Issue 02
Tea Nora Carrier It is cold in this house and I wish to be warm. It’s rounding two and my roommates are sleeping –– we debated this, staying up, and I know we will not get results but part of me wants to be awake, to see. It is cold and I am sitting on this leather couch alone, my eyes glued to cable news. I hate cable news. I wrap the big white blanket around my head and my arms –– the blanket Renee got me, Renee my 60-year-old Trump-supporting cousin, Renee who’s worried about abortion and the destruction of ‘our way of life’, Renee who does not know I am gay. But the blanket is warm. I want nothing more in the world right now than to feel truly warm. I want nothing more than for Bella to be here –– Bella in Pennsylvania, Bella in Allegheny County, a registered Democrat who voted by mail, CNN says she is important. I want nothing more than for her to be here, to feel the warmth of her head against my chest, her arms around my waist, my lips on her warm, warm forehead. She is sleeping. I cocoon myself in the blanket, anything to simulate human contact. We are out of herbal tea, and it is too late for caffeine or too much sugar. My hands are cold. I scurry to the kitchen and fill a pot with water. As it heats, I grab a lemon and ginger! Ginger is warm. I slice the lemon with a dull utility knife. Juice spills in a tiny cut on my cuticle. It stings. I pick out the seeds of the lemon with a fork, tossing them in the sink. I squeeze the juice into the water, start peeling the ginger with a spoon. The ginger is old. It is partially rotted. I scoop out the greyed strands of ginger at the center, hoping to 58
