Like Sunshine

Tea was David’s favorite drink.

He would get up at the crack of dawn, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon and head into his still-dark kitchen. He’d grab his kettle and fill it up with water and put it to boil on the stove. He’d open a small cabinet in the corner, lined with jars full of different types of teas. He would consider having some green tea, no, maybe black? Eyeing his rows of jars, each one labeled with scribbly handwriting, his eyes would land on his favorite jasmine, and he’d pick the jar out and unscrew the top. The fresh jasmine scent would waft into his nose, a sweet floral smell that reminded him of spring. He’d set the jar onto the counter. Directly next to the cabinet sat a small porcelain teapot, its matching teacup, and a small teaspoon. He would grab the teaspoon and dip it into the jasmine leaves, which crunched together as he scooped out a spoonful (and maybe a little more) and drop it into the teapot. He would then turn to his kettle on the stove and turn the heat off, just before it boiled. He would grab the kettle’s handle with his old hands, feeling the warmth of the handle, and would carefully pour its contents into the teapot, enough for a little more than a cup. He would bring the teapot and cup from the counter to the kitchen table, setting them down gently. He would sit down and wait one, two minutes, before pouring his tea into the cup. The tea was a soft yellow color, the color of sunshine. He’d swirl it around gently, notice a couple tea leaves that had made it into the mix, but no matter, they’d fall to the bottom anyway. He’d bring the cup to his lips, and before taking a sip, he’d close his eyes and inhale deeply from his nose, taking in the fresh, flowery, earthly scent. Only after inhaling would he take a sip. He’d swish it around in his mouth, tasting the soft mellow flavor of the jasmine, combined with subtle notes of honey. He would stay here, at his kitchen table, enjoying his early morning tea. Enjoying a moment of stillness before the start of the day.

Lee would try replicating David’s teas.

Lee knew little about tea. After years of living with his grandfather, he knew a thing or two about how to prepare it, though not nearly at David’s level of expertise.

Lee entered their shared kitchen one sunny afternoon and rummaged around a little. He knew he needed hot water and tea leaves to make tea, that much he knew for sure and, wait, where did grandpa keep his kettle again? Lee opened a couple cabinets before successfully finding the kettle neatly tucked away and filled it up with water. He set it on the stove to boil on high. Lee didn’t have to look for the tea leaves. His grandpa had an entire cabinet specifically dedicated to them. Lee opened the cabinet and there they were, the infamous jars that sat neatly lined shoulder to shoulder. He could see his grandpa’s messy, half cursive labels on each jar. Lee stood silently, admiring his grandpa’s handiwork before picking out a random jar labeled “Yin Hao” from the lot. Luckily, Lee spotted the little teapot set up beside the cabinet. He grabbed the teapot and teaspoon and scooped up a spoonful of leaves and dumped them into the pot. He knew he needed at least one teaspoon, but the amount just seemed too little? Lee ruminated for a second, trying to remember every single conversation he had with his grandfather about tea (which was way too many), and let out a tiny disgruntled sigh before scooping up another two spoonfuls of leaves and dropping them into the pot. And almost as if on cue, the kettle screeched, making Lee jump and hastily turn off the heat. He grabbed the too-hot handle and quickly jerked his hand away, internally cursing himself for not grabbing a towel first. He took their dish drying towel and used it to grab the kettle’s handle and poured hot water into the teapot. He filled it up all the way, the steam fogging up his glasses. He then set the kettle back down onto the stove, turned to the teapot, and waited. He wasn’t sure how long he should wait for the tea to brew. Five minutes should be enough, right? As he waited, he grabbed two thermoses from a different cabinet, and once the five minutes were up, poured equal amounts of tea into the thermoses and screwed the lids on. He disappeared into his bedroom and reappeared with an almost-full picnic basket. He carefully placed the thermoses in the basket before walking out the door.

Lee noticed that the day was unusually bright outside, the sun illuminating everything with a beautiful glow. He walked down the pathway from his house onto the sidewalk and took a right. There was a small shortcut through some nearby trees that he decided to take. He whistled as he walked, down the trail and to a nearby hill with a tree perched at the top. Lee walked up the hill, right up to the base of the tree. He set his basket down on the grass and opened it up. He took out a picnic blanket and spread it out underneath him and sat down. He reached back into the basket and took out a portrait of his grandpa, some incense, and a lighter. He set the portrait on the edge of the blanket, lit the incense, and stuck it into the dirt beside the portrait. He then grabbed one of the tea thermoses and set it down in front of the portrait. He clasped his hands together and lowered his head.

“This is for you, grandpa. I’m sorry I can’t make tea as good as you do. Just thought you would like some.”

Lee raised his head and grabbed the other thermos from the basket. He opened the lid and steam trailed out of the top. The smell reminded him of his grandfather. He took a sip.

It wasn’t the same.