2 Tea Time At Dawn
It's been a quite night, one big brawl! It's Five a.m. and me and my brothers start to head back home. Baby bro is flippin' giddy about tonight's accomplishments. It ain't often we do a drug bust so I'm smilin' too. We're getting better and better at fighting in pitch black. The night goggles brainy bro fitted us with don't hurt either. Fearless leader did this tornado kick, sending a group of dudes flying. It was fuckin' sweet! ...I ain't ever tellin' him tho. The cops show up just in time for us to be scarce. No one will ever know we were there.
I've never been anxious for our evening patrols to end. I'm always the first one in and the last one out. But tonight I have an additional agenda. I know I shouldn't go but certain thoughts keep naggin' me. I let my curiosity get the best of me. I tell my bros I'll catch up with them later. I quickly part with them in the sewers before they can protest. I head for lower Brooklyn.
About thirty minutes later I find myself standing on the black and white tile. I no longer need my flashlight. The dead lamp at the top of the ladder is now lit, shining brightly down on me. I climb up and see two things dangling from the manhole cover: a bottle of Angry Orchard tied to a string, and a note taped to the bottle. I can't believe she put them there. She's either really ballsy or nucking futs. I smile as I reach for the note:
'It's rude to drink and leave. Come in and push the white button.'
She must be crazy! Inviting an 'alien' from the sewer up to her place to toss back a couple?
… I must be crazy to oblige…
I lift the cover and inspect the room. Little has changed; the bathroom door is open, inside is unlit and unoccupied. I wonder if she's used it since that night we met. The window, the stool, the boxes, the old wooden steps… looking beside them I see the white button on the wall. Secure in my solitude I enter the room. I'm not sure if I should keep the cover propped or not. I remove it entirely and place it on the wrinkled tatami mat, allowing the lamplight from below to flood in. I notice the old wooden steps go up then around a corner. I creep up and around and see a large metal door at the top. I glance back at the white button, noticing a single wire leading from behind it and trailing up into the ceiling. I push the button.
Nothing. Of course.
I mean, really. It's almost dawn. She's probably asleep. I press the button again and walk up the steps. I run my left hand over the door, my right still gripping the bottle of alcohol. I don't see any hinges, no handle. I knock lightly. It's almost solid. I ball my fist and knock harder. Silence, and then…
Knock… knockknock... knock… knock….
I respond, Knock Knock!
Latches and bolts and locks are undone. I step back and the door recedes inward about an inch. At that moment I realize I am playing with fire. I have no idea who's on the other side. Did she alert the police? SWAT team? Animal control? I decide not to breathe until the person on the other side reveals themselves.
"Who is it?" it's her.
"It's me again." I say.
"Me, who?"
What the hell does she want me to say? It's not like where on a first name basis yet.
"It's… your cider-stealin' alien." I announce.
" I thought you said you were a mutant." She teased.
"Like that's a better option."
She pulled the door open a few inches more. "Can you please just show me your hand first?"
I hesitate. In the brief moments before she speaks again I imagine me reaching in and her chopping my fingers off… damn I'm morbid.
"It's just, I know you're there and I know you're real but… this time I'd like to take my time in meeting you again." She spoke softly.
I nod to myself. I slowly reach in with my left hand, palm down. I see my three fingers hit the light from inside and hear her inhale loudly.
"Wow." She says. I smile. Then unexpectedly, she takes my hand with both of hers. I've only touched one woman's hand before. Hers were just as small and soft. But these hands holding me now were very warm. The feeling ran up my arm. I'm standing on the other side of the door watching her hands examine mine, turning it over pressing into my palm. I watch the tips of her fingers roam up mine and polish my nails. It slightly tickles but I don't pull away. I laugh silently when she checks for my pulse.
"Well, doc, will I live?" I mock.
"Hmm. I guess so." She opens the door wide and gently leads me inside. Her head is bowed and her eyes are closed. I'm standing in front of her but she's afraid to look at me. Her hands are still holding my one, very tightly now. She is probably regretting inviting me in. I try to take the edge off.
"Listen, it's ok. I'm not gonna hurt ya…"
"No, It's fine just give me a minute…" She breathes deeply and exhales. Still looking down, she steps closer, opens her eyes and stares at me feet. She slowly lifts her head scaling my figure like she's climbing a mountain. She pauses and finally meets my gaze. I look into her eyes. They are a deep brown, big and attractive. She's so close I can smell her scent; it's like cinnamon and fresh soap.
"My Holy Lord…!" she gasps.
"Um, not quite. The name's Raphael."
"Amber… Grant." We shake the hands we've been holding in greeting. She finally let's go, steps back and takes me all in. I'm a little embarrassed being on display but I'll take this over screaming anytime.
She speaks "Well, Raphael, please come in. Welcome." I step aside and she closes the large metal door, which, surprisingly, is portrayed as a tall bookcase on the other side… a hidden door. She fits the door in place and re-shelves the books to conceal the locking mechanism.
She walks past me and leads me toward more steps.
