boy. Art make me believe. Like when I was a kid and I believed I could make things happen or change things. Bend spoons. Stop time. Rewrite history.
Actually, you can, he said.
I wish, I said, thinking out loud. If I could rewrite history . . ..
What would you rewrite? he asked.
Mm, I said, thinking about it, realizing it’s just not that easy, is it? Trick question, I said, laughing.
Tell me, he said.
I don’t know, really.
You’ve never thought about it? he said.
I don’t think about much else, but, I said, shrugging.
But what?
But it’s different now. Because you change one thing, and you change everything. It’s not cafeteria-style, rewriting history, you know, I said.
What if it were? If you could what one thing would you change? he said, and I thought about it. It was hard to put that into words, but the first thing that came to mind was my mom. Still, I nodded no, too big a question, and he nodded okay.
You know, don’t you? I said. You know what you’d change, I said.
Yes, he said, smiling.
Tell me, I said.
I’d put Sharon in a uniform, he said.
I don’t know . . . I don’t want her to feel like a servant, I said.
Thea. She’s a waitress, he said. Anyhow, I’m just asking. If you ever decide to bend spoons or stop time or change history, would you mind putting Sharon in a blue waitress dress for me?
Blue, I said.
Yes. And if you could do that for me, I’d be eternally grateful, he said.
Eternally, huh? Has a nice ring to it, I said, sighing. I’ll think about it, I said.
You do that, he said, passing the turn to my house.
Where are you going? I asked.
I thought we agreed, he said, and I really didn’t know what he was talking about. My house, he said. To watch Twin Peaks. It’s long overdue.
I thought you were just kidding, I said.
You thought wrong, he said.
Well, thanks, but I can’t, I said. Not tonight.
Why not?
Homework, I said, looking at him, like, drr.
Sorry, he said, but this is more important than homework.
Really? I said, raising my eyebrow. More important than geometry?
He nodded his head side to side, like he was weighing it over. Neck and neck, okay, he said.
Well, speaking of necks, I’ve got to get home or my mom will kill me, I said. Maybe another night.
No, he said, and I felt like he’d just slapped my face. No maybe. Tell me when.
My heart stopped for a moment, and then it caught up with itself, running past me. I turned my head, so he wouldn’t see the blood, rushing to my cheeks.