I know the way he liked his tea

“It’s just warming up honey!” I said, whilst gesturing towards the kettle. Taking the hot kettle, I poured the water into two ceramic teacups, which already contained their tea bags. The light brown spread through the water, darkening it to contrast the white polish of the shiny cup. One teacup had an eagle, spreading around the surface, as well as what looked like dirt. In reality, the dirt was actually small mice, mice you would have missed if you didn’t know they were there. The mice ran down the handle of the teacups, and along the bottom, chasing each other’s tails. The other teacup had flowers, tracing the edges and corners, with a trail of butterflies forming an endless circle that went round and round. I left the tea to cool, as I went to provide some entertainment to my guest.

My guest and I were sat around a rather small circular table, with a pretty table cover that displayed suspicious looking woodpeckers. My guest was a man, on the old side, but could get away with looking younger than he really was. He had an unkempt beard, with hair that looked as if it should reach his shoulders, but instead, all you could see were wisps of his hair, different lengths, barely covering his scalp. Underneath his all too small shirt, you could see the signs of his muscles, wasting away, something that once was, and will never be again. His sharp green eyes narrowed as he saw me observing him. His eyes were probably the only sign of expression this man allowed, for his mouth moved little under his moustache, and his body remained expectantly still.

Shuffling nervously, I picked up my guitar and sat down at the table, ready to string some notes together to keep him occupied. My guitar had small scratches on it, patterned with hummingbirds and embellished in a paint that was the shade of the oak tree that used to be in my back garden. Oak trees are meant to live for a long while, but my oak tree’s life was cut short. My fingertips pressed against the frets, the strings fitting into the creases formed from years of practice. My right hand gently flowed over the strings, my left hand moving rapidly. This was like a dance, a dance of the hands and the fingers, the dance of a swan. Rare, but majestic, in the eyes of those who have seen such a thing.

Excusing myself from the table, I walked into the kitchen to get his tea. Holding my cup with the two fingers of my left hand, and his cup with my entire right hand, I walked towards the table and placed his tea down in front of him. The steam rose past my hair as I blew on my tea gently.

Before sipping at his tea, the man poked out his filthy little pinky and dipped it into the tea. He instantly pulled it out, an expression of shock flashing across his face as he exclaimed, “Way too hot! Are you trying to burn me?” Shaking his head he pushed the tea away from himself, whilst I hid my disappointment. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea it would be so warm!”

Seeming to be dissatisfied with my apology, he closed his eyes and pinched his nose. I fidgeted with my fingers and focused on a painting behind the table, hung on the wall. I heard his exasperated sigh. The painting was one of the ocean, waves crashing against the eroded cliffs with dolphins swirling through the white rush of the water. I could almost smell the salt in the air and the fresh feel of the cold air. I could almost feel the crumbs of sand blowing into my eyes and blinding me.

He waved his hands over the cup, trying to cool it down in some useless and inefficient way. A few minutes passed in this way, before he dipped his pinky again.

Sometimes, it gets hard. To pretend to be something I wasn’t. To pretend ignorance, when I remembered and felt, everything.

Smiling at him softly, I lifted my teacup up to my lips, and invited him to do the same. Looking at me, the corners of his mouth twirled into little crinkles as he grinned and picked up his cup. I waited. I watched him take one sip. Two sips. Three sips. “You know, it’s rather bland, and tastes quite watery. I thought you knew the way I like it? I may have a health condition but a few more cubes of sugar-“ he seemed to freeze.

The thing is, I did know the way he liked his tea, and his coffee. I also knew the way he liked to lie in bed, and I knew what his every expression meant. I knew his favourite song, his favourite corner of the sofa, his favourite game. I knew what he thought was love, and I also knew the his hatred. I once knew this man. And now? I didn’t know him at all.

I watched patiently, as an uncomfortable sensation spread over his body whilst his face tightened and his features formed an unappealing frown, recognition shining in his light green eyes. I heard the crash of the cup before I saw it in pieces on the floor, and I watched his fingers grasp at his throat. Still, I held my cup and stared at his face, now getting rather pale. For a while he flailed around, making an attempt to move off the chair, but instead he fell onto the hard, cold floor, barely moving. His eyelids fluttered violently whilst his feet thrashed against the floor. In a matter of minutes, his face relaxed and his limbs went limp, his old, old body, sprawled across the floor.

I stared at him for a few seconds, before the smile dropped off my face; I wish I hadn’t wasted such a beautiful ceramic cup. I’d really miss that set of the eagle and the mice. He would be proud, I knew the way he liked his tea, better than I knew myself. Sighing, I got up from my chair to get another cup of tea. My current one had gotten too cold.