The Patron Who Consumed Nothing

BY BEN TRACY

 

I was in a tea shop. I was not in any particular hurry. I was browsing, as they say, “just browsing.” The reason for this? I do not like tea. As I browsed slowly through the herbal air a man came up to me and asked me for 45 cents. I gave him two quarters. He walked away with the air of one cheated. The quality of the air quite confused me, but people are strange like that. Too much spice. For the rest of my short journey through the tea shop I wondered why.

Then I sat at a table. A pretty girl with a pink apron approached and asked if I could be tempted by some tea. Tempted? I answered I could certainly be tempted. I was sure to be tempted. That, after all, as I explained, was the purpose of my visit. She waited politely, playing with short tugs on the pink tassels fastening her apron to her. Did that mean I would buy some tea, she wondered aloud. Normally, I should explain, I have quite little patience for those who only wonder when they mean to ask. But I did enjoy her pink apron, especially the little tassels on it, so I indulged her and answered as though she had asked. She appeared confused at my answer. I got up from the table, performed another brief circuit of the shop to sample the air and then asked her why. She surprised me by standing near the table while I performed my circuit and I wondered briefly, if she found me peculiar. Occasionally people do.

                  I came, as usual, on the omnibus. No one notices particularly and I have never met any friends on it. This, I believe, is not because I am an unpopular object, or of objectionable features, but because, having an unusually strong grip, I am compelled to cling to the back rather than board in the usual manner. There are those who consider this a strange foible. But I have never met them. They are typically inside as I believe I mentioned.

                  I also work. My work consists mainly in traveling about town. It is very important I do this at regular intervals. If I do not, people become upset. This does not happen quite so much if I travel faster around the town. However, should I linger in any place for very long, people become agitated by my presence. Once they become agitated, they attempt to engage me in discourse but by their violent gestures, I see those conversations for what they are. They are attacks on my character. I bristle at the thought of being so badly treated by those, whose very existence depends upon me so heavily. They do not realize the importance of the work I do. Although as I reflect, a possibility occurs to me. Perhaps they do realize and that is why they gesture. They want me to continue my exertions. This is because they do not realize that I depend on them as equally as they do me.

                  There have been intervals in the past when I have rested. These were, of course, before I became aware of my responsibility. A man with many responsibilities or important concerns cannot rest, and I even more so on both counts. Though I do not have many responsibilities in the true sense. I only have many insofar as all are dependent on one. Although, reflecting further, that one is dependent on those which depend on it, much the same way I do on all people, and they do on me. This mutual dependence will require thought on my next circuit.

                  The waitress continues to play with her tassels. I rise again and perform another revolution. I pay particular attention to the back shelves. They look in perfect order. I am well pleased and the air inside has invigorated me greatly. I gave up resting, as I believe I mentioned, since at this time good air has become of particular importance. I have gone on another of my journeys in the time I have spent reflecting in the shop. But now, we are back in the dependable present and she continues to play with her tassels. I watch this activity carefully. I am waiting for the little tugs and pulls to become those gestures which tell me it is time to move on. It is critical that I watch the timing of her pulls. She wonders aloud whether she can get me anything at all. I have little patience, as I believe I mentioned, for this sort of wondering, and as this is the second time, I am not so forgiving. Besides, I am concentrating very hard, waiting for gestures. I cannot be distracted.

                  I think, anyway, that I cannot be distracted. However, just then she wonders aloud if I am sick. When she is sick, she says, she makes tea on her stove and then simply inhales the fumes rather than drinking it. Is that what I am doing, she wonders. Am I sick? Of course I am not sick. I have, however, never seen her house and this disturbs me. This denies the very nature of my task, the tremendous responsibility that I have shouldered for so long. Every day I have looked at her tassels, knowing that if she were only to appreciate the magnitude of my project, she would prostrate herself, begging for what forgiveness I could spare. Yet I can spare none. And besides, she remains ignorant of the horrible burden that, by default, has become mine. And she remains ignorant of the many abortive sorrows that accompany so fleeting and yet repetitive a trip through town. If she could only see, she would beg permission to carry me, to relieve me for a while of the heavy burden my own form of life has become. But she cannot. So I do my best to ignore her and I wait for the gestures to begin. But I wonder about that house which I have not seen which contains the girl’s stove which I also have not seen...

                  I think as I circumnavigate the teashop again and I continue thinking as I examine the teabags to ensure they are exactly as before. They are. I have often wondered, what would be the state of me if they were not. I have also wondered what I would do to put things right if I should ever round a corner to find, not a teashop, but a beach, or a palm grove, or even something as offensive as a fiery abyss. At times like these I find I need to complete my rounds with more haste than usual and I redouble my exertions, if simply to ensure that such thoughts are idle and not actualized. Today the herbal air is doing nothing to calm my nervous thoughts and I have to concentrate very hard to ensure they do not become manifest. I concentrate so hard in fact, I fear I have missed the start of the gestures for now the girl with the pink apron is shooing me away from my precious teabags and out the door. I realize I must be very late indeed and that I should hurry on to my next area. So I put forth a tremendous exertion and manage, in only a few seconds to move myself nearly across the street. However I am struck by the very omnibus I was to catch. My only thought as the girl in the pink runs, gesturing excitedly, out of the teashop, is that I must have been early rather than late and that she is surely coming out to explain her mistake.

 

                  Today, in the mid afternoon, as tea was being completed, a solitary figure, given to long strolls about town, was hit by an omnibus. Being as he had never been a paying customer of the omnibus or tea shop, both establishments continued running as before, until, pursuant to his wishes and resultant from his discontinued services, all existence winked out into nothingness except for a house containing a stove and this document.

 

 

Ben Tracy is currently a Dean's Scholar at the University of Virginia School of Law.He graduated Cum Laude from Phillips Exeter Academy in 2003 and from there, he went to Brown University where he double-majored in Political Science and Philosophy. This summer, Ben will be working as an associate at Carlton Fields in Miami. He enjoys surfing, classical music and fresh cookies.