A Conversation of Soggy, Wet, Tea Leaves
Two days since the history-changing election, and I still try my best to not throw brainless remarks at her Highness, long may she reign.
I still feel restless about it, to the point I’m worried, even. There are many things to consider, many to actually take note about. For instance, I worry for the way many hungry predators are preparing to hook and sink their influences on her. She’s by no means weak or indecisive, and I trust her to look at things through clear vision, but that can only last so long before influences come left and right and she turns into another hypocrite. Which is why, again, I hope she chooses well.
Other than that, she shows promise to kick ass. So well, that I told a friend about my insecurities about the whole event.
“Yeah, I voted for her,” he nodded.
I rose both eyebrows and bit back a spicy retort.
“Who did you vote for?” he asked, as though he expected me to not choose otherwise.
“Not her,” I flippantly said. “I didn’t care as long as it’s not a girl.”
“I felt like it was time for a change.”
The man I could have loved proved to be the better person between the two of us.
“I’m not ready for that,” I told him, and I find myself admitting what I wasn’t brave enough to say before. “I hate that things are changing and we have zero part in making that change. It seems like all we ever become is a downfall.”
“We were just not meant for it, and if that’s how the destiny is, then so be it,” he smiled, and it was silly of me to think he might refer those words to something else. He continued, “See, there will never be a cup of tea without the tea leaves. Sure, people only enjoy the tea, but a cup of tea don’t come out of nowhere.”
“You have much bigger heart than I do,” I told him, and he replied jokingly that I am quite small in literal sense.
Despite the ugly comparison of soggy, wet, tea leaves, I saw his point, and I told him what the older kids told me about our role in this shift. He listened intently, and he was a good enough person to not immediately judge.
“Why, did you want us to be remembered?” he asked, more curiosity than calling out on my shallowness for wanting recognition.
I shook my head, “That doesn’t matter,” I forcefully said. Then, in a softer voice, I told him, “I only wish we did something.”
Our eyes met, and he said in understanding, “I feel the same thing.” His lips twitched into a gentle half-smile.
I went straight home dangerously close to falling deep, purposely not bidding him goodbye. And now the conversation and the gentle smile plays like a cassette tape, over and over, over and over.