"This is the bookstore." She displays with her hands. "I live upstairs. I didn't know when or if I'd ever see you again so I wasn't prepared… It's early. Would you like somethin' to drink? Coffee?"
"Yeah, coffee sounds good. Besides, it is too early for this." I hold up the bottle of hard cider in my right hand.
"Yeah, you right." She laughs.
We enter her apartment and she stops me at the door. She rushes over to her windows and pulls in the curtains. I thank her. I follow her into the kitchen and I sit on the stool she offers. She takes the green kettle from her stove and places it in the sink and lets the water flow. Her back is turned toward me so I take the chance to check her out. Well, I try anyway. She's wearin' that big long shirt again. It goes down to her knees. I guess she always sleeps in it. She doesn't seem to have a frail frame. And her hair is hidden under a scarf. I get bored and decide to look around the kitchen. It's dim. Only the light over the sink is on. The counters are stainless steal and the floor tile is gray. The sky blue cabinets above the counters are doorless so all her dishes are on display. Her fridge is sorta like mine, round, retro style. There are a lot of cookbooks on top of the microwave and a small cactus plant sits in front of a skinny block glass window. By the time my gaze comes back to Amber, I realize her back is still turned and the water is still running.
"Uh Amber? You ok?"
She jumps a little and stops the water, draining the excess from her kettle, "Yes, Raphael, I'm fine." She turns and smiles at me as she places her kettle on the stove, igniting the pilot, "I'm sorry. I was just staring into space, wondering if I'm dreaming, wondering if I turned around from the sink, you'd really be sitting there or if I'd just wake up."
I laugh, "I can't believe I'm here right now either. I understand. And call me Raph." She smiles and nods.
We don't say anything more as Amber continues to prance around her tight kitchen, recovering two mugs, some sugar, spoons. She places the items on the bar where I'm sitting. The kettle whistles and she turns off the fire.
"Do you like sugar or honey with your tea? I have lemons. Would you like regular or green tea?"
I sit, watching her ramble and fuddle around like it's the first time in her own kitchen. It's kinda adorable, "I though you were makin' coffee." I smirk. She stops and looks over at her cold coffee maker on top of the fridge. She then looks over at me. She rolls her eyes and sighs. I bust out laughing. She gives a sheepish grin and apologizes. I tell her green tea is fine.
We take our warm mugs and go into the living room. I sit on the big tan couch. She sits across from me in a dark leather recliner. Bookcases built into the walls surround us. We sip silently. The sun is starting to peak through small slits in the curtains. She sets her mug down on the coffee table between us. She pulls up her legs beneath her and stares at me intently. I know where this is heading.
"Okay Amber, not that I get to tell my 'creation story' a lot but when I do, I always go first." I take a sip and watch her brows rise, "Why don't we start with you this time? "
"Oh… okay." She takes up her cup and settles in her seat again.
"Tell me, where did you come from? You don't sound like a Brooklyn girl." I smile at her.
"I grew up in Pittsburgh."
"Go Steelers." I chant.
"Yeah." She muses, "Lived there all my life. I'm the youngest of three. My Sister is in California and my brother is in Topeka, Kansas. They have their own families now. My mom's still at home. She's an accountant. She's great. She worked hard raising us but always found time to take us on trips. We been a lot of places, Florida, Georgia, actually all the eastern coastal states. Never left the country though…. never been to New York til a little while ago either." She purses her lips.
"What about your dad?"
"I don't know my dad… I mean I know who he is but his presence was spotty. I wanted to know him… I remember being like nine or ten years old, that's when he would come by about once a week. We were so excited to see him, all smiles. I hated myself for changing so easily when he was around. 'Cause I knew one day he wouldn't come back. I was right…" She finishes her tea but continues to cradle the mug, looking down into the emptiness.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to…"
"No, it's fine Raph. It's my story. It's not perfect but it's mine. Besides, I've dealt with daddy issues the same way I do everything else; I write about it. I went to college for creative writing. Putting my feelings down on paper is very therapeutic. Funny, my mom does the same thing. While I was packing my bags, getting ready to move here, I came across some old letters in the attic my mom wrote to my dad. Some were sweet, some were raunchy, and some were mean as hell, but they were all beautifully written. I asked her why she kept them and Dad didn't have them. She told me, 'He was never worth my feelings. I wrote those letters for me. I'm ok with hiding how I feel from him, but it's not healthy for me to hide them from myself.'"
I nod, and then finish my own tea. I set my cup down and cross my arms, "What brings you to New York?"
"My Uncle Bubba died. His real name was Brian. I inherited this bookstore, the whole building actually, four floors. I don't use the two upper levels. I don't own that much stuff. Mine is the tallest building on the block so I can see for miles around. I gotta nice patio on the roof too…"
"How long have you been in Brooklyn?" As soon as I ask the question I realize I don't care about the answer. I just want her to keep talking. I like her voice. It's soft. And it sounds like she's rambling, but she knows exactly where she's going. She rolls along on a natural rhythm. It's like music.
