Sugar

*NOTE: I am on a train to Shrewsbury, so exclamations will be peppered through this post.*

WOW!  The Rapeseed/canola plant is in full bloom turning the English hillsides a bright yellow.  It's sunny and vibrant, quite a departure from the gloomy winter of just a few weeks ago.

And on to the Sugar Story.  It was the day James came to visit in March.  He had gone to the flat while I was at work to unpack.  Once we both got back to the flat, I saw this canister labeled "sugar" on the kitchen counter.  James never adds sugar to tea or coffee, so I thought it was odd he would bring sugar with him.  I asked what it was.  He thought it was mine.  Which led us to look at each other incredulously - then whose is it?  I had a disturbed feeling as I realized that someone else had been in the flat.  But how could that be?   I checked the windows - closed and locked.  And anyway why would someone break in, take nothing and leave sugar?

I emailed the landlord the next day.  And by the afternoon, was barraged by emails and phone calls back littered with apologies.  Apparently, a repairman had been sent to repair the faulty buzzer system and though he was specifically told to only access the main panel in the hallway, he for whatever reason decided to let himself into my apartment.  Now, presumably, he would have wanted to check the buzzer.  Maybe he did.  It still doesn't work, so maybe he didn't.  But what he did do is make himself a cup of tea. 

*Arriving in Coventry as Stonehenge is playing on my headphones.  The end part with the mandolin solo is perfectly fitting for the landscape.*

So.  The Tea Loving Repairman has a tea making kit he takes with him which includes a container of milk, tea bags, a cup and a container of sugar.  He left his sugar behind.  The landlord was quite clear that he didn't use my cups or tea.  I am supposing he used my kettle however, otherwise it'd be a very cold cup of tea.  And the Brits aren't all that into Sun Tea.

*Arriving in Birmingham and changing trains.  My 12:09 to Shrewsbury has been changed to a 12:02.  Good thing I asked.  Made it on the train with only 1 minute to spare.  Birmingham.  Hmmmm.  Industrial.*

I still have the sugar container, which is actually a vitamin bottle with "sugar" written in sharpie.  I opened it and it smells like vitamins.  Not my first choice in flavors.  I wonder what that does for tea?  But I hope someday, the repairman will be back to complete the buzzer repair and reclaim his sugar bottle.  How on Earth is he getting on in the meantime?  Unsweet tea, I suppose.

Healing powers of tea.

I was stepping off the 38 at Angel, furious about an exchange from earlier in the day, and I saw him.  A kid, really, in a sleeping bag with his head down, leaning on a phone box.  I have to admit that with so many drunks, I don't really notice people sitting on the street.  But I looked this kid in the face.  He was crying. 

Walking past, I tried to put it all together.  Why was he crying?  Was he homeless?  Maybe he got kicked out of his home.  He looked clean - and so young - maybe 17 or 18.   What should I do?  I don't know how shelters work here.  I don't know where one is.  Maybe churches provide that function?  It was pretty warm out and he has his sleeping bag, so he won't freeze.  But it was gnawing at me.

So I walked back.  I dug a couple of pounds out of my purse and knelt down to place them into his hat.  I caught his eyes, which were red and swollen.  "Are you OK?"  He seemed surprised that I was speaking to him.  He looked back down and said, "Yeah...uh...yeah.  Thanks.  Cheers."  He hesitated.  I wanted him to be ok but also if he said otherwise, I really wasn't sure what to do.  He wasn't drunk or high.  He was just - devastated.  But the kind of devastation that people usually keep to themselves.  I walked away.

Again, it gnawed at me.  The kid was crying.  So I did what I like people to do for me when I'm crying.  I brought him a cup of tea.

Buying the tea was easy until I had to decide if it should have sugar or milk in it.  I like milk, but what if he's lactose intolerant or something?  I started to stray off into the what-if-he-sues-me territory, then admonished myself for being jaded by an overly litigious American society.  I decided plain tea was best.  As I approached, he was staring at the ground again with the sleeping bag pulled up to his chin.  The sight was heartbreaking.

"I brought some tea," I said.  He looked up and thanked me.  Again he seemed surprised.  "It's going to be OK," I said.  I really hoped I was right.  For a second, I think he believed me.

"I hope so."

"It will.  Be careful.  The tea is really hot."  He reached out an arm from underneath the blanket.  despite my warning, he started drinking right away.  Some people do better with hot-hot than others.  I thought to myself, "Oh great!  This kid is having a rotten time and I just helped him singe off the roof of his mouth."  He thanked me again.


I walked away, hoping after a good cry and a cup of tea, things would seem a lot clearer.  I really hope for this kid it's that easy.