Honey in My Tea

When I was a kid I used to ask for honey in my tea. Please oh please, I'd beg. Can't I have honey in my tea?

No, my Mother said. Honey is for the bees.

Bears eat it, I'd say.

They're the natural born cousin of the bees, my Auntie said.

Exactly, my Mother said and poured me a cup.

But, Delilah's mother let's her have honey in her tea.

Well Delilah's mother is a fool, my Sister said, sipping at her cup.

Well put, my Mother said.

Couldn't have said it better, my Auntie said. Now go on, drink your tea.

I took a sip. It was bitter and tasted like dirt. I don't like it, I'd say. Can I please have some honey?

No, Mother said.

Absolutely not, Auntie said.

Are you crazy? Sister said.

Delilah says it's sweet.

Delilah is a fool.

Well put.

Couldn't have said it better.

Maybe you could try coffee instead, Grandmother said, waking from her nap. She shuffled to the kitchen counter and began working on the grounds.

Great idea Mom.

The best!

Maybe she just isn't a tea gal.

It wasn't long until it was ready and Grandmother sat the cup on the table in front of me. It was black like charcoal and steam rose from it.

Make sure you blow on it, Sister said. It's hot. She finished her cup and smacked her lips.

I blew on my coffee and took a sip. It was bitter, and too strong for my liking. Please oh please, can't I have honey in my coffee?

Honey in your coffee? Grandmother asked.

Unheard of, Auntie said.

Quite strange, Sister said.

Maybe you would like milk for it instead, Mother suggested. She grabbed a jug.

No, I'd say. Milk is for the cows.

Yes. And we're the natural born cousins to the cow, Auntie said.

Exactly.

Precisely.

Indeed.

I don't believe you, I'd say. I pushed my chair away from the table. I'll get the honey myself.

No way!

Out of the question!

Sit back down!

No honey.

No honey.

No honey! No honey! No honey!

They watched me leave the kitchen while they chanted.

I'll get the honey, I'd say.

They let me go. They didn't stop me.

I walked outside into the back field of our house. The tall grass tickled my nose. Delilah used to walk with me down this path. It's where her mother found the honey tree.

You should try the honey from this tree, Delilah said. It's the sweetest one around.

I don't know, I said. My family wouldn't approve.

Nonsense, Delilah said and she parted the grass.

There stood the honey tree, a ladder leaned against it. Its trunk was golden and sticky. Honey oozed from the cracks of the bark. I stuck out my tongue to lick it.

No, Delilah said. Not that honey. She pointed to the top of the honey tree. Up there, she said.

I looked and saw more golden limbs sprouting from the trunk. From their fingers, auburn leaves waved. I smiled and waved back.

There's a hive up there, Delilah said. My mother gets the honey from it.

I looked up there now. The ladder was gone, butchered and torched by Mother. She had tried to beat the hive down too, but I saw it still clinging there exactly the same.

I waved to the leaves like I did last, but this time they ignored me. Don't ignore