Mint Tea

Kenneth and Florence sitting down and talking about whatever comes to mind. Secrets might come out, i dunno.

I walk into the tea house and look around for Kenneth. He should be here, he told me to meet him. I see him sitting at one of the tables in a corner. I walk up. He looks up from his book and gives a welcoming smile. I put my bag down and sit.
"Do you want some? It's mint." Kenneth holds up the tea kettle. I nod. He pours me a cup of it. "My parents always made mint tea when I was little." He says.
"My grandmother made mint chamomile tea for me whenever I was upset." I remember the days that I would sit in her kitchen sipping herbal teas and talking about my day at school.
"Was she a nice woman?" Kenneth asks like he is trying to keep conversation going.
I think about it for a second. "Not really, no." I chuckle. "I mean, she was kind. But if you angered her she could be the meanest old lady you ever met."
Kenneth laughs. "Sounds scary. Did you ever anger her?"
"Once." I say. "I spilled black tea on her rug and it stained. She was furious for the rug was given to her by her mother. She made me scrub the stain out for hours!" I laugh. "After that, I never did anything that would upset her. She was nice to people, nonetheless. One of the kindest people I ever knew."
Kenneth nods. He take a moment to drink some tea before speaking. "My grandmother was a very cross woman, she was never nice to me." He frowns as if he is remembering something. "She would shout all the time." He looks at the table. "But, talking about relatives isn't why I asked you to come here. Can you tell me about your sketch?"
Kenneth takes the sketch out of his backpack and puts it on the table. I look at it, studying it as if the answers are written on it in a hidden place.
"It's strange." I mutter. "Why is she soaked even though an umbrella protects her from the rain?"
"I don't know... It's your drawing, Florence." Kenneth studies the drawing as much as I am.
"What am I supposed to say about it? Should I spew nonsense about the deep meaning behind it? There is no meaning, it's just a drawing I did in five minutes." I feel mad again.
"You know, Florence, I don't think that there is no meaning behind this sketch. After all, the girl is you." Kenneth slides the paper across the table to me so I can get a closer look.
The girl under the umbrella is me. It's obviously me. But why? It doesn't make sense to me at all.
Instead of thinking about it and trying to figure out reasons, I just take a sip of tea. Kenneth must have noticed that I was getting frustrated because he quickly changed the subject.
"So, uh, what are some of your hobbies?" He asks a generic conversation starter.
It's good enough, as long as we don't have to talk about the picture any more. "I usually don't do much except cook and paint." I answer.
"You cook?" Kenneth sounds like he thinks cooking is the strangest thing ever.
"Yeah... I cook a lot. It's something my grandmother did a lot. I would help out." I explain.
"Did you and your grandma have a close relationship?"
I smile at the table, remembering her kind face. "Yeah. I miss her terribly." I look up at Kenneth, hoping I don't cry at the memories.
I notice something about him. Something is off about him, but I can't quite place it. Is it his eyes and the odd pain behind them? Maybe the way he automatically looks angry when he isn't smiling. Or it might be the scar.
Scar? I hadn't noticed that scar before. It stretches from the corners of his mouth to his cheekbones. What is it from? What happened to Kenneth that he got this scar?
I realize quickly that I'm staring. 'Flo, don't stare at people. It's rude!' I tell myself. I look away too late, Kenneth noticed that I was staring.
"You're looking at my scars." He states. A small frown pulls the corners of his lips downwards.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." I say quietly, unsure.
"It's... It's fine." Kenneth responds.
"Where did they come from?" I ask. The second the words leave my mouth I realize that I shouldn't ask. "Oh, uh, sorry. I don't have a right to ask."
"No, no it's alright." Kenneth smiles weakly. "I'll tell you."
"Are you sure you don't mind?" If the reason is upsetting to him, I don't want him to feel like he has to tell me.
"Do you know what they call this scar?" Kenneth gingerly touches the scar and traces it along his face. I shake my head no. "It's called a Chelsea Smile or Glasgow Grin. I never really understood why, it's something having to do with the cities they are from, but that's besides the point." Kenneth pauses. "My own father gave me this." I gasp, Kenneth continues. "I don't fully remember what all happened that night because I blacked out halfway through the beating, but I remember the pain of having my face ripped apart as I screamed in pain. Horrible experience. I am actually happy that I forgot most of it."
"That's horrible..." Is all I can say as a response.
"I told you something about me, tell me something about you." Kenneth looks at me, waiting.
"I already told you stuff about my grandma." I say.
"I don't like people knowing more about me than I know about them... I told you a really important thing..." Kenneth folds his hands on the table. I notice scars on his hands too, but I won't ask about them in fear of another bad story.
"Okay, I get it." I hesitate uncertainly. "I'm bipolar." I say. "Is that good?"
Kenneth laughs. "Bipolar? Is that why you got upset in the art room earlier?" He asks.
"It's not a laughing matter!" I shout at him. "Being bipolar really affects my life, so don't be a jerk about it. Okay?" I grab my bag, ready to leave.
"No, stop. I'm sorry." Kenneth grabs my wrist and holds it. "I shouldn't have laughed. It isn't funny and it's serious to you." He looks at me and smiles. "Please stay?"
"Fine." I set my bag back down.
"Tell me about your bipolar disorder." Kenneth sounds like he actually wants to know. Why though? No one ever cares about a word I have to say.
"Well, I have hypomanic episodes a lot, many of them are ultradian. That means that I go through a lot of episodes in one day." I stop and think about it for a little bit. Am I boring Kenneth with my rambling? He looks at me intently still. I shift in my chair. "I usually get really angry during my episodes and people think I'm crazy."
"Are you crazy?" What a strange question to ask. How am I supposed to know if I'm crazy? I'm bipolar, as far as all the experts are concerned, that's being crazy.
"I'm not sure." I say truthfully. Everything about my life has been unsure. It's just so weird how I'm perfectly fine telling a guy I didn't know existed until today stuff about myself. Usually people I've known for years don't know that I'm bipolar.
Kenneth looks at his watch. "I'm sorry, I have to go. I'm supposed to meet some of the guys for drinks in a bit." He pulls out his wallet and sets a fifty on the table. "Can we get together again soon?"
"I don't know. Sure?" I respond as I stand.
Kenneth smiles. "Cool. I'll talk to you at school tomorrow then."
"Tomorrow is Saturday, we won't have school." I laugh a little.
Kenneth stops to think about it for a second. "Damn, we don't. I guess I'll see you on Monday then." He corrects himself.

Reviews

[Calypso]

Very sweet and relaxing chapter. When I was smaller my grandmother gave me mint tea for stomach aches.