The Jackpot Wasn't the Lottery, It Was [What Kind of Story Is This Coffee]

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It was a single seed.

I remember it being around the beginning of the Heisei era. An old friend—the oldest among those I call friends (we've known each other since junior high, so we don't quite reach the level of childhood friends. I transferred schools five times in elementary school, so that part is complicated. By the way, my friend was also from a family that moved around a lot. That's a story for another time)—was going to move to the United States for their partner's work.

I want to see you once before I leave Japan. I'm in the countryside, but wouldn't you like to come visit?

That was the invitation I received.

She and I. We both have a detached nature when it comes to socializing. We've spent many years living by the motto, "Don't turn away those who come, don't chase those who leave." It's also a survival strategy for families that move around. Therefore, her saying "I want to see you, so please come" was close to a love call. It was extremely rare. Perhaps it's natural since we were going to be separated by an ocean, but in any case, it's something that rarely happens.

Let's skip the pleasantries. Thus, I (living in Hokkaido) ended up crossing the southern part of my home island, which is shaped like a swimming stingray. To say it like that is an exaggeration. In reality, I crossed the base of the Oshima Peninsula by intercity bus, visited her house, and stayed for two nights.

She arrived a little late at the bus stop designated as our meeting place. It wasn't that she was late. As is common in the countryside, the bus didn't arrive on schedule. The roads were clearer than usual that day, so the bus arrived earlier than she had anticipated. Even she, as composed as she is, put her hands together in a prayer pose toward me and said, "I'm sorry, it was earlier than I expected." I replied, "It's the nature of long-distance buses, so it can't be helped. More importantly, shall we go?" and we started walking down the country road side by side.

“Oh. I forgot. It’s been a while, and congratulations on your husband’s promotion.”
“Thank you. My husband is waiting for you, too. He said he was sorry he couldn't see you much because of work. ...Isn't that too stiff?”
“No, it’s a matter of propriety. Propriety is important.”
“I see. You’re right.”

Stop praying. It makes me feel ticklish. A simple "Sorry" is fine for me.
That’s what you call propriety, isn’t it? Propriety.

While exchanging banter like a married couple on a country road.

“This is perfect timing. It was just sent from my parents' house. I opened it yesterday.”
“Is this home-roasted? It has a lovely aroma, is it Brazilian?”
“As expected, you’re knowledgeable. That’s right, my father gets it directly from a wholesaler and shared some with me.”

We arrived at her house, and her husband was also spending a moment at home before his night shift, so we talked about having a coffee break before dinner. Since her husband's father had sent them some freshly roasted Brazilian beans, my friend headed to the sink to grind the beans and brew coffee for the three of us. In the meantime, her husband tried to find a topic to keep me company.

Her husband said it was a "coincidence," but he probably ordered it to coincide with my visit. I would have to thank him with a thank-you note after I got home. Regardless, I just let the conversation continue as it was.

“What kind of girl was she back in junior high?”
“Well... unfortunately, I don't have any stories that would live up to your expectations.”

Hearing our exchange, she called out, "Hey, what are you two talking about?" and I brushed it off, saying, "Nothing. Just normal conversation."

“She hasn't changed. She's been like this since junior high.”
“Like this?”
“If there's any difference, she had a stronger sense of justice in her mid-teens than she does now.”
“I see. I understand...”

Hearing that, she served the Brazilian coffee she had filled into the cups, saying, "Sorry to keep you waiting, here you go," to stop her husband and me from using her as a topic of conversation over coffee.

“Are you praising me? Or are you criticizing me?”
“I was just stating the facts calmly and objectively.”
“...I’m not convinced. You haven't changed either, you know.”

It seems our greatest common trait is being shy. This was according to what my host told me while we were enjoying the aroma of Brazilian coffee.

“Come to think of it, the first time I ever drank regular coffee was at your place, Moo-san.” (In reality, she called me by a nickname based on my real name.)
“Oh, really? So that was back in eighth grade. Sorry, it was bitter, wasn't it?”
“No. It was a little bitter, but it smelled good and had a sweetness to it. I started drinking regular coffee after that, too.”

A nostalgic memory from an unexpected place slipped out of my friend's lips. That time in eighth grade refers to when we made cookies in home economics class, and since we wanted to recreate them at home, I invited my close classmates over to my house while giving them the recipe for icebox cookies, and served them homemade cookies.
The accompaniment to the cookies was coffee. For me, the coffee was the main event, but being middle school girls, the reverse would usually be the case. Due to my family connections, I was a precocious child who had been brewing regular coffee with paper filters since elementary school.

