No Leaf, No Silt, No Residue

“If you won’t come out then we’re coming to you.”

That’s what Maegan said on the phone. I almost didn’t answer at first, but she kept ringing and ringing until the noise damn-near broke me down. “It’s not healthy, to see those four walls all the time,” she said. I knew she was serious. I agreed. Besides, I couldn’t stomach that; having Maegan and Amanda round. They would open the curtains, and slide the sash up to let air in. They would frown at the wilted weeping fig in the bathroom, and at the dead carnations in the vase in the bedroom, and glances would be exchanged over the cups in the sink lined with blue-furred mould.

I found some clothes in the washing pile and got dressed. I didn’t care to wash my hair, or my face. I took the bus and met them at the House of Tea. We only ever go there when one of us is trying to kick caffeine and rebalance. I suspected Maegan this time, since she suggested it. They were inside when I got there, sitting on an old futon next to the fire place, with a purple tie-dye throw draped over it. That’s the thing about the House of Tea; it’s genuine quirky. Nothing matches, it’s like a jumble-sale of tables and chairs and ornaments and cups and saucers. I think I like it.

I sat down on the red velvet armchair opposite them.

“You’ve got your t-shirt on backwards,” Amanda said when I took my jacket off. “Honey, did you realise? Did you realise you put your shirt on backwards?”

“Sure,” I said. “Sure I realised – I did it on purpose. I’m trying something new, you know.”

They both looked at me for a real long time, heads cocked to the side, not saying anything. Then Amanda began. “Well, I hope you don’t mind but we ordered for you. Something tasty.” She pushed a little polka-dotted tea-pot towards me. “It’s green-tea with ginseng. Loose-leaf, so you know it’s good.” I poured a little in to my tea-cup, ignoring the strainer that they’d left out for me.

“You know, the waiter says that ginseng can do all kinds of wonders for the body. Isn’t that right?” She said, looking to Maegan for backup. Maegan was nodding.

“Yeah, yep, all kinds of wonders,” she agreed. “For physical and mental wellbeing. Isn’t that something?”

I said it was. It’s true though, tea really is something. When my mother had cancer she started drinking this ancient blend called Kombucha, made with special fermented mushroom fungus. It tasted of lychees and vinegar, I remember. She kept trying to get me to drink it too, but I was heavily caffeine dependent then, moreso than I am now, and couldn’t face the stuff. Within months she was cured though. The cancer had gone, completely. She swears by the stuff now, says she owes her life to tea.

We all sipped our blends – me the ginseng, Maegan some Oolong for her high blood pressure and Amanda this lemon infused variety of Lapsang Souchong for her poor digestion. “How are you keeping just now, honey?” Amanda said. “I mean, how are you keeping?” She put her cup down and cocked her head over again.

“Tickety boo,” I said, “Just fine.”

“Are you sure?” Maegan cut in. “I mean, we’ve been thinking you seem a little blue again.” She waited for me to say something, but I didn’t. I didn’t say anything. “Well?” she said. “Are you a little blue again? Because if you are, you know…” she trailed off.

“I know,” I said. I didn’t know though, not really. I just said I did. “Anyway I told you,” I said, “I’m tickety boo.”

They didn’t probe further. I’m good at doing serious, and they never usually push it. Instead Amanda started to tell us the latest developments with her digestive tract. I stopped paying attention after her speech about the bitterness of bile, though. I’d become mesmerised by the dregs of liquid and leaf swirling in the bottom of the cup. “Hey,” I said, butting in to their conversation. “Hey, do you remember when that woman read my tea-leaves?” They stopped talking. Amanda squinted her eyes.

“Vaguely,” she said. “Mmm. That’s right. The old kook thought she could see the future in the bottom of a tea-cup.

I nodded hungrily. “What did she tell us again?” I said. “She had all sorts to say. All sorts of stuff.”

Maegan said that old woman had seen a goat in her leaves, and that it meant she’d receive news about a sailor. But Maegan didn’t know any sailors, and still doesn’t, so didn’t take any heed of it. Amanda thought her reading had something to do with a coffin, so she stopped the woman telling her any more. Coffins never mean happiness anywhere, do they?

“Let’s try to do mine,” I said. “Let’s see what shapes I get in my leaves. Then when I go home I can look it up.”

“You know it’s just silly, don’t you?” Maegan said. “You know it’s not really true. Tea-leaves can’t tell you what’s happening next week.”

“I want to do it,” I said. I really did too. “And besides, how do you know they can’t? Tea can do all kinds of wonders. I want to do it.”

They looked sceptical but I was doing serious again. “Sure,” they said, in unison. “Okay.”

I swirled the remaining mixture around a few times for good measure. This is what the woman had me do last time. Then I angled the cup a little, so the liquid part drained in to the saucer. The two of them leant across the table, so’s we could all peer into the bottom of cup, to where the leaf residue should have been. It was too dark, with all us blocking out the light.

“What can you see?” Amanda said. “It’s too shadowy in there, I can’t even tell. It’s like a black hole.” They both sat back into the futon, waiting for me to say something, to say what I the tea-leaves had predicted for me. I kept my eyes fixed on the bottom of the cup, straining to see. Everything had drained away though. There was just stained china. No leaf, no silt, no residue.

“Nothing,” I said eventually. “I can’t see anything.”