Black Tea Blues

Honey. 

That’s what I need–honey.

I found the half jar of honey in the back of my cabinet next to something that was probably expired. The honey was a gift from my friend when I first moved into my apartment last year. The note she wrote was still attached to the jar; I read the words over and over again. The note was short and sweet saying how proud she was of me for moving out on my own and that this honey was a perfect match for the tea I loved.

If we were still friends, I would have told her that I didn’t like tea, which is ironic since I am preparing tea right now. If we were still friends, I would have made her a cup as well. 

I put the jar on the stove, hoping to melt it down from its brick-like texture. Leaving it to warm I moved over to kettle. The kettle was still empty like it had been for the past few weeks. Since I don't like tea I had no use for the kettle. The only reason I purchased the kettle in the first place was to drink tea with my friends and pretend that I fit into their group. 

If I'm being honest, I don't even know why I'm making tea. I hate drinking hot water and I hate flavored water. Tea is a mixture of the two things I hate, and yet, I'm going to heat up water for tea.

I removed the lid of the kettle and brought it to the sink. As I filled it up, a spider was lifted to the top of the surface of the water. If the spider was in the kettle to begin with, he should stay there, so I placed the lid onto the kettle and left it in the sink. One of these days, I will get over my fear of spiders, just not today; I don't feel like it today. 

Since the kettle was no longer clean, I had to use my trusty microwave. The door of the microwave hangs from the loose hinges, tilting downwards, but it still heats up my food and tells the time, so who am I to complain?  

I also need a mug, one that is clean. Most of my household utensils were in the dishwasher or lying somewhere in my apartment. 

As I looked for a clean mug in the kitchen, the sweet smell of honey filled the room. Using a rag, I carefully moved the jar to the cool side of the stove, now that the honey was back in its liquid form. I could feel the heat of the glass through the rag. It felt nice, like a little fire. But I had to let go of the jar, so I could continue my search for a mug. 

After a failed search of a mug, I found a lonely teacup stashed in the back of the cupboard. 

I remember when I first got the teacup. My friend and I were on the search for furniture for her college dorm. We stumbled into a trinket collectors' garage sale, where we found all sorts of colors and sizes of teacups and jars. My friend picked up a tiny blue teacup and declared that it was perfect. I pointed out the crack on the side, but she just smiled and said, “Even broken things are beautiful in their own way.” She left the teacup at the garage sale because she knew her parents would get mad if she brought more teacups to her house during the holidays. When she wasn't looking, I bought the teacup, so I could give it to her on her 20th birthday in the coming month.

Now, four months later the cup was covered in dust: abandoned and broken. Never given the chance to give my friend the gift. 

I used a wet paper towel to dust off the teacup. Next, I filled the tiny cup with water. Lifting up the door to the microwave I put the water-filled cup inside and set the timer for three minutes. 

As the seconds ticked down, I searched for some of my tea bags. 

I used to only drink two types of tea: matcha tea for weight loss and black tea to reduce my stress. I figured if I was going to tolerate tea with my new friends, I might as well drink the ones with benefits.

After some thinking, I grabbed the black tea. The tea pouch was cheap and I remembered the bag would explode most of the time, but I was willing to risk it.

The microwave beeped letting me know that the water was done. I grabbed the teacup and put it on the counter. Next, I took a spoonful of the sweet and smooth honey and stirred it into the water, letting the heat dissolve the golden liquid. Afterward, I tore open the tea bag and took out the tea pouch. As I placed the tea pouch inside the teacup, I watched as the colors of the herbs and spices swirled and mixed into the water, changing its color.

The smell of an earthly/smoky aroma filled my apartment complex. I strolled into my living room where my large dark green couch and fluffy light pink blankets were coaxing me over.

When I sat down my phone rang. It was my mom. 

If I answered the phone, my mom would just ask me why I was skipping my college classes, and why no one had seen me for the past few days. 

I would have reached over to the table and grabbed my phone but my arms suddenly felt heavy. My whole body felt like I couldn't get up. I knew if I tried hard enough I could move, but at the moment it felt impossible. 

If I did answer the phone, I would not have had an answer for her anyway.

The tiny cup in my hands felt too big to hold, let alone drink. 

Tears started to run down my face. At first, I didn't know why I was crying, but then I bawled more because I was mad at myself for weeping. 

I finally took a sip of my stupid tea. I hate this stupid tea.

Mostly I hate that me and my friends are no longer together. I wish we were stronger than the fights we had. Maybe if I listened more to them and didn't always have to be right we would still be friends.

 I understand that friends drift apart sometimes, not all friendships last. But it still hurts. I feel like the tiny blue teacup in my hands: abandoned and broken.

Maybe the reason I was drinking tea today was because I wish things were back to the way it was before my friends left, before life became so stressful, and before I started to skip my classes.

Yeah, that’s why I'm drinking tea.