She pours a cup of tea

 She looks at me and smiles: “Tea?” I nod. She turns around and hums the melody of an old song. I cannot tell the name of the song. It is familiar but I can’t find its words. I look at her body. She is slim. Her cloth are tight and align at the shape of her hips. Her hair is up in a ponytail. When she turns around it swings from one side to the other. She hands over a cup and I grab it. She looks directly at me and is still smiling. She sits down on the chair next to me. We had barely one proper conversation since today in the morning. She puts down her cup of tea and wraps her fingers around it. Her hands are always cold. They were cold last night when she slid them underneath my arms to my chest. I didn’t hug her back. I couldn’t. After I had that conversation with my father yesterday early morning, I just couldn’t do anything anymore. I laid in bed and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t talk. She just came and hugged me and I cannot form the words to tell her how much that meant.

“Drink a bit. I added some lemon.” she said. I take a sip. I still can’t talk. She leans back in her chair and stretches her arms. Then she again looks at me. I can feel her leg coming closer and touching my leg. She takes her cup and drinks from her tea. She drinks it very hot. How is she so calm? She gets up from her chair and goes to the cabinet. She brings some honey and adds it to her tea. While she is stirring it I feel her legs again touching mine. She always makes me feel less alone.

“Is the tea too sour?” she asks. I shake my head. I am not tasting anything. I watch her as she takes another sip. I want to tell her what happened but I still can’t form any words. And she doesn’t ask. I look at my cup of tea. I’m not a big tea drinker, I never was. But she always makes a cup for me. Even in the worst situations, I have seen her devastated, she makes tea. ‘What’s the matter with the tea?’ I had asked her once. ‘Don’t know. There is no harm in tea.’ she had responded. It wasn’t an answer I had expected, since she reads a lot in everything. Finding a deep and truthful meaning. I had found it a bit disappointing the value she gave to the teas she so carefully prepares. We sit there for a while. Then I feel her grabbing my hand. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asks. I look at her and I feel the chaos in my head rising and whirling again. It is pushing form inside to my walls. I look at my cup. I try to withdraw my hand, but she doesn’t let go. She never lets go of me. She is always there. I often wonder why. I often wonder how she can hold my hand when I cannot hold it back. But I never dared to ask her. How did I found her?

“Drink some tea.” she says with her sunny voice. So I do.

She cannot sit for a long time not doing anything. She is always busy doing something. She can’t stay still, always needs an activity. She reads, she cooks, she cleans, she talks on the phone, she works on her computer, she works in the garden, she tells me stories and stories and stories. Is she forcing herself to sit here with me? I didn’t ask her to sit with me. Why is she so kind to me? I don’t give her anything. She should go and continue her day, continue her activities. I am stopping her from doing what she enjoys.

I feel her hand squeezing mine. For her thumb she starts rubbing the backside of my hand. She notices I am getting tense. How does she know? She always knows.

She takes the empty cups and puts them in the sink. She sits down again. I can see her thinking. I want her to hold my hand again, but she doesn’t. I don’t seem to be able to move my arms, nor get my mouth to speak. I want her to come close to me.

A few weeks ago we were separated. She was on a business trip for one week. I had missed her a lot. I don’t enjoy my days when she is not here. I don’t feel like doing anything. I used to wake up, eat a lousy sandwich for breakfast, go to work and when I came home sit in front of the TV and wait for time to pass. The TV was always running. I couldn’t bare the silence, not hearing her steps, her muttering over her phone, noises from the kitchen, from the garden. I didn’t tell her any of that. I told her that I missed her when we were talking on the phone. She said she missed me to. Did she? How can she being joyful and busy. I know how much she loves traveling. Her voice always excited. I didn’t tell her about my lousy sandwich or the TV always running. And when she came back, she laid down on the couch next to me, buried her had in my arms and chest and squeezed me.

‘You live too much in your brain.’ she had once told me. Suddenly I find myself searching for the cup of tea. I felt exposed sitting around and not doing anything. Why did she put the cups away? I look at her. She is watching me. I don’t want her to watch me. I want to be alone. I get up and leave the kitchen. I know she will be upset. She gets upset when I leave without saying anything. I go into the bedroom and close the door. I hear her steps leaving the kitchen and going into the garden. She will look at the flowers and pluck dried leaves. Some more dry than others.

I don’t know how long I lay on the bed. She doesn’t come into the room. I hear the TV running. She doesn’t watch TV, she lays on the bed and reads a book. I pull myself together and go to the kitchen. I boil some water and add it to two cups. I don’t know how to brew tea. I take two teabags. I bring them to our living room. When I enter the room, she sits up. I sit next to her. She grabs her cup and comes close to me so her leg touches me. “My mom…” I begin explaining.