Teacup Memories: A Short Story

Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, and the things you never want to lose.  ~From the television show The Wonder Years

Nanna Anne is slowly dying. Her mind is fragmented and her thoughts wander, trying to recapture the past. As Aunty Rilla and I sit with Nanna in her room, surrounded by piles, sorting through and packing up her memories, the only sound is Nanna’s haphazard phrases. “They have a little boy now. And Mum said to be sure to not to work to hard. Oh yes, and then there were fireworks.” Her voice wavers and then fades, as Nanna is lost in a world only she remembers. She is the last of her siblings left and has outlived Granddad and most of her friends. Each ornament on her shelves represents a person or an event that was significant to her; every black-and-white photograph encapsulates a moment frozen in time, and each pressed flower holds some memory. A lifetime of memories, now packed away, to be stored in a corner and abandoned. Eighty-five years of life: weddings, birthdays and holidays; all these cannot simply be boxed up and forgotten as long as there is someone who still remembers.

Aunty Rilla carefully picks up Nanna’s favourite teacup. The delicate, almost translucent china is covered in an exquisite, though faded, rosebud design. The inside is tea-stained and there is a chip on the handle, but remnants of the lacy gold filigree can still be seen on the rim and handle. Aunty Rilla holds the cup up to the light to admire it.

Suddenly, Nanna is alert and paying attention to what we are doing. With almost childlike pleading in her voice, she implores: “Please, be careful with that.”  She reaches for it and takes in her arthritic hands; her fingers barely able to hold it. She looks up, first at Aunty Rilla and then at me and smiles wistfully: “You know, this cup isn’t actually mine.” She leans back in her chair, cradling the cup and the room is silent for moment.

“We used to sit and talk for hours, Kayla and I. One afternoon a week, one of us would walk across the compound with our teacup and together we would just sit and chat. I suppose it was how we helped each other cope with the loneliness of being a pilot’s wife, and the challenges of expatriate life in Kenya, far away from all our family and the familiarity of life back home.”

“What was it like living in Kenya, Nanna? What were the people like?”

Nanna is oblivious to Aunty Rilla and me and continues reminiscing. “We were both newlyweds and had moved to the compound in Nairobi at about the same time and as we got to know each other, we became like sisters. One afternoon though, the pleasant rhythm of our lives was shattered, and for the first time in two years, our tea was left unfinished. We had been sitting discussing patchwork patterns when the hum of the static on the radio was broken by the eerie screech of the distress signal.”

A tear traced its way down the maze of wrinkles. “They had the most beautiful cocker spaniel puppy. And then there was the first day of school, and the day all six of us piled into the car just for the fun of it. I used to love collecting shells.” Her voice dies away as she tries to recapture her now fragmented memories.

“Mum, will you please tell us what happened? What was the distress signal for? Why did you never tell me about all this before?”

“Nanna, please, won’t you continue?”

“I always liked forget-me-nots and violets. We stopped and sat in silence, straining to hear any break in the constant static that might tell us what had gone wrong. After what seemed like hours, a voice came over. It was Kayla’s husband calling for help. All he could say was that there had been a security breach and he required another plane to get him out of the village. After the rescue team took off, things started happening quickly and the days whirled by as contingency plans were set in motion. I found myself going through the motions of life in a trance, as nothing felt real anymore. Mum made me a butterfly shaped cake for my birthday that year. She always made the most incredible cakes. Tear-gas always makes me feel queasy. Oh, and then there was the time when Danny broke his arm, and the day Rilla dyed her hair when she was seven. Although he was physically safe, Dave had been held at gunpoint by rebels as his plane was stripped and all the money and cargo taken. Company policy dictated that after any incident, the staff involved had to get out of the country; both for their own safety, and for appropriate debriefing and counselling. Dave no longer felt safe flying, fearing that now the rebels knew him, he would become a target. It was decided that because of the current civil unrest, Dave and Kayla needed to go home as soon as possible.” Nanna pauses, remembering.

In the silence, I allowed my thoughts to roam. How does someone deal with that, having to suddenly pack up everything and just leave? 

“All the expatriate wives came together and helped Kayla pack up their house. It was emotionally shattering, both for her, and for those of us trying to help sort through what was to be taken and what was going to be left behind. Everything that was being taken home had to be packed into crates and prepared for shipping out, while clothing and essentials were packed into their suitcases, ready for the first flight out the next week. I did my best to help and not make the situation more painful by showing my hurt. Kayla needed me to support her and my tears were not going to make things go back to the way they were. Even though I did my best to hide my grief, my heart was crying for the loss of a friend who I had shared so much with.

On her last afternoon, I carried my teacup over for one last cup of tea together. We sat there in the empty kitchen, a tissue box between us, silently savouring the moment. I made it home just before curfew that evening. It wasn’t until I was putting away the dishes that I realised that I had left my teacup over at Kayla’s. When I went over the next morning to say my final goodbye I looked for my teacup. On the kitchen bench was Kayla’s teacup, but mine was nowhere to be seen. I asked the other women if they had seen a second teacup anywhere. The director’s wife said that in the last minute packing that morning, she had packed up a teacup and put it in the boxes just before they were taken out to the truck. She had assumed that the one on the bench was mine, as she knew Kayla and I had a tradition of always drinking out of our own teacups.

When it was finally my turn to hug Kayla goodbye, I whispered to her that our teacups had been swapped. Through her tears, she smiled at me; “I would never have forgotten you anyway, but now I have something of yours to remember you by.” This teacup is Kayla’s; every time I use it I remember our precious times together. I never saw Kayla again after she and Dave left Nairobi. Paul and I left about six months later as the political situation was becoming unpredictable.” Nanna sighs and reaches for a tissue.

“Kayla sent me a letter shortly after they left. It should be in with all those papers there.” Aunty Rilla sifts through the pile of papers and at the bottom of the pile she finds a small yellowed envelope. Nanna takes it and opens it up, the creased paper rustling like fallen leaves. The letter reads:

            My dearest Anna,

I was not able to properly say goodbye to you when I left, so I am writing to you now to say the things that I could not say then. I have just finished unpacking and found your beautiful teacup. Now while I am drinking out of purple violets, you can be drinking out of pink rosebuds. I wish I could sit and have a cup of tea with you again. I miss all the hours we shared, doing patchwork projects, working in the Nairobi women’s centre and just living life together.

I want to say thank you for your friendship. Your love and support helped me feel a part of the community. You made me smile and laugh while sharing my tears. I now realise how much your friendship meant to me and how much of my heart I have left behind. Although it has been decided that Dave and I will not be returning to Kenya, I am thankful that I had those few years there because I was able to share them with you.  I hope that our paths may cross again sometime soon.

                                                            Until then, all my love,

~Kayla

The clock chimes, interrupting our reverie and Aunty Rilla and I clear away the packed boxes and find our coats. Aunty Rilla tenderly kisses her mother goodbye and walks to the door deep in thought. As I farewell Nanna, she takes my hand and gently places the teacup into it.

 “Keep it safe for me, won’t you? You know the whole story behind it now. You can remember for me.”  She looks up at me. “Please, promise me you won’t let it ever be forgotten?”