Tea, Ghosts, and Caterpillars

Tea, Ghosts, and Caterpillars

I can’t get warm. No matter what I do, I can’t get warm.

I shrink underneath the pastel pink knitted blanket, running my fingers along its patterns. They’re Celtic knots, blended with butterflies along the edge of the yarn. I’m not one for pink things, but the color is strangely soothing. My bedroom is shaded in all kinds of blue; my favorite color. It’s supposed to evoke calmness, but it doesn’t calm me like the color is supposed to. I’m drowning in freezing waters or suffocating under an avalanche’s snow. Right now, I hate looking at things I like.

I slowly sit up, wriggling my way out of bed and wrapping the blanket tightly around me. I need something warm… like coffee. I reach for my phone, second nature possessing my limbs. I should leave it on the nightstand. I know I should, with those messages crawling around inside of it. I pocket it anyway as I head for the door.

The hallway is shady, with only the bathroom light to scare the shadows away. It’s not my usual preference when it’s night, but right now I don’t care. Right now, I’m the phantom that haunts this house.

No one would suspect I exist right now.

I slink downstairs, avoiding the steps that are tattle-tales. I don’t want him to know I’m up, though maybe he’s still out. How I feel right now has nothing to do with him, and I know he would do anything to help me if I just asked. Nevertheless, I don’t want to be seen or heard. With slow movements that are borderline ghostly, I drift into the kitchen and reach for the coffee pot.

My hand freezes. There’s a note left on it.

Too late for coffee. I heated the kettle for some tea. Love you.

Damn. He knows my caffeine addiction too well. I groan and reluctantly pick up the kettle, mentally berating him for caring about my well-being. Small boxes of tea are lined up on the counter just for me. Ginger, Peppermint, Lavender…what does that even taste like? A flower? Never mind, I’ll go with Chamomile. I pour the steaming water into the mug, a tea bag following after, and wait. I now have three minutes alone with my thoughts…great.   

While the tea steeps in the hot water, my mind wanders to places that make my blood run cold. I used to want to swallow people’s sorrows. Relieve them of pain. Absorb it. Contract it. Anything to help them. Anything to help them feel better. Anything.

Anything to not be alone.

I used to be proud of my empathy. My ability to listen and help others. Being a sponge or soundboard was something I wore with pride once. But over time, it’s as if everyone around me has turned into vampires. Any close friend is now a leech that drains me, lapping up what energy I should reserve for my own peace of mind. It used to be so easy to want to place myself in other people’s shoes. But the shoes are heavy now, like winter boots that weigh you down as you trudge through the snow of your own hardships.

Buzz

My phone. I know I shouldn’t look and my conscience reminds me of that. Don’t read it, it repeats over and over.

 Don’t read it. Don’t read it. Don’t read it.

The previous text message is still there, along with a new one. My eyes scan over both, picking out the words and sentences that further shoved the dull knife into my heart.

You have an ego. You’re selfish and entitled. You don’t listen. You’re a bad friend.  

The messages were like creepy little caterpillars—fuzzy ones that make your hands itch after you touch them. They were worming their way into my skin, wriggling through the gunk and rot in the pit of my stomach. They’re even in my head, those pesky little earworms keeping my spiraling thoughts on a loop so they can feast on my emotional decay.

Why are they saying that? I thought I was helping. They said I was helping. I listened. Gave them advice. Gave them my time. Even when I was tired, I gave them what energy I had left.

Did I do something wrong? Did I do something wrong? Did I do something wrong?

They crawl up my throat. I can’t tell if they are trying to escape or take root. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

“I think your tea is ready.”

I jump slightly, my gasp of shock letting air back into my lungs, forcing the caterpillars back into their cocoons. I turn around, the kind face of my significant other breaking through the darkness. His eyes glisten with the light glowing off of the kitchen appliances.

“It’ll taste bitter if you wait any longer.” He takes out the tea bag, tossing it in the trash nearby.

“I thought you were still out. I didn’t know you were here,” I mumble in embarrassment while he smiles in return.

“You’re not the only one who can be sneaky,” he winks, gently sliding a jar of honey across the counter to me. “I got back not too long ago. I was just working at my desk. I heard you in here, but… I thought I'd give you some space like you asked.”

I place a generous scoop of honey into my mug, mixing it with the chamomile. I mumble out a thank you as I watch the golden blob dissolve into nothing. I don’t want to be like my ex-friend. I don’t want to burden him with my problems. Weight him down with heavy boots and leave him out in the cold like I was. He stares at me silently, noting how I stare off at nothing. He glances down at my phone on the counter, displaying the messages like a neon sign on the side of a dark road.

“You don’t have to answer her. You don’t even have to talk to her again. You don’t have to say sorry anymore. You didn’t need to in the first place.”

I faintly hear his voice, but the wriggling whisperers inside me try to freeze him out. They nip and bite, causing an icy shiver that sails through my body, to my fingertips and toes. The same words hit me like a harsh wind, over and over again.

I did something wrong. I did something wrong. I did something wrong.

Tears threaten to spill over the waterline as the cold chrysalis of words wrap around me. I’m frozen in place. I feel like I will break any second.

But someone holds me together…and I begin to thaw.

His arms are wrapped around me, my back pressing into his chest as his warmth cascades into my body. My senses are flooded, and all traces of venomous caterpillars are washed far away, down a lazy river.

Tepid fingers trace light patterns on my arms, soothing the shivers and goosebumps along my skin. “You did everything you could to help her. You were a good friend who just wanted to set up boundaries. If she can’t see that, that’s on her.”

“…I was a good friend?”

“Yes.”

I can breathe again. I slowly melt in his embrace as I finally press the mug to my lips and sip my chamomile tea. It’s sweet, like nectar from a flower. “Mm… it's gotten a bit cold…it’s lukewarm now,” I sigh.

“That’s what microwaves are for. I’ll warm it up for you.” He smiles at me warmly, and I can’t help but smile back.

My stomach flutters with butterflies.

By Kourtney Spadoni