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bethany69esda · 7 years

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Tea with grandmother

In which i explore my thoughts through a story about a girl, her grandmother, and being a werewolf in college.

It is getting dark when you step outside, this Friday evening. You glance to see if you can find any stars in the sky, but the city lights block them all out, and the sun’s light still lingers. The edges of your vision glow a dull yellow, a combination of all the wavelengths weaving their way through windows, buildings, and cars. You take a glance back where you left, your dorm looks lifeless from the outside. Most of the blinds are drawn shut, and those that are open rarely have their light on. It is much the same inside, fluorescent hallways and closed doors. You return the focus to your task and cross the pedestrian bridge to get to the campus proper.

You have a meeting to attend.

The campus is pleasant, and the smell of orange blossoms and flowers fill the air. You aren’t sure what flowers create the smell, but it is fresh, and the desert air warms your skin. You take your time, strolling the palm-lined sidewalk. You are in no rush, and neither are they. As you head towards your destination, you come across your favorite spot. An isolated patch of land, with a stone fountain the birds use to bathe themselves. You stop to sit, sipping on your tea and listening to the gurgling. As you sit, you see a cat slip past the grate behind the bench where the bougainvillea grows. The cat winds through the thorny bush, dislodging a flowers. It pauses as it passes you, and for a moment you swear it nods at you. Either way, you nod back.

The sky is fully dark now, all traces of sunset have left, and darkness has settled. You get up from the bench, leaving a small piece of a pastry bought at Starbucks behind. You say nothing, but the wind almost seems to whisper through the trees. You continue forwards, passing the orange streetlamps and tired students. It isn’t long before you reach the Union. Someone is playing guitar while a few students ignore them while doing homework by the neon glow of the pillars holding up the awning. You stop to listen, before continuing on your journey.

Now there is no one where you are, and empty avenue, the distant din of guitar and the glow of the lights behind you. You eventually reach the bus stop. You cross the street to the amphitheater, a huge monument to an alumni long-dead who opposed the building as ‘wasteful’. They weren’t wrong. It is a veritable colosseum—in design anyways. The hallways have fine red carpeting, and original art on the walls. The stage itself is even worse. Plush velvet seats, engraved brass railings, adjustable LED’s on the floor to see the stage, and the chandelier. How gorgeous, all gold plating and fine crystals—not glass like most others—with electric lights placed to cast light throughout them. The worst part is no student can ever afford to attend a play there—not even the drama department preforms here. Only the rich and wealthy can mingle here.

But you did not come to attend a show. Not in your worn out jeans and converse, not with a t-shirt so badly faded you can no longer see the logo. No.

You walk behind the theatre. There are multiple lawns around it to keep it nice. Across the tiny road circling it, there is a denser collection of trees, bushes, and plants. They do it to hide the unsightly maintenance center where crews can monitor the water flow and take care of any electrical problems that the stage crew can’t. It also serves as an entrance to both the sewers and the underground tunnels throughout campus. You’ve only seen the doors once, a great black door in the lab basement you work at. The next day, yellow caution tape blocked it off. A week later it was bricked up, a stark contrast to the old concrete surrounding it.

You descend the slope to the maintenance outcropping. Next to the gate, a cat lay sleeping. You leave a piece of your pastry and climb the gate. Now inside, you hear the gurgling of flowing water echoing up the shaft. You go around the side, and before you is an old wooden door, worn sunlight and wind, faintly smelling of salt. You take the old skeleton key out of your pocket. The iron is warm from proximity to your body. You knock, and unlock the door.

Inside is a shack, barely holding together. The wood is bleached and warped by the constant spray, and the sun leaks in throughout the slats. In the corner by the window is an old woman. “I brought this for you grandmother” you say, handing over a different pastry. “Would you like me to make you a fresh cup of tea today?” “Thank you dear, the Calendula if you please. My arthritis is flaring up again” “Of course grandmother”. You heat the water on the small camping stove you keep here. The propane never seems to run out, good for you since it is so expensive to buy. You grab a handful of the flowers and place them in the kettle after the water heats. You let it steep in comfortable silence, the sound of waves and gulls fills your ears. You strain the tea through cheesecloth into a nice china teacup, gold rimmed with roses on the side. You bring the teacup with the matching saucer over to the woman, and sit yourself down next to her, bringing out your own tea.

