I come home from a rough day at school, the house is empty, brothers are at grandmother's house, and parents are out of town for their anniversary. I sigh and kick my shoes off. It is not like I wanted company... okay well maybe I did. I want comfort, that's all. Some one to just sit by me and enjoy my presence, and I theirs. Unfortunately, there was no such person in the house. Quickly, I hang up my back pack and coat and make my way into the kitchen.
The tile in the kitchen was cold and made me shiver as it touched my feet, though this happened everyday, so I simply sighed and brushed off the cool feeling. Better than heat I always say. Slowly, due to my tired mood, I walk step by step over to the cabinet, a wood framed glass cabinet where, on the top shelf (as to not be touched by any one but me) were my precious tea cups and pots. It's true, I do love myself a warm cup of tea on these cold December days, it made the loneliness seem a little less melancholy.
I gently picked out my white teacup with gold rims and a red rose on it, out from the glass cupboard, along with my small, stark black, teapot with a simple blood red heart in the middle. My favorite teapot in my limited collection. Turning around to a plain wooden cabinet I open it up and grab the silver kettle. Using the sink I fill the rather large kettle about half way, and place it on the stove on high heat.
As I wait for the kettle to whistle I step into the living room to start a warm fire in the fire place. I smile as I see the logs burn, and savor the aroma of freshly burnt wood. Before long the kettle let out a high pitched squeal , alerting me that the water was indeed hot and ready. I raced into the small kitchen area, almost tripping on the rug, and ripped the kettle from the oven top to stop the insistent screeching. Turning off the stove, I bend down to the third drawer down next to the oven and open it too see my vast collection of boxes of tea bags, all different, and all stacked nice and neatly as to find the one I desire at a faster rate.
Today I felt like having a nice cup of black chi tea, I reached to the back of the drawer and snag the box in the far left corner, where I chose to keep that particular kind of hot beverage. swiftly, I expertly flipped open the paper lid on the box and peeked inside to see three bags of the spicy, bitter tea bags. I take one and make a mental note to buy more at the next convenient time. My mind seemed to go blank for a couple moments as I silently made my tea, a possess that I had done many times and find almost as soothing as drinking the tea itself.
First pour the scolding hot water into the tea pot, almost an inch from the brim of the pot, then add the tea bag. As I wait for the flavor from the bag to sink in I open the drawer next to me and grab the jar of sugar I keep there, along with a small spoon. Coming back to the tea pot I pull the bag out and drop it back in a few times until I am satisfied with the new color of the liquid, then toss the spent tea bag into the trash. After this I swiftly open the sugar jar and dip the spoon in, pulling out maybe half a teaspoon of sugar, and then sprinkle it into my mixture. I give the contents of the pot a few gentle stirs with a small spoon and put the lid back onto the container it belonged to.
Carefully I pick up the pot and the cup and make my way into the living room where I gracefully place them on the coffee table. I sit down on the ocean blue sofa and sigh with content as I skillfully pour myself a cup of steaming hot tea, much too hot to drink yet, and so I sit there, breathing in out. Much enjoying the enticing sent of burning wood and spice tea. After a few heavenly moments, I carefully loop my middle finger into the handle of my dainty tea cup. Slowly I bring it to my lips to gently blow and take a sip. All pent up stress of the day, of which I hadn't noticed was there, left my body. With another sigh of content, I could sense a feeling of comfort in the air.
"This is perfect." I thought, but in the back of my mind I knew that even though at this moment all may seem well, it was not. For I have this wonderful thing, and no one to share it with. No matter how much I try to run away from it the fact still remains: No matter how much tea I make or drink, it will never fill the void of a person.
"But," I mumbled, "I suppose that is what books are for." With that I put my cup of tea down and grabbed the leather bound book next to me and began to read.