Back then, we went through an insane amount of granulated sugar. I still remember regretting it, thinking it must have been bitter and that I should have made cocoa instead.
That's why it was a surprise that my friend said it was delicious, and it was a happy anecdote to learn that my cup was her first experience with it.

Now then. Regarding the "seed" mentioned at the beginning, there are likely quite a few among you readers who want to ask the question #WhatAreYouTalkingAbout.
While there is a slight pun that seed = coffee, the essence is different. The essence is as follows.

The place I visited was a port town in southern Hokkaido. It is a town where the main industries are fishing and hot spring tourism. The meal that graced the start of dinner that day consisted of fresh sardines, and a salad and stir-fry made with vegetables harvested from the small home garden next to my friend's house.

The seed in question appears here.

Sardine shiso-wrapped tempura. The side dish was deep-fried shishito peppers.

...
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...
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“Aaah! S-sorry!! I'm so sorry, this is incredibly spicy. Leave it? You don't have to eat it.”

Shishito peppers are spicy at the seeds. It is normal to remove the seeds before cooking. If they were store-bought, they wouldn't be that spicy, but these were genuine "field-grown" ones, and we had been careless with the seeds of these shishito peppers that had grown plump and round after soaking up plenty of sun.
If you were from Southeast Asia, it might be nothing, but we are Japanese. I have a high tolerance for spice, but three of these formidable foes was my limit. My host has normal taste buds, so she gave up after half of one. By the way, my friend, who insisted on being tough, finished all five and was in agony afterward.

A reunion after five years, and as expected, we are like a comedy duo.

“That’s a rare mistake. ...Were you flustered?”
“Yeah. I might have been in a rush. I get nervous, wondering what I should do if it doesn't taste good.”“I’m the one eating it, you know?”“That’s because it’s you, Moo-san.”

The conversation above is what my friend and I had while standing side-by-side in the kitchen the next day, when we decided to make tsukudani out of the remaining shishito peppers and helped each other remove the seeds.

I stayed at her house in the autumn, and the following spring, my friend and her husband moved to the United States, where they stayed for two years. During that time, we exchanged airmail, sometimes tucking things like "origami cranes" into the envelopes I mailed to America, and receiving local mini-calendars in return. Through these small cultural exchanges, I welcomed my friend back on Japanese soil. Even after she returned, our relationship of being neither too close nor too distant continued until she left Hokkaido.No, even after she left, there were times when I would spend a few hours with her when I went to Tokyo for work. Drinking coffee at a cafe in the quiet residential area where she lived.

And so time flows, never staying in one place.Brazilian coffee, shishito peppers, and sardines.

It’s a strange combination, but whenever I taste any of them, I am reminded of my old friend. She now lives in the city center, while I remain a resident of Hokkaido. It is ironic that we have become more distant after the internet became established (partly because I "graduated" from sending New Year's cards), but one could say it is the work of the passage of time and age.
However, I think I will just let it flow. I have a conviction.

She is a sensible friend. I am sure she is living a much more steady life than I am. If time permits, I will find out how she is, and if we can meet again, we will.
Even if we cannot meet in person in this lifetime, as long as she is well, that is enough.
I am sure my friend feels the same way.

In a distant place, perhaps she is grinding and brewing the same coffee beans, savoring them while sharing the same thoughts. If you pick up a single coffee bean with your fingers and look at it closely, you will notice that it has a surprising luster.
Coffee is a plant in the rose family. The coffee beans we drink are originally its seeds. Both my friend and I will surely find the trees that bear white, and sometimes pale pink, flowers somewhere again.

[Fin]

Note: Please consider the following as supplementary information rather than the main text.
This story is a work of fiction based on the author's experiences and includes fictional elements. It was newly written for participation in #WhatAreWeTalkingAboutCoffee, based on a project entry I wrote once in 2023.

The image was created using AI image generation.

Finally, a superfluous request. I once promised an old friend, 'It feels strange to call you by your name with a suffix now, so let's keep calling each other as we have' (she is the only acquaintance I call by her name without any honorifics). If my nickname has stuck in your ears, please keep it within your heart—I wish for only her to call me by that name.

I will quietly participate here (*ᴗˬᴗ)⁾⁾

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