Can I Bring My Tea?

 

Can I Bring My Tea

by Louis Gooding-Fair

The echoes of last nights dream lingered in my mind as I woke up. The sense of comfort that the dream gave me slowly dissipated into the relentless depression which permeated my consciousness. I wasn’t where I expected to be either; I found myself sitting somewhat uprght in a neutral pink armchair in the living room with a flowers embroidered into it. My lower back ached from being slumped in an unnatural position for so long and my hangover made me feel unclean. I found myself in yesterdays clothes; a white t-shirt, some black joggers and a black pair of socks. I pulled myself up straight in the chair to relieve the pressure on my back and gently moved my arms and legs. The familiar twinge of pain emanating from above my left knee – a reminder of chronic knee problems - did not appear. On the nearby wooden coffee table sat two bottles of wine and an empty wine glass, a drop of burgundy liquid sitting at the bottom of it. I noticed a box on the table, however without my glasses on I could not make out the text on it. I looked around the room; and felt a pregnant stillness in the house. I manoeuvred myself out of the chair and walked slowly towards the hallway. I called out, but my call echoed and dissipated to no response. I shambled into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

I absently glanced out of the kitchen window while waiting for the hot water to boil, and noticed a rip in the sky open just above the garden. A figure dropped down into the garden. I froze for a second and dropped to the floor to hide. Against my fear, I scrambled towards the window and hid behind the washing machine which sat underneath it. I gripped the edge of the washing machine and peered up over it. I saw nothing. Suddenly the figure peeked out at me and waved enthusiastically, almost mockingly It knocked on the window and said, “Alright mate,” in an Essex accent. I ducked again, pressing my back up against the washing machine, eyes bulging and breathing heavily. It followed up with, “Can you come outside? I need to talk to you”. I peered over again. “Please?” it yearned. I stood up looking at it, my face like a crashed computer. It tapped again, breaking me out of my trance-like state. Without thinking I replied, “I’m coming. Can I bring my tea?”. It smiled at me and nodded. “I’ll b-be there in a minute”, I stuttered. A heat ran through my whole body but I felt unthreatened; my instincts told me that I could trust it.

I poured the hot water onto the teabag in the cup and picked it up by the handle, recoiling from burning my knuckles on the piping hot mug. I headed towards the back door, where my sliders were. I slid my left foot then my right into each respective slider. Through the patio doors I could see it waiting and smiling. I turned the key, opened the doors and stepped out onto the step. “My old mate” it said through a smile, “I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long time. It’s good to meet you.” I stepped down and towards it. I felt confused. It stepped forward, put an arm a round my shoulders, hugging me. The amiable tone was replaced by one which was a slightly firmer; “Me old mate, we need to talk. Can we go in there?” It pointed at the summerhouse. “I’d rather the neighbours didn’t hear”. I muttered, “Er, yeah sure”. “Fantastic” it cooed warmly. “I’m excited!”

I walked up to the summerhouse and turned the key, pulling the door towards me. I stepped back and ushered it in with a flat, “After you”. It smiled, thanked me and pulled up a chair. I sat on the futon, bracing the cup in two hands. It looked at me, smiled, paused and then asked me, “How are you feeling today?” I looked down, “Well that depends on what you want to hear…”, I spat bitterly. “Do you want an answer or do you want the truth?”. It smiled, “The truth please”. I wanted to spill my guts but I had done it so many times before that it felt pointless. “I feel like utter crap. My body feels like its falling apart and I’m hungover. My shoulder is arthritic and my knee is painful. My bloody back is sore too.... I miss wrestling as it helped me deal with things gave me confidence, but I don’t feel I can do it right now. I don’t feel myself. The mental professionals are indifferent. If I discuss my problems normally it sounds like I’m not in much bother; when I lose my mind, they don’t want to know and the only help they offer comes after the breakdown has come and gone. I get pushed from pillar to post. I have no self worth. The frustration had been replaced by resignation. “I just feel disillusioned. I have never liked myself, I don’t know why. The only time I ever liked myself was for five minutes two years ago….I blame others for my problems but I have a hole I can’t fill”. I was losing control of my breathing and I felt tears welling up in my eyes. “Look at me crying, I feel stupid.” It nodded and smiled. It stood up, pushed it closer to me and sat down again, putting its hand on my right arm. “It’s alright to cry,” it said; I felt a comfort from it which was abstract to me previously.

It smiled and sighed. “We’ve watched you. We recognised your differences as a child. We saw your struggles with self confidence and self esteem and how others took advantage of you. You will learn to love yourself. We have not intervened because we knew we would see you again, however we were surprised that it would be so soon.” A cold fear ran down my spine; it felt like my heart had missed a beat. “What did I do?” I cried through the phlegm and tears. It got up and opened the door out onto the garden. “Let me show you”. I put my tea to my mouth and it burned my lips. I asked it, “Can I bring my tea?” “Sure”, it smiled.

It lead me out of the summerhouse back and back down the steps towards the patio doors. It stopped before we got there. “Please don’t go in…..just look”. I saw people in the room, some in green, some in suits, accompanied with indeterminate chatter. Two men in green outfits stood by the chair I was in; I could only make out the legs. The wine bottles and glass remained on the coffee table. I heard, “…..and a box of Naproxen. None left”. A man in a suit picked up a note and opened it. Offhand, he muttered, “here’s a note”; he read it out loud, “I needed help – I can’t do it anymore.” The man dropped into a clear plastic bag and walked away from the chair. I could see the figure now; it wore a white tee, black joggers and black socks. In the background I saw them lay out a long black bag. “Place him inside it when you’re ready”. Two paramedics picked me up and put me on the bag. Towards front of the house I heard more voices. I could pick out cries of, “let me see him,” and, “let me see my boy” which increased. My mother barged her way in and dropped to her knees, cradled my body to her chest and wailed, “my boy” with a primal howl.

My eyes began watering. “I begged them to help me.” I sat down on the steps and began softly sobbing into my hands. It sat down beside me, “I know you did.” It started to softly cry with me. “No more pain for you, we will help you learn to love yourself”. I heard cries of “No, no, no” as I saw three men in suits drag my mother away. One paramedic zipped the bag up and with one at each end, picked me up and carried me out. I howled until I became tired. I lifted my head up and turned to it whimpering, “I’m scared, I want to go home.” It smiled, “Come with me, it’s where we are going.” “Can I bring my tea?” It smiled, “Sure”. I went into the summerhouse grabbed my cup of tea. Inside I reverted to being a two year old boy and found my favourite teddy. I pushed the door open and ran over to the alien. I took its hand and we went into the crack in the sky.