Tea and Memories

A slight breeze wafted through the room, carrying the scent of damp leaves and blooming flowers. She had left the windows open again, Lyra thought to herself. Wrapped in a thin cardigan, it did nothing to protect her from the chill that made itself at home. Stepping away from the staircase, she made her way mutely towards the living room, which overlooked the small garden. The sight alone of the space made her sigh, and she wondered how she was going to cope with the upcoming year.

“You left the window open again!” a voice cried out. Turning, her eyes lit up at the sight of her brother standing at the entrance. “Lyra, you’ll catch a cold,” he scolded. Smiling fondly at him, she chuckled as she moved towards the kitchen.

“It’s a nice day,” she commented.

“Tea?” she asked, her lips raising at the grumbling coming from the older man.

“If you’re makin’ it,” he muttered. Shaking her head she carried on towards the old porcelain pot that sat on her old gas stove. A relic, she was often told, it came from a time long before them and her mind now worried at the thought of it dying out when their time came.

Running worn hands over the carefully stenciled design she thought back on warmer days. Days that saw her mother standing where she now stood making everyone a cup of tea. A sharp snip heard her brother’s success in closing the ragged window. His shuffling feet made their way into the room.

“You oughta have Jamie, come and take a look at that thing,” he shook his head as he pulled out a chair. “I’m getting too old to wrestle with it.”

“Oh hush,” she chastised. Raising on her tip-toes she stretched her hand high above to pull her favorite set from its cherished place. “You say that like you expect to be in a home before the year’s end.”

“Well Lyra,” came the soothing tone. “I ain’t like I used to be. Young and spry. Those days are long gone.”

She had originally turned to talk back, what did he mean ‘those days were gone’. Why they were only forty-three – no, forty-nine? Well, maybe they were in their fifties, but like everyone says ‘the fifties are the new forties!’ Smiling at her quip she turned to tell him when she jumped in surprise.

“Oh!” the word left her lips before she could stop them. “Why you’re so old,” she said. Rudy’s eyes widened a bit before he dropped into a hearty laugh.

“Hahaha! You just now noticed?” he wiped the mirth from his eyes as she looked at him in shock. Shaking her head she frowned at the new lines and head of gray hair that fell over his face.

“When did you get so old?” she asked.

“Me?” he guffawed. “You better look in the mirror sooner before your feelings get hurt.” Her hand trembled and at the second glance to them, the gnarled knuckles and finger bones stood out like a horse in a pig trough.

“You look like Daddy,” she whispered, and the jovial spirit seemed to die down.

“You look like Mama,” he said softly.

The chiming of a clock could be heard as they stared at each other. Memories of days long gone floating around their heads.

The moment was broken when Rudy looked at the stove and pointed out, “Is the stove even on?”

“Oh drats!” Lyra cried, she’d been so focused on the pot she had forgotten to light the fire underneath.

Once she was sure the kettle was heating, she moved and took a seat across from the man she had grown up with her whole life.

“We’re old,” she said somberly.

“Age is but a number,” Rudy patted her hand. "Your youth is measured by what’s up here." Tapping his head, he gave her a cheeky smile.

“You and your jokes,” Lyra shook her head. She could see the garden from her spot at the table and the bushes of rosemary and thyme stood proud and strong next to the patches of roses and petunias.

“I don’t think I can garden this year,” she mentioned, fiddling with a loose string on her cardigan.

“I think you have a couple of years left in you,” Rudy twisted to look at the view.

“It won’t be the same I think,” A tight lump in her throat made her pause. Her trembling fingers found comfort in the warmth under her legs.

“Don’t sit like that,” her brother scolded. Her train of thought broken she frowned shooting him a glare. “You’ll grow a hunch.”

“Now you sound like Mama,” she grumbled straightening up as best she could.

“She was right, as usual.”

“When wasn’t she,” Lyra gave him a look.

“You know, she never realized that it was me who broke that crystal vase she loved so much,” he delved into a distant memory.

“I remember that vase,” Lyra shook her head. “She loved that thing and didn’t speak to me for weeks because she thought I broke it!”

