As I sit here, looking intensely at this cup in front of me, I notice that it is a traditional plastic cup, clear and round, exposing an orangey red color of the water that sits inside it, filling its way all the way up to the brim. It is just an average sized cup with a clear plastic lid covering the top, closed tightly all around. Scored in the center of the lid is an opening that tightly fits the purple plastic straw. Permanently embosed on the lid near both sides of the straw is a word "Solo" and an image of three continuous arrows pointing at the end of each other, constructing a shape of a triangle. Printed on the side of the cup is 'Ice Blended' and on the left hand corner, in a much smaller font size reads 'The Original'. Stratigically placed to the right of 'Ice' and above 'Blended' is a drawing of a cup of what appears to be a blended cappuccino with whipped cream piled on top. When I go to grab a hold of it, the strength of my fingers put an easeful indentation on both sides of the cup, slightly altering the shape of it. Through the plastic, my fingers begin to get wet and I can feel the cold temperature of the ice crawling into my finger tips. It is a hot summer afternoon.
Zooming closer, I can see water building up around the circumfrence of the cup with one particular area where a droplet is formed and it has gotten too heavy to hang on to the outside wall so I watch it elegantly slither down towards the bottom. I'm feeling hotter and hotter and the cup is appearing more and more delicous. All I want to do now is pull it closer to my lips and drink it. Eyeballing the opening of the straw and within seconds, I go for it, taking a quick slurp and its flowery taste immediately fills my warm mouth. Its immense aroma travels deep inside my throat and up my nose, allowing me to actually smell it. The excess water from the outside of the cup grabs hold of the inside of my palm. I can't control the urge to take another rather large gulp. This time, really focusing on where the cold sensation will move to. Instead of letting it naturally go down my throat right away, I hold on to it in my mouth, feeling the crispyness of its body, allowing it to tossle around and around as it plays with my togue. The perfumey taste retains my interest.
The crushed ice that once afloats the top inside the cup is gradually melting away. It looks like broken pieces of ice berge resting above the water in a fjork. I take another sip, but this time, bigger and longer and the sound of the chopped up ice hits the sides of the cup, producing a familiar sound, like a wave crashing into the side of a headland. The sweat around the outside of the cup pursuades me to press my forefinger against it, drawing two definite strokes in the shape of a letter V. This encourages me to take yet another gigantic gulp and this time, permitting the cold water to drop freely through my mouth and down my throat. I start to reminisce about my trip to New York City in the middle of winter back in 2002 to visit my friends Joe and Take. It was negative 12 degrees and several inches of snow had mounted on top of the windshield of parked cars. My friend Take, goes over to one parked car nearby and heavily presses his finger the windshield, scraping away a letter A, then N then another N and soon he has written two words 'Annibel Slut'. I think it was a nick name the made up for one of us, but I just can't recall.
The water level makes its way down to the center of the cup, decreasing as if it's a swimming pool evaporating its water over a period of continuous hot days. Ice is completely melted off, making the cup look calm and peaceful. As I stare patiently at the cup, I discover a bunch of words printed on the right side and as I turn it to the left, I take notice of more words. It's written in a form of a paragraph, describing something that I don't quite care to find out. It's stuff that appears unimportant. It reminds me of myself writing this thing, the only difference is that the length of my writing is too long to fit in a space so small.
Water is running off the cup, creating a lump of water in the shape of the cup, leaving an imprint of a circle on the table beneath it. I got very curious so I grab the cup, pull it towards my chest and pop open the lid to look inside. The maroon colored t- shirt that I'm wearing reflects the color of the cup almost exactly. As I put my nose up to the cup expecting to smell a sweet flowery perfume, rather, I am stunned to discover an empty smell. As I wait a few seconds before putting it back down on the table, a faint scent of chrysanthemum reaches my nose. I wonder whether the smell would be different if this cup was hot rather than cold.
I take my last consumption, this time from the mouth of the cup instead of the straw. I quickly conclude that drinking out of the straw is much easier and cleaner as it would never spill out the side of my mouth. By now, half of the cup is empty and as I lower my head to look at it closer, through it I can see an image of a woven chair and its chrome arms and in the chair sits no one. For some strange reason, this reminds me of how badly I have to go pee. But I am too lazy to get out of this chair and go to the restroom.
I can't believe I am examing this cup like its life is depends on me. I begin to think that I'm getting bored of this cup, but luckily, my deep concentration gets interrupted by a friend who walks up to me holding a cup of ice tea in his hand. Its color is identical to mine, however, its size is twice as large and fresh ice is swimming mindlessly inside it. I can't help but think I want to stick my feet in the a cold pool. I want to close this note book and walk on out of here.
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