ONE
Tulips
dear neighbours
sorry for the noise this past week.
feel free to take a bouquet.
have a wonderful day.
mikael k.
flat 1
Flat 01
Floor 01
Karen can hear a banging, a knocking, incessant, dancing in and out of her focus as it travels the hall from the bathroom. Mikael is trying in vain to hurry their daughter to bed again, and it is not going to happen.
She applies pressure to her teabag, pushing it against the inner rim of her favourite tea cup, beige with assorted teal stains, for longer than necessary. Her favourite part of making a cup of tea has always been watching the colour change, and this moment in particular is essential. The tea darkens. She tips bio-milk in with a three-degree twist of her wrist, and watches the surface of the water melt through brick and ochre, slowing just before dark-toffee. Like clockwork, the sight of this births a craving for a custard cream breaking perfectly in the middle, in between her teeth. Or a cloud-like Victoria sponge, moist enough to rain golden crumbs — but she will settle for a rich tea biscuit.
“Alice!”
Bastard.
65% dark. The teabag has been in too long. Too late. Her whitening knuckles straining against the teaspoon remind Karen to breathe once more as she scoops the wasted Grey out of her cup and throws it into the sink with a twitch. The rest of the tea follows. Her daughter screams in ecstasy, convinced as always that Mikael’s sweat-soaked and flame-faced pleading is all part of an elaborate game that she cannot lose. Alice’s laughter does not end, and Karen longs for the sound of drills and tap- tap- tapping. Canines yapping or whining, and white noise.
She releases her next breath so slowly that her lungs shudder as she reaches for the kettle.