“I don’t know how she never caught on! The thing was so high up you couldn’t have reached it!” Her brother cried.

“Oh, but I remember when she thought it was you who had left the Sunday roast out, after a late-night snack,” Shock filled the brown eyes that were always full of mischief, making her laugh.

“It was you?” he asked incredulously.

A fit of giggles overtook her, “I forgot it in the oven when I was cleaning the kitchen.”

“I thought it was Dad this whole time!” he cried. “Lyra!”

“Rudy!” she cried back. They burst into laughter at the story.

A sharp whistle interrupted their revelry, and she stood to make her way to the cupboard.

“I have Earl Gray, Breakfast Tea, Chamomile, and Peppermint,” she called out, the last of her mirth leaving her.

“I’ll take the Chamomile with honey please,” came a soft voice.

“Always wantin’ something fancy,” she muttered in good nature. “Why can’t you ever have a normal cup of tea?” She focused her attention on the bags in front of her as she prepped each cup. The noise behind her drifted away as she focused on the task at hand. A splash of hot water here and a splash of hot water there.

“… Lyra,” Rudy called.

“Just a moment Rudy,” she muttered back. Now where had she put those bags? They had been right in front of her, frowning she looked around and on the floor but there was nothing.

“… Lyra,” His voice was more insistent.

“Give me a minute Rudy,” she snapped. Her hands trembled as she twisted them together. “Or better yet, help me find the Chamomile, I misplaced it.” He went silent. Just like him, she thought, disappear when you need help.

“Oh!” she cried when she spotted them on the counter, “Never mind! I found them! Though I’m not sure how they ended up there?” Shaking herself from her lapse in memory she continued on with her task.

Place a tea bag here, and place a tea bag there, she continued.

“Lyra,” her brother called out, once more.

“I just need the honey and then I can see what it is you need,” she told him. Shuffling to the pantry door she pulled out the squeezable bottle that was brand new.

A few turns with the spoons and voila! Their tea was complete. It was too heavy to carry both so she opted to give Rudy his, so he could enjoy.

“Now here, was the wait that –” she paused when she turned to see the table empty. The chair that held her brother was pushed back neatly into the table. And the sound of his heavy breathing and shuffled steps were obsolete as she placed the cup on the table.

“Rudy?” she called. But there was nothing.

“Rudy?” she called again the encompassing silence was growing to loud.

A chirp of a bird, that sounded much too close to be outside, brought her attention to the living room. Crossing over the worn-down rug she grew confused at the sight of her window, sitting open. A small bluejay was hopping on the windowsill.

“Lyra,” a deep voice called. Jumping she turned and clutched her chest at the sight of her brother standing sheepishly in the entryway. His eyes were deep and sad as he carried his hat in his hand.

“Oh you!” she cried, ignoring the deep well that grew in her chest. “You scared me half to death, what if I had a heart attack!” She began to move trying to usher him back to the kitchen table. His mouth opened to speak but she didn’t let him get a word in edgewise.

“Now you sit and drink your tea,” she nodded at the steaming cup in front of them. “Warm your bones, in this cold air.”

“Lyra,” he spoke out. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

The chime of a new hour rang through the house as she stared at her brother in a mix of understanding and disbelief.

“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t think you would have to leave so soon.”

A grim smile appeared as he stood tall and straight, “It appears Mama is calling me for supper.” She stayed quiet as she laid her trembling hands on the table.

“I guess you shouldn’t miss her call,” she said finally. A deep sigh filled the room as a phantom of touch brushed past her shoulder.

She could only stare as her brother’s mouth opened and shut, a thin trail of glistening tears was all that was there to show the sorrow on his face. Finally, he cleared his throat and nodded at the cup on the table, “Drink your tea.”

Lyra nodded back and watched her brother leave; his departure was finalized by the snick of her door.

It was cold, she thought as she looked around the room. The garden was overgrown, and she knew she would need to call Jamie, not Rudy, to help her trim back the weeds and overgrown branches. Her window could use some work too, but first, she would sit back and enjoy her tea.

Looking around her kitchen she found the one cup, left on the table still steaming with the sweet scent of Chamomile and Honey wafting through the room.