It was just tea. Just some hot water, some sugar, and a tea bag, or “beg” as he says it in his mid-western accent. It doesn’t mean anything. He probably won’t even drink it, I thought to myself as I put the water on to boil. I was in kind of a time crunch. Class started in four minutes, and the tea still had to steep, but this was more important to me then getting to class in time.

His cough sounded awful. It was one of those coughs that did not come alone, there were three or four every time he opened his mouth. I hated to see him in pain, and so I decided to make him tea. I doubted he would accept it, it was kind of a strange gesture, but then again was it really that bad to show him that I still care about him?

It was Valentine’s Day and I was dressed in all red. Red leather jacket, off-red deep neck tee-shirt, and maroon pants. I hate the day itself, but the sentiment is kind of fun to get involved in. It seems like half the world hates the day and half the world loves it, so at least I was not alone in my despise.

I picked out an earl grey tea bag and placed it in a coffee cup that read “Princeton Plasma Lab.” My father had gotten it when he was at a conference there last summer. The water came to a boil and I poured it into the cup, carefully trying not to burn myself, but apparently not carefully enough.

I poured a some hot water on my hand and instantly felt a mixture of pain and amusement. Pain because obviously getting burnt with hot water is painful and amused because I could not help but see this as a sign, or a reminder that most of the time I put myself in these situations with him, I get burned. This time it just happened to be a physical burn.

I didn’t have time to run cold water over the burn, so I just kept pouring. Once the cup was about three quarters full, I put the kettle down and pulled out the sugar. Not to force a metaphor, but the sugar also reminded me of him. It was so sweet at first, until you get too much. Then, you get sick of it, or maybe it gets sick of you. Either way I put two spoonfuls of it into the cup and stir it in while I think of the worst possible reaction to me giving him tea.

“I made you tea.” I would say gesturing to the cup.

“Why?” He would say.

“Because your cough sounds horrible.” I would say.

“Well I don’t want it.” He would say.

This scenario may seem a little overdramatic, but I would not put it past him.

I started to think of a more preferable scenario as I grabbed my math book and homework and headed out the door.

“I made you some tea.” I would say gesturing to the cup.

“Oh, thank you. You are so sweet. I miss that.” He would say taking the cup out of my hand. I would jump as I felt his skin graze mine, it’s so firm, so rough.

“Well, I hate to see you sick, are you feeling any better.” I would say.

“No, I still feel like s***, how are you?” He would say in-between sips.

“I’m doing pretty good, let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.” I would respond, taken aback that he was being so pleasant.
“I will, thank you for the tea.” He would respond.

“No problem.” I would say, feeling very accomplished.

I was forced to exit this day dream as I needed to focus all my attention on not spilling the tea that was coming dangerously close to falling all over my shirt. There were already little wet specs on it from where the tea had splashed up onto it. I rushed into the math room and sat down. I had somehow managed to make the tea and get to class with a minute to spare.

I sat there mentally preparing myself for giving his gift. His arrival was announced by a fit of coughing and he walked in a few seconds later. He was wearing a navy blue hoodie and a pair of low riding, baggy jeans. His brown hair was a mess and was curling up at the ends, as it does when he doesn’t have time to comb it after he washes it. He walks around the table and lays his books onto the table. I felt myself move, and looked up to see him pushing my cobalt blue rolling chair over so that he could sit down next to me.

“Your cough sounds awful, I made you tea, you don’t have to drink it.” I said, rushing the words out of my mouth to get the rejection over with, if I was going to be rejected.

“Aw, thank you.” He said, his voice sounded hoarse and it made me feel something for him, I really did hate to see him in pain.

He took a sip and then said “What kind is it?”

“Earl grey. It’s lightly sweetened.” I said

He nodded, I don’t know if it was in approval, or recognition, but at least he nodded. Throughout the class period he took more sips, and then put the cup down and scooted it towards me, without saying a word. It was just tea, and now it’s just a cup, filled with a little dissolved sugar and a lot of hope about what could be.