A Blizzard in a Teapot

It’s late, maybe 10pm. I haven’t been keeping the best time recently, with so much to think about. But, I know it is after 9, because that is when I finished work.
I’m sitting in my car in the supermarket carpark. It’s dark, has been for hours. Winter in Scotland has to be the worst time to go through the death of a parent. A Scottish winter has the possibility to be the best and most welcoming, cosy time of year, with Christmas lights and fairy-tale pantomimes, comfort food and warming fires. Or, and for me in this moment, it is bleak and uncaring. Cold and full of dread.
The supermarket’s neon glow is an assault. The thought of being bathed in its fake warmth, the loud music and chatting shoppers, busy even at this late hour as people prepare for the most wonderful time of the year, is immobilising. I am frozen in its hyper beam. Glued to the spot like a ribbon on a box.
I probably should have called in sick today, he’s not gone yet but it won’t be long and it’s hard enough to get up and moving, let alone be cheerful to customers all day. Serving hot coffee and cakes as people exchange gifts and pleasantries. How fun it is to listen to fifty different flocks of festive people have the same conversations all day everyday.
Partially I am in denial that this is having any effect on me. I am fine, that is my go to response. So why then, am I frozen in a supermarket carpark? All I need is a carton of milk and something for breakfast.

Get out of the car, go buy what you need and then you can go home.

Nope nothing. Cannot move. My mind has too many thoughts racing through it, I can’t seem to catch one long enough to bring it into focus.

Try Gregor, he has a level head.

He might not be close by but he usually answers the phone when I call. He knows me well enough to strike the right balance of encouragement and practicality that could bring me out of whatever state it is that I have found myself in.

The call doesn’t last long, he’s just on his way out. Of course, I should have realised, it’s a Friday night in December. But it works, to some extent. I’m not blaming myself for yesterday’s misadventure anymore and I have recovered some of my senses. I’m still stranded alone in the carpark though. I need someone to physically drag me from this spot, to pull me round the supermarket and snap me out of this fog.

I pick up the phone again. Annie is a new friend, but she has the kind of personality that draws people to her. The kind of person that knows every regular by name and starts making their coffee before they even enter the shop. Can I burden her with this? Can I show my weakness to such a new presence in my life?

She’s on her way. We are going to buy milk and something for breakfast and then, despite the late hour, we are going to have a cup of tea.

*

I am no longer frozen in place. We walk around the supermarket at a steady pace and pick up a few biscuits for good measure. I am still out of focus but she provides stability as we wind our way through the aisles.

Back in the carpark, we approach our cars. She checks I’m ok to drive and then I follow the red lights of her car round the meandering country roads. Her house isn’t far but it is outside of town, a peaceful hidden world near the river mouth. During the day you can see the river and in summer her garden is full of life.
There isn’t a street light to be seen. Instead the stars look down on us and lamp light flows out of the large living room window like a soft blanket over the arm of a chair. This is the kind of home that welcomes you in as you walk up the drive, before you even open the front door you feel the same warmth that radiates from its owner moving delicately through the wind chimes and evergreen leaves that line the path.

In her living room we sit with a teapot between us on the small coffee table, peppermint tea so we can still sleep tonight. I relax into the deep sofa and wrap a blanket round my legs. I am able to process the last 24 hours in the safety of this space. The words falling from my mouth slowly at first and then a blizzard, drifting over the teapot and filling the room before escaping through the window into the night. There is no judgement from Annie, she just listens and nods her head in understanding and companionship. Tea cup in hand she passes her wisdom over to me wrapped in a peppermint mist. The events of yesterday feel far away, they are the past and all we have now is the future. Dwelling on who made what mistake and how things might have ended serves no one but the perpetually miserable.

The conversation flows away from distress as we settle into the rhythm of two friends talking. We are not concerned about the time or the now empty teapot. By the time we finish talking, it is almost midnight. I leave my temporary shelter and walk to my car through the cold, clear air.
The frost on the grass is a mirror of the stars that now hold my secrets. The winter night no longer feels uncaring. It knows my pain and it welcomes me. The soft light of the living room lamp bathes my car in a warm embrace. Annie at the window watches me drive into the sympathetic darkness and waves goodbye in my rear-view mirror.