“How are you doing grandmother?”

“Well enough I suppose, the pain flares up and then I can’t finish my embroidery. Those days have been flaring up quite a bit recently. On those days I sit and watch the kids play on the beach, or I listen to one of those audiobooks you set up for me. But enough about me, I’m old. Older than I should be I tell you. Wat about you? How are your studies? Last week you mentioned that boy you went out with, how did it end?

You smile wryly “About as well as I hoped. The boy lacked for conversation, and could only talk about the sport he plays. Nice enough young man, but dreadfully boring. My studies are going….I’m passing all my classes at least.”

The woman nods sagely “So many more these days don’t know how to have a conversation anymore. Why, you’re the only one I talk to. Oh, don’t give me that look. My neighbors are only concerned with the new shopping malls and all the new tech, and their kids only want to swim and surf. That’s just as good, the only thing that matters in school is if you learn—not the grade you get.”

“I don’t blame them. Anything to distract from the tedium in life, right grandmother? We all need to get lost, else we might begin to see the world around us.”

“You’ve always had a penchant for cynicism, but you aren’t wrong. In my days, it was still shopping and technology we lost ourselves in. For good reason too, with so much bad happening, it’s hard to deal with it. What’s really on your mind?”

You frown, she always sees through you, blind as a bat she may be. “You know me so well grandmother. It’s not just the moon that brings me here, but you. I’ve been thinking—“

“Well there’s your problem” You both chuckle, and you continue, your thoughts tumbling out of your mouth, the floodgates removed.

“And I’m not sure I can keep doing this. All this studying, the late nights in the lab, the courses. It starting to get to be too much. Between my family and my school, it feels like I’m always dealing with some sort of crisis. My sister’s depression isn’t getting any better, and I feel so helpless, she won’t take advice from anyone and is dead-set on burning her bridges. I still love her and care for her, but I can’t move her in with me, I can’t make it all better. I’m not sure if this is even the right degree for me, but science is all I know. And there’s no jobs with this degree, only teaching and research. I’m not sure where I want to go anymore. I guess just away from it all”

Grandmother was silent for a while, most of the time she just listens to you until the day comes where you have to leave. “My dear, you know the rules. I cannot tell you what happens that leads us here. I cannot say what will happen, because then it won’t. It’s very clear there. But I can say this: It will be ok. You will fail, over and over and over, but you will pick yourself back up, every time. You can’t cure this disease for your sister, it lies in her mind, her body, her life. You are doing what you can for you. We both know you weren’t the best in your youth, but you’ve so much progress with her since then. Just support her for now, love her unconditionally and don’t condone her self-destructive habit. A bad habit to manage the pain now only causes future pain, and she knows this. She will come to this realization on her own.” Grandmother pauses, sipping her tea and staring out the window.

“Science isn’t all you’ve known. Don’t lie to me. It may feel that way, but underneath that skin, you’re a wolf. It runs in your blood. You’ve known the rush of performance, of praise on a poem, of art made late in the night. You are a jack of all trades, a trickster, a politician, and a therapist. Anything you want to be, you can. Even an accountant” You both make a face of distaste, you hate dealing with numbers and an office job sounds dry, no matter how good the pay. “My point is, life has a funny way of teaching you about yourself. Just look at us, the same person, different ages, different times, and we can’t even talk about it. You will find your footing, it will take some time. And you have a whole lifetime to figure out who you are and what you want to be. And in the end, you will be ok. You will be here, by the ocean like you’ve always wanted.”

You smile, and wipe a tear from your face. “Thank you grandmother, it means a lot to me.”

She nods, satisfied with her answer.

“Now, go my dear. Your pack is waiting outside, I can smell the wet hair from here. I will see you next month”.

You embrace her, and open the door, breathing in the salt air.

“Remember my dear, college isn’t forever. Enjoy your time there.”

Grandmother’s final piece of advice drifts out the door as you close it, stepping into the warm summer night. You check your phone and see that it is just past moonrise. You glance up, and sure enough the moon is full. You step into the gathering of trees, your pack waiting for you. College may be tough, but right now you have a pack, and freshman to hunt. You bare your fangs and howl, a chorus of howls joining you before you tear off into the night, in hunt of fresh blood.

#my writing #fiction #self-insert oc werewolf #my first piece of original fiction and its a love letter to myself

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