Gaslight Tea

On a clear day beneath a vivid sky, he hands her a cup of tea.

Thirsty from a long hike, she receives the cup, graciously.

He tells her how he’s put his heart into that cup of tea and requests that she be gentle with it.

She cradles the cup, takes a sip, and sighs. She says thank you through the steam. 

He goes on to describe the sacrifice it took on his part to bundle the leaves, arrange them in the pot, boil the water, pour the water, and wait for the perfect amount of steeping to occur. He reiterates, “The efforts took a fair amount of sacrifice.”

She smiles. But has he mentioned “sacrifice” so as to make her feel indebted to him or merely to ignite a flame of guilt?

She takes another sip, asking about the tea’s health benefits.

He speaks of roots and minerals, but highlights the value of the tea. Its worth.

She takes a sip, nodding with appreciation. She is in awe. Gazes around at the trees, the creek, the neighboring hills. 

****

He breaks the silence, claiming that by her drinking of the tea, she’s taking advantage of him.

She gapes, frozen. The tea grows sour in her mouth as her stomach turns. She hands him the partial cup of tea, but he won’t take it back.

He laughs and says that she didn’t put any of her own effort into the tea. He hints that, potentially, she is “lazy” and “entitled”.

She tells him that she didn’t know about the tea until he had presented it to her. She goes on to express how much she appreciates the tea and appreciates him. She pulls a block of chocolate from her bag and breaks off chunks to share with him. 

He asks how she could have gone through life oblivious to such a fine tea. “And by the way, thanks for the chocolate,” he adds. He seems insincere, sarcastic even, so she hands him the whole block of chocolate. For keeps.

She says that she…

He interrupts, claiming that she knows nothing about the tea. He asks her how she could possibly feel comfortable drinking it when she hasn’t made the effort to educate herself about it (reminding her that true education comes from experience rather than the “superficial formality” of schooling). “And just so you know,” he adds, “chocolate is nothing in comparison to tea-- the two will never be equals.”

****

She asks him why he gave her the tea in the first place.

He says that he gave her the tea because he is a generous person. This tea is of high quality and he would like to give her even more when she proves through her actions that she deserves it. She’ll have to put in “effort” and “work for it”. Otherwise, he continues, it isn’t her right to “demand” such quality.

Demand? She says she is confused and doesn’t need the tea. Especially if he doesn’t want her to have it. If he doesn’t believe that she deserves it.

He says he wants her to value the tea. After all, he has put in a lifetime of work to produce and refine such a precious product. He questions her motives and goals.

She holds the cup, bearing its weight. Is this love? She looks down into the amber liquid, feeling ill.  

He walks away.

She watches him go.

He returns with another cup of tea and crams it into her free hand.

She now holds a cup of tea in each hand.

He says he wants to watch her enjoy the tea.

She tastes of the fresh batch, verbally noting the familiar flavor (and silently noting his burning stare).

He tells her she’s holding the cups wrong. Asks why she’s holding two cups at one time. Asks why she’s not drinking out of both cups at the same time. Tells her she is a slow drinker and for this reason the teas have grown cold.

****

She asks him why he brought her a second cup of tea.

He looks at her without expression.

She tries to hand him the second tea so he can drink as well.

He walks away.

She looks down at her feet, waiting.

He returns with a new cup of tea in his hand. Sits down and lets out a long breath.

She is still standing.

He invites her to sit.

She lowers herself to the ground, spilling tea in the process. There is no room for her on the frayed towel he has brought.

He leans over and hugs her, spilling his hot tea on her lap.

She apologizes. (Why did she apologize for his spill?)

He tells her that she “should” be sorry and that she is lazy for sitting.

****

She asks him what he thinks she “should” be doing.

He says she should take a turn in making more tea. Then she should serve it to him. All this, he adds, she should accomplish while cradling the two cups of tea he has already prepared for her (but, he clarifies, no matter how much she does for him at this point, she will never be able to make up for all that he has given her, thus far).

She goes to the granite counter, struggling to reach the jar of tea leaves. How will she manage to grasp the scoop when her hands are already full?

He comes up behind her, his footsteps tapping reproach. Puts a hand around her waist and tells her she’s not trying.

She insists that she is trying. Asks him if he’ll allow her to put down the two cups of tea so she can work with her hands.

He does not answer. He puts down his empty tea cup and stretches, flexing.

She cringes, sensing his intense focus. Her shoulders drop in a secret frown as she wills the water to boil faster.

He says that the feat of making one cup of tea is nothing-- that actually, he wants her to prepare 33 cups of tea. Immediately. Isn’t she willing to sacrifice for him?

She’s not sure what he wants or why he wants what he wants. She’s not sure if she’s willing. But the pressure’s on.

He puts his other arm around her waist, spilling his tea on her skirt. He says he’s been making 33 cups of tea at a time for the past two decades. What has she been doing with her life all these years?

****

She questions herself. Has she ever really had a purpose?

He releases her, and with free hands, prepares 33 cups of tea. “The proof is in the pudding” he says, beaming.

She gazes at so many cups of tea. Steaming. Growing cold. Going to waste.

He invites her to go on a walk.

She points to the teacups, questions in her eyes.

He tells her the mess doesn’t matter.

She says she needs to clean up all the cups.

But there’s not room in the cupboard, he explains.

She asks him where he stores the cups when they are not in use.

Things are different now, he says. With effort comes sacrifice.

“What do you mean?” she asks. What things?

He says she doesn’t know how to prioritize. And she shouldn’t waste a good thing. Instead, she should drink the 33 cups of tea and then she should make more tea, just for him. After all, she owes him. "The chocolate wasn’t enough," he reminds her. And he knows what’s best.

****

She asks him what he thinks is “best”.

He says she hasn’t been listening.

She says she has been listening.

He looms over her. Says it’s hard to explain, but he’ll try. Spends four hours explaining how she has been spoiled by her upbringing.

She says she’s not spoiled. Explains how hard she has worked in the past and how hard she is currently working. How she has adapted to his needs and desires.

He tells her she’s got it all wrong.

She asks what “it” is.

He fumes, paces. “There’s something wrong with your heart,” he says. “You are confused,” he says. “This is guerilla warfare,” he says.

She cries. Runs through the house and out to the porch.

He follows, telling her she’s obviously experiencing past trauma right now. He hopes she’ll be okay. Hopes she knows that he’s here to support her, even though he’s always putting in double the effort and she’s only ever putting in a measly half.

****

“What about the walk?” she asks.

He tells her she’s missed out on the opportunity to go on a walk with him. He’s too busy anyway, he adds. A walk wouldn’t have fit on his financial schedule.

She’s still holding the teas.

He asks her to put the teas down.

She puts the teas down on a bench.

He tells her he can’t believe she has put the teas down.

She says that she put the teas down because he told her to.

“I never said such thing,” he insists.

She feels crazy, retreats.

He advances. Spouting words.

****

She stops listening.

His voice shrinks.

Shatter. Splatter.

No more gaslight tea.

No more gaslightee.