Eccentric Tea Woman

When he first met me, I couldn't believe it. Here I was, a nobody who was struggling in the world, and this man, this very special man, turned his sights on me! He was so attractive, so sure of himself, and he had eyes for me. He approached me and introduced himself, then extended a confident hand for me to shake. I shook it and felt his power coursing through it. He said that he'd seen me in the coffeehouse many times, yet waited for the right moment to introduce himself. I told him that I was glad he did so. That was the beginning of it all. From there, we went out on dates during every date, and he showered me with tokens of affection and, I thought, love. We saw each other for several months and I noticed that while he loved being around me and showed me much affection, he never said those three little words. Plus, he spent a lot of time talking about himself, and wasn't I lucky that I fell into his life? One day, as we ate ice cream, I told him that I loved him. The wo

It was that damned painting. After breaking up with his girlfriend because he was terrified of commitment, he painted night and day until a clockwork woman stared at him from the canvas. Miles, that's the artist's name, had painted her eyes half open because he wanted her to look perpetually sleepy and unaware of the future. Once he finished the piece, he set it in his office and read a book for the remainder of the day. The next day, he came downstairs to his office to find her eyes wide open and waiting for him. It's about time you got here, she claimed from beyond the canvas. He stared at her in shock. Oh, don't look at me like that, she snapped. I need you to do things for me since you didn't paint me any arms. Miles slowly nodded, all the while wondering if perhaps someone had drugged him. Oh good grief, she yelled, this is really happening, okay? Now get to work! Miles nodded again and asked her what she needed. She told him a list of actions that he needed to

(This story was previously published in Tales From a Goth Librarian II - out of print) When I first met Paula, I told her that she smelled like bergamot. Every time she moved her arms, every time her hair caught a light breeze, my senses would go into overdrive and all I could think of was a pot of Earl Grey tea. She said she smelled that way because she spent most of her childhood in her uncle’s teashop, wandering among the tall glass jars filled to the brim with exotic smells and delicacies from around the world. A pinch of oolong here, a dabble of British Breakfast there, some lavender thrown in for good measure, and voila! she would say, raising her hands over her head as if she was a magician. She lived for the scents that awakened the senses, for it was in those scents that brought us to a moment of undiluted happiness. One day I wanted to feel that same experience, so the two of us walked from my home to her uncle’s teashop, the small cerulean blue coloured store at the end of t

  I met her in a French village, the ones you read about in massive novels. She told me her name and I replied that it suited her. Have you ever been in love, I asked her as we drank tea in the village cafe. She paused and stared at the cool blue sky. I know of dirt under my fingernails, she replied with a smile. The feeling of the sun beaming down on my uncovered head. I know what it’s like to drink fresh milk and eat cheese with bread. Love is a luxury in a life such as mine. I finished my tea and pondered her words. You’re thinking too hard about it, she added, causing me to laugh. Tell me, I questioned her, are you happy here? She frowned and asked - you are a traveling bookseller, are you not? You have books that would make me forget the dirt for a little while? I nodded yes and she said - the world that you came from is a lie. Join me and discover what you lack. I gathered my belongings and a door behind me suddenly closed.