"I've only been here five months. Now, I can run the shop with my eyes closed. The other shop owners are nice and invite me to do stuff but I'm a homebody. And I don't like meaningless conversation the way these New Yorkers seem to, so I do get lonely sometimes… Honestly Raph, this is the most I've talked to anybody since I got here. And I don't think I've ever talked about myself." She smiles, "I still miss Uncle Bubba a lot… I think he gave me the bookstore because I was his one and only pen pal. We wrote to each other for years. Some of his stories seemed really…unbelievable… but I loved getting his letters in the mail. He would write to me about all the trips he took around the world for books. He loved Japan. Letters were 'our thing'. When you can just call or text or email nowadays, I think he appreciated our correspondence relationship much more than a convenient phone call."
She stares at the drapes. The sun is much brighter now. Damn, how long has it been since I've seen the sun? The lines of light now hit Amber's fingers. She begins to rub her hands together in its warmth. I watch her and I get that feeling go up my arm again. She leans slowly against the recliner making it rock back and forth. I'm glad she seems to be more comfortable with me.
"Do you still have time to write while running the store?" I ask.
"Yes, all the time, everyday." She pauses, then, "I keep all my feelings down here in these journals." She points down at the bottom row of the bookcase behind her, thick and thin little books, all different colors. "I started a brand new one, I hope you don't mind. It's about you, only a couple pages so far…"
I stare at her. She's writing about me? I guess that's not too dangerous. It's just a journal, not an autobiography. My stomach is still stirring and I notice my left foot tapping.
"So, uh, what are your feelings so far… about me?" God! I sound like a teenage dork with a crush!
"Well, I'm not sure yet. I'm still trying to gauge how I fell about myself. I mean, I'm having tea and blind date conversation with a large turtle in my living room. I'm still wondering if I haven't just gone insane." She whines with mock hysteria, grinning.
I chuckle, "No, you're not insane. I'm thinking you're very brave. I mean, if I was you, and I saw me in your basement a couple weeks ago, I would have covered up that sewer hole with a new cement floor."
She laughs out loud. It's bright and lively. It's a nice feeling to make her laugh. She sobers a little, "Raph, You're amazing! I couldn't just let you disappear out of my life."
I can't believe she just said that.
"Ok, Raph. Tell me now. Where did you come from? Do you have a family? How did you learn English?"
"The sewers, yes, and a lotta TV."
She laughs again and that makes me laugh, "I'll tell ya my whole story, Amber. But before I do ya gotta understand. No one else can know this. I can't put my family in danger."
She nods, " I promise Rahael." She grabs a beige afghan from the floor and wraps herself up as she lies down in her chair. I lean my head on the armrest and lounge on the couch.
"It's kind of a long story. You sure you're up for this? When do you gotta open the bookstore?"
"Oh, I'm just fine, slept all through the night until you buzzed me. And it's Sunday so I don't open up shop til noon." She smiles and nods at me to begin.
I smile back and stare up at the ceiling. The air is comfortable and still, and the room glows brighter by the minute from the morning sun. What time is it? Seven, seven-thirty?
"I got three other brothers. We all started out as regular baby turtles. The ones I guess you could buy at a pet shop. I can assume how it happened, that the little boy who bought us that day didn't ask his Ma for permission to keep us first, so he just threw us down a water pipe. And how we got in contact with green glowing ooze I can only imagine. Really smart, geeky people doing stupid things, I guess. But our father got covered in that gunk too."
"You have a father? Is he a turtle too?"
"Naw, he's a rat."
"R-really…?" She looks tilts her head up, "What's his name?"
"Splinter. We call him Master Splinter."
"Oh..." she sighs. Was she expecting something else?
"Yeah, that ooze changed us…fast, and Master Splinter raised us and taught us everything; even how to be kick-ass ninjas."
I tell her about my pain-in-the-shell older brother who leads us with a heart of gold. I tell her about my genius brother who made our sewer lair livable by providing us with cable, Internet, hot water and cool, but sometimes dangerous, gadgets. I tell her about my baby brother who's a skateboarding dingbat, but always knows how to make me smile.
I tell her about our many adventures, our allies and foes, our failures and victories. She doesn't ask any questions. She just listens to me, wide-eyed, mouth agape, fully engaged in my little saga. I try not to take too long. I still make sure to highlight my awesome skills every now and again. I'm sure another hour has gone by. When I end all she can say is "That's totally amazing!"
Yeah, I know I am.
We're still lounging. We get to talkin' about other things. I ask her about her favorite shows but she says she doesn't own a TV. She watches Netflix on her computer, so we talk about movies. She loves sci-fi and romance, and I love action and comedy. We both like 'The Fifth Element'. We talk about food. It gets us both excited. We go on and on for a while. She asks me to name my favorite pizza toppings. When I get to extra onions I start to hear her breathe soft and even. I look up and she's fast asleep. I call her name but she doesn't stir. I get up from the tan couch and look at her.
…
I take our mugs and place them in the sink. I head for the door about to take may leave, down the steps and behind the bookcase when remember my bottle of hard cider. I decide to place it in her fridge with a new note attached:
Thanks for the nightcap. Hold on to this for me. –R