breezy, drafty, windy, rainy, snow fire and earth
she let the teabag spin slowly over the dark black abyss of the cup; spin slow,
circuitous in motion, stopping, starting, hovering above the black edges blurring hard
against the genteel cup. the repression in the air circled like a fighter plane searching to kill
and she set the cup down and spooned a small amount of sugar into it. she stirred hard,
still letting the teabag spin slow above the cup; the stirring was hard and fast, the spinning
slow but not gentle, more precarious than anything. she let the teabag fall abruptly into the
tea; softly she went to fill a glass with water from the sink. next she poured half of the tea
out of her cup; poured in half of the water. then she mixed them back and forth and back
and forth until tea and water became one, until the sugar crystals had been spinning so
long they were no longer dizzy.
her legs led her in an open manner to the stairs where she sat in socks and a
scarf, with her tea, or whatever it was in the cup that resembled tea, and she drank slowly
and demurely as her legs sought different positions of comfort. her thoughts were long
and taught and she played them masterfully with only little symptoms of err, like an aged
violinist or cellist who hadn't practiced in many years but was seeking to rekindle their joy
for their passion, their music, their instrument; seeking to see their hands move across
familiar paths and fall into unity with what they expected of themselves.
the door opened after an hour and she still sat, unsuspecting, as her sister
moved into the room and flipped on some lights in the way hurried people do while trying
to avoid dark winters. the sister spotted her on the steps, in her socks and scarf and
clutching her tea, and emitted something like a sigh but less than that, less longing, less
desperation, less confusion, more a willing admittance of things to come and things to go.
she went towards her sister more slowly than the latter had anticipated, more like a visitor
seeing an ill friend or a friend of a friend, someone not be reacted brashly towards, but to
be observed and chatted with in a more delicate and maybe distant way.
'how are you?' her sister asked her and she didn't respond right away. how was
she? was she wasted, spent, thinking too much or too little? following a routine because
she was scared to break it? was she bent on it, bent on what, on action? or on reason? on
maybe finding a route and trying it and breaking it and finding another and breaking it
harder and trying again? was it like a lottery? how was she? did she spend time behind her
eyelids, close and cool and thinking lethargically? because behind her eyes, behind her
mind, there was silence and slow thought and a being that just was, that didn't have to be,
that just existed. was she wandering, searching, with little movement? was she focusing her
eyes like a lazy camera, old and useless at its job? how was she?
'i'm ok, basically,' she replied after that thought, which in accordance with its
length in her mind had been extraordinarily short in the world that breathed around her.
'are you sure?' her sister asked, as she sat herself down next to her and peered
curiously and with some concern sideways into her face. but the concern was not rushed,
was not brutal, was not fearful, so she could deal with it better, with her sister's worrying,
because she knew it was ungrounded and a little awkward and a necessity for siblings or
family members to feel, and so she nodded.
'maybe i feel a little dizzy.'
'dizzy?' her sister asked slowly, wondrously.
'dizzy,' she repeated, as her sister closed her eyes briefly, as if praying, but not as
if praying to a god, 'yes, i feel dizzy.'
'in a good way, or a bad way? should i be concerned?' the sister wondered this
aloud, not really quite aware she had done it.
'breezy,' she continued, ignoring her sister's words, 'breezy, i feel dizzy.'