Thursday, March 10, 2011

Tea with Molly

Ben Tucker always began his mornings with a trip to the cemetery. He would carry along a foldable chair, a flask of tea, two cups and a jar of whole wheat biscuits. The cemetery was a ten minute drive from his house. At the cemetery, he would head over to the grave at the farthest right and prop up his chair beside it. He would toss away the dried twigs and leaves and flatten the mud with the palm of his hand. Then he would place the cups on the soil and pour tea into them. Lifting a cup with one hand and helping himself to a biscuit with the other, he would lean back and soak in the morning sun. Then with a little nod at the grave, he would take a long sip. He would close his eyes and imagine that his wife was sitting beside him instead of lying in a wooden box several feet below. It had been their daily ritual for 52 long years. Every morning of every day, they would sit at the table and sip their tea in silence. After so many years of being together, there had been nothing new to tell each other. The sounds of sipping were the only sounds that broke the silence. He couldn’t bear to have his tea alone now. As he sat by her grave, he remembered that last morning they sat at the table having tea. He had surprised her by making the tea himself. He remembered how she had reached out to wipe away the biscuit crumbs from his mouth. He remembered how she had gripped her cup tightly with trembling slender fingers. He remembered her expression as she had taken her first sip of tea and realized that it would be her last.

2 comments:

John Xero said...

This is awesome... Played with my mind. I was just thinking it was really touching and sweet and kind of sad and then... well, the end...

Nice one. =)

Nadine said...

Thanks John! :)