Tea-Party with Toma

------

They sat at the little round table next to the four-poster bed. The unsheathed French windows let a bright stream of sunlight pour through the glass, illuminating the room in a strange sort of radiance. The shelves were lined with numerous dolls, arms hanging limply and a few missing a button or two. Toma glanced at them virtuously for a long while before being tempted by the plate of cinnamon and walnut biscuits. He wasn’t really enthusiastic about the walnut ones.

“Mum’s worried about me,” she said, her arms resting on her knees and her chin resting in the cove of her folded hands. She was looking down at him in a mixture of awe and curiosity.

“And why is that?” he asked back, indulging in the evening snack.

“Well, she’s been like that ever since my brother disappeared.”

“Did he now?” he said absentmindedly, taking a long sip of the tea. “Ran away from home, I bet. Young men these days are always upto no good.”

“Maybe. My parents tell me he’s just gone far away. But I know better.”

“Little children always do,” Toma concluded prophetically.

“I’m not a child,” the ten-year-old emphasized, straightening up to look taller than she already was.

“What’s wrong with being a child, Emily?” Toma asked, gazing at her through his beady black eyes.

“Because I hate being treated like one. People never believe a thing I tell them. I want to grow up soon.”

Toma let out a surprised chuckle. He wiped the milk stain on his face against the fabric of her frock. Climbing his way up her arm, he nestled into a soft spot near her elbow. “You know… Humans are strange creatures,” he said. “When they’re children, all they ever want is to grow up. And when they’re adults, all they ever want is to look young. Fickle beings if I daresay so myself. Can never stick to one feeling, always changing sides.”

“Were you human once?” she asked, after a long, fidgety silence.

“I wish I could tell you.”

“Does that mean ‘no’? Do you come from a land far away then?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Did you meet anyone on the way?”

“Only a couple of minstrels, goblins and a very kind fairy. Why? Do you have someone particular in mind?”

“I was just wondering if you’ve met my brother. He’s got wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and his name is-”

“No, I haven’t met him, little girl,” Toma cut her short. The bear looked at her sympathetically and suddenly, his eyes twinkled. “But I bet he was nowhere close to being as pretty as you.”

An exuberant smile broke out on her face.

------

She was rummaging through the kitchen cupboard, trying to make as little noise as possible. Standing on top of a chair, she stood precariously near the edge, small hands grazing in search of her mother’s prized crockery set. Her mom had served tea to the guests with it, just two days ago. Ever since she’d set her eyes on that beautiful porcelain teapot and the matching silver cups and saucers, she knew Toma would like them very much. He had keen eyes and an appreciation for fine cutlery. Plus, he loved the tea she brewed.

“Emily!” her mother bellowed, when she found the ten-year-old in the kitchen. “Get down from there! Do you know how dangerous that is? What if you’d fallen?”

Emily had been on the verge of pulling the tray out when she got caught red-handed.

“Mum, I just want to borrow these-” she tried to explain.

“And what for?”

“It’s for the tea party. Remember, I told you ‘bout it.”

“Emily, is this for the teddy again?”

“He has a name, mum! Toma! It’s just four letters. Can’t you ever remember it?”

Mrs. Dawson ignored her words as she let out a soft sigh and kneeled next to the girl. Running her hand through her child’s brown tresses, she straightened her frock and smiled worriedly. “Isn’t it about time you find friends your own age? How about Minnow from next door? She seemed like a sweet, adorable child. Didn’t you like her when she came over last Wednesday?”

“No,” Emily said, biting her lip. “She kept making fun of my doll house. I didn’t like her. I didn’t like her at all.”

“I bet she was just teasing. You do have too many toys. You could give them away to charity.”

“I won’t,” Emily replied firmly. “You never gave away Tom’s stuff though he’s not been back in ages. They’re still locked up inside that wooden chest. I know. I’ve seen you.”

“That’s enough, Emily,” her mother said darkly. “I don’t know what to do with you,” her mother sighed aloud, looking exceedingly distracted. She stood up and closed the doors of the cupboard, one hand pressing the crease of her brow. “Now, listen carefully. Mrs. Fleming will be dropping by soon and she’ll bring Minnow along. So, you be a good girl now! Invite Minnow to your tea party or something, okay hun? Entertain her. She is after all, younger than you…”

“Do I really have to?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t want to but in the end, she nodded reluctantly.

“Can I atleast take the cups?” she asked, pointing upwards.

-------

She held the shiny kettle delicately and poured warm water into the tiny cup. It wasn’t even a cup but a small beaker she’d stolen from her father’s study. She thought it was just the right size for Toma to use.

She picked up a tea bag and dipped it into the water, counting the seconds to herself.

“Would you like sugar or some lemon with it, Toma?” she asked with a benign smile that didn’t quite reach her ears. Perhaps she wasn’t happy of the new presence in their midst.

The presence, Minnow, let out a loud giggle. The eight-year-old pipsqueak had been gawking at her neighbor the whole time. “Like he can talk!” she blurted out in fits of laughter, pointing at the teddy bear seated next to her.

Emily ignored the younger one and looked at Toma. He remained immobile and not a word left the happy smile sewn on his face.

“Alright. Sugar it is,” she announced in agreement in spite of receiving no answer. She picked up a spoon and dropped two teaspoons of sugar into his cup.

Minnow was rattled at being ignored.

“You know what? I heard my mom telling your mom that you’re too old to be having imaginary friends.”

Emily looked at her. “I don’t have imaginary friends.”

“Who’s Toma then?”

“Why, he’s sitting right next to you, Minnow.”

The girl with the ponytails frowned.

“He’s a teddy bear, a stuffed toy,” the younger one said pointedly.

“You’re saying that just because you’ve never heard him talk.”

“Then, make teddy talk. Now!”

“He won’t.”

“Why not?” Minnow asked, crossing her arms over her chest in disbelief.

“Because he doesn’t want to.”

“Is he scared? Or are you a liar?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“If you’re not lying, then YES!”

“Fine! Because he hates brats like you, that’s why! Happy?” Emily snapped.

Silence.

Minnow’s lips trembled and she tried a futile attempt at controlling her tears. She got up from her seat suddenly and in a fit of anger, overturned the table. All the teacups, the silver plates and the teapot crashed to the floor, spilling the contents of a carefully prepared party. Before Emily could stop her, Minnow even picked up the stuffed bear and hurled him across the room. She left the room, slamming the door behind her.

The room was silent save for the sounds of the tea leaking out of a broken kettle. Emily sat on the floor, motionless and downcast. She looked at the other side of the room where Toma lay, missing one black eye. Swallowing hard, she crawled towards him slowly. When she reached his side, she picked up the abused bear and held it close to her heart.

"I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized countless number of times, tears streaming down her face.

“Don’t be,” he said, startling her. “I still have one good eye. We ought to be grateful that she didn’t hit me on the nose. And unfortunately, I have only one of those.”

“I’ll sew it back on. I swear.”

As a compromise, she placed the bear on the large rocking chair.

“Isn’t this your brother’s? Would it be alright with him if I sat in his place?” Toma asked, looking around awkwardly in the oversized chair.

“I don’t think it matters. He won’t come back.”

She scuttled under her bed and pulled out a tin box. Opening its lid, she pulled out a pair of scissors, a spool of thread and a needle.

“Will that hurt?” Toma asked quickly.

She shook her head.

“Alright,” he sufficed. “I’ll take your word. But if it does hurt, I’m holding you responsible, little girl.”

------

Mr. Dawson was sitting at the dining table, having a stab at the cold turkey. He was always late for family dinner and even today, he ended up having dinner alone. It felt too quiet- the unusual sort of calm he was unaccustomed to. The house used to hustle-bustle with noises and yet now the only thing disturbing him were the sounds of late night television. His wife was washing dishes in the kitchen. Her shoulders slumped; she’d seemed tired and pale ever since he’d got home.

“Something wrong?” he asked, unable to bear the awkward silence anymore.

She shook her head and resumed her work. But not for long. The dam had to break eventually.

She turned to him with a teary smile and let out a bitter laugh.

“I know it’s been a year already. But I just remembered how he used to love those cinnamon biscuits.”

..--..

“Toma, how’s your eye?” Emily asked him while she lay in bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling and watching the shadows shift.

“It feels like brand-new. Like I never lost it in the first place.”

His voice rang out from the depths of darkness. But she was soothed to hear it.

“I’m sorry about the tea party,” she mumbled.

“It’s alright, little girl. You can treat me next time. Just you and me.”

Emily was quiet for a long time before she mustered her courage to ask him the right question.

“Toma?”

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you talk? Before Minnow, I mean.”

“Did you want me to?”

“No. But I was wondering about what she said. Am I really ‘imagining’ you?”

The teddy bear took a moment to dwell deeply. He leaned back against his seat, making the chair rock to and fro in the process. It creaked loudly in the silence of the night.

“Did it ever occur to you that the reason I appear to you is because you believe in me. Does it matter whether I’m a bear or a teapot? Whether I exist or not is not consequential. The reasons I exist for are also trivial. What’s important is your imagination and you ought to be proud of it... Besides, I love your tea parties, little girl.”

She didn’t answer him immediately.

“Toma?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad to have met you.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

She didn’t say anything more and was soon lured by the sandman’s will.

When all were asleep and little mice ran along the corridors in search of the day’s spoils, shadows shifted inside Emily’s room. Yet she slept peacefully, curled into a ball under the thick, heavy blanket.

The rocking chair creaked as the weight on it grew with every ticking second. Until by midnight, a full grown boy sat on it, rocking to and fro. His windswept brown hair trickled down his neck and his brown eyes stared pensively at the view out of the windows. He reached out with one gloved hand and picked up a broken teacup. Gazing at it for a long while, he placed the cup down on the small, plastic table with a long sigh.

Getting up from the chair, he walked to the side of the bed and peered at the small form sleeping on it.

“I’m not here just for your tea, little one,” he whispered into her ear. “All the same, thank you for believing.”