TEA. It could cure many ills, both physical and of the humors. A beverage, a tonic, a lullaby, a pick-me-up, tea served the world around in every capacity humankind could desire. On this morning, it gently cleared its throat, politely announcing itself to Gideon’s muddled senses. This was not the strong tannic aroma of English tea, but the more familiar Chinese kind. That was Cricket’s tea.
Gideon rolled over and there it was, one of those inconceivably delicate china cups with the handle as thin as rawhide string. Afraid he might break it, dopey as he felt, Gideon left the cup on the table near the bed and swung his feet to the floor. Elbows on his knees, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to will away the torture of the previous night.
“Drink it,” he heard Aspen say, “you’ll feel better.”
Through his fingers, Gideon peered blearily across the room. Per his custom, Aspen sat astraddle a hand-hewn chair, washbasin on the chest of drawers in front of him, lathering his face to shave. Gideon's thoughts halted like a line of poorly trained soldiers whilst his eyes watched the process: razor clearing a path along the chin, blade swooshed in the water, dried on a cloth and another path cleared.
“Gov?”
Aspen’s mirrored reflection looked inquisitively at Gideon. He rubbed his burning eyes again, sure they must be as red as a spooney’s, and reached for the steaming tea. It was good. He sipped again and the tisane was perfect. Practically clinging to the cup, he savored the warmth, the flavor, and the way the tea made his brain begin to feel alive.
Aspen wiped his face clean and stood. “Don’t be late for breakfast.”
Gideon was being excused from the morning chores, but it was a release he did not want. Doing was better. Doing would push away the memories he would just as soon not remember. Sitting idle would give the shadows free rein.
“I can—”
“You can stay put,” Aspen informed him, because no one should have to come to the world before they had even come to themselves. Aspen tossed a comb onto the bed on his way out. “In case you decide to look presentable.”
Gideon stared dumbly at the back of the door. The cup in his hand tapped on his questionable consciousness. It was all but empty. The miniature teapot on the table introduced itself and, full to the brim, was made welcome.