Green Tea, Memories, and Reconciliation

I sat at the sturdy maple kitchen table.
I cradled my mug between my hands.
I felt warmth seep through
and slide over the surface.
The lit candle on the coffee table
waved pumpkin spice through the kitchen.
I looked out the window
as though Nancy had made plans to return.
Tension drew my eyes
to where she’d park
her truck.
But our memory sought
sanctuary there.

I turned my head and moved my eyes
around our framed pictures on the beige walls.

I sniffed and lifted the mug to my
sour face to sip the Green tea.
I told her I’d never try this tea,
and I wouldn’t have,
but I had to put myself in her shoes.
I had to taste what Nancy did,
so I sipped warm Green tea.

The bitter garden muddy twang snaps
its fingers to remind me why it didn’t
take well to my stomach.
The first day of autumn pushed
a light breeze through the blinds,
brushing the squelching heat
through a facade of agoraphobia
in crowded suburbia.
Swathes of red and brown leaves
spread across the lawn beneath
skeletal hickory trees.

The bare branches stretched
for something more
than this lawn had to give.
Nancy liked tea; I didn’t care
for tea myself,
but nothing’s been the same
since she left town with another
woman’s man in another state of mind.
The county fair was going on downtown.

Nancy told me what lovers do
after cheer practice in her parked car
near a broken streetlight after dark.

It was more than I’d wanted to know.
It was more than I cared to remember
as staring a role in Nancy’s stories
from the truth of our youth.
It was everything I needed to see.

I missed her cherry coffee ring
and a glass of BareFoot on rocks;
we’d eat it in one sitting.

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Time escaped me in advance
as her eyes danced when she laughed.
She moved her hand through her long, dark hair
and looked at me.
That look.
The look.
The bedroom look.
Nancy bit her lower lip
and undressed what she saw of me with her eyes.
Nancy talked of pillow talk.

I blew out the candle, moved to the kitchen,
washed out the mug, and put it into the dishwasher.
I headed to bed. Life wore me out something good.
I had my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling.
I prayed for God to hear my prayer and bring Nancy back.
I’d forgive all the time we lost and leave her fling in the past.

The radio played soft pop
as I drifted off to sleep.
Rapping on the door startled me upright.
I threw the dark covers off my body,
and moved to the window.
I spread the blinds and moved my eyes around.
Nancy stood, with her chin dipped, hugging herself.
My sigh eased into a smile.
I moved through the hallway.
I opened the door before
I could allow second thoughts
to second guess my decisions.
Nancy spilled an apology,
moving her sleeve across her damp eyes.
She asked if a girl could have some Green tea.
I asked for sugar in return.
She flashed a flirtatious grin.
The deal was that we’d have sugar after
herbs that’d lead to lovemaking forever.

(Amazon Kindle, Spillwords, The Writers Club)

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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From The Good Men Project on Medium

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