Mint Tea

Ainlesy placed her metal water pail down onto the wooden table. The beautiful flowers sat in a vase, brightening the cabin with their colorful presence. She set the tea kettle on the wood stove with a loud clunk. 

‘There’s enough wood,’ She said to the copper tea kettle, ‘You don’t need to check for the fiftieth time. And it might not even come.’

Despite these words, Ainsley found herself leaning down and opening the wood stove’s door. The tension leaked out from her spine. There indeed was enough wood to carry her through if it came. And there was some piled up next to the wood stove. 

Once she had satisfied her anxious brain, Ainlesy started the fire and leaned back onto the counter top. The small cabin slowly warmed up, letting her briefly bask in the scent of wood smoke. Then she turned to the open window and looked outside. The lake’s surface was calm, the flowers stood upright, and the mint leaves were steady.

Ainlesy tapped her pale fingers on the counter top as she watched the darkening grey sky. 

‘There is no use in being restless,’ She told herself briskly. ‘It’s coming whether you like it or not, so suck it up. You can handle this.’

The window of her little cabin was open so she could smell something faint and earthy, feel the soft cool brush on her skin. The tea kettle was heating on the stove next to her. Her delicate orange teacup sat with the mint leaves already inside. The grey sky was growing darker.

“Perhaps it’s not going to happen,” Ainlesy muttered uneasily. “Maybe it will pass by me.”

That would mean she’d have to turn off the stove and pour out the water. The flowers would have been plucked for no reason. It would mean that all the worrying and stressing this morning would have been for nothing. It would also be a waste of good mint leaves too. 

‘You want that,’ Ainlesy scoffed at herself. ‘You’d rather waste flowers and mint leaves than face it again.’

She allowed herself to stew with those thoughts for a moment. Then she inhaled and exhaled slowly, closing her black eyes with a tired shake of her head. Ainlesy bowed her head, tasting the sour bile in the back of her throat.

The messy auburn locks shielded Ainlesy’s gaunt face as she counted to ten. That musky, earthy smell was getting stronger now, fresher.

‘It’s happening. But the tea will be ready soon, and it will work this time.’ Ainlesy spoke softly. 

Gently she raised her face up and drew her arms over her chest. The bright flowers in her garden rustled gently, the mint plants trembling. The lake’s surface was still calm, but the sky didn’t have much light left. The soft coolness was turning sharp and cold while the tea kettle slowly heated on the wood stove. 

Ainlesy gave a sigh. Usually, mint tea helped her when it happened. The refreshing cool flavor chased away the bile. Last time though, it didn’t; the tea had tasted bitter and dull. 

This time, it should help her. The mint leaves were freshly cut, the flowers lying on the table plucked at dawn. There was even a plate of cheese and bread sitting beside the flowers. All she needed now was the tea.

A crackle of sound came rolling out from the open window, followed by a soft pitter-patter. The sky was completely dark now, dark and cold. Ripples broke against the lake’s calm surface, fracturing the reflection of the trees.

Ainlesy bit at her lip and shifted closer to the wood stove. She stared out at the wet landscape before her, silent except for the crackling and pitter-pattering. The flowers were shaking now, petals blowing away.

 ‘It’s here.’ Ainlesy thought morosely, watching the mint leaves shudder.

The tea kettle whistled sharply, the hot water boiling. Ainlesy gave a sigh of relief as she poured it into the delicate orange cup. 

‘Five minutes, you can last five minutes so it can steep.’ Ainsley tried to encourage herself.

The sour bile was creeping up on her; Ainlesy could taste it. The pitter-pattering was drowning out the sound of the fire. 

She gritted her teeth and started to pace in the little cabin. ‘Get a grip on yourself, you are no longer that stupid teenage girl. It’s only here for a bit, and then it’s gone.'

“You are fine, get a grip, get a darn grip!” Ainlesy shouted, slamming her palms onto the counter top, hoping that her voice would drown out all the noise.

The action made a folder slip down, spilling paper notes and folded letters everywhere. Ainlesy stared at the vast mess, sighed, and bent over to pick it up.

The letters from Mom and Dad were gently rearranged next to the flower vase, the paper notes detailing different mint plants were set on the counter top. 

Ainlesy bit her lip. The bile in her throat tastes like wine, sour and bitter. Ainlesy hated the taste of wine for the same reason she hated what was happening outside her cabin window. Both lead to why Ainley lived in the mountains, in a little cabin, with flowers and mint leaves. 

In the deep dark dredges of Ainlesy’s mind, a teenage girl was sitting in a wrecked car, staring out at a dark sky through a broken windshield. It was sharply cold in that wrecked car. The wine tasted sour and bitter at the back of her throat as the pitter-patter sounded on the car’s roof. 

“That girl doesn’t exist anymore.” Ainlesy said with forced briskness.

Another sigh, another count to ten, and the thoughts ebbed away. Ainlesy turned back to check on her mint tea and smiled wanly. The tea was ready. She was prepared to relax. 

Carefully, gently, Ainlesy carried the tea over to where the flower vase was. She threw some more wood into the wood stove and sat down at the table. She watched the steam rise up from the dull orange cup. The warm taste of refreshing mint tea greeted her tongue, and Ainlesy gave a bigger smile.

The pitter-patter was drowned to a faint murmur by the warm crackle of the fire. Ainlesy took another sip of her tea and leaned back in her chair. Already she could see light streaks of moonlight in the dark sky. 

‘It’s going to be over soon. You are going to be okay.’ Ainlesy said with a smile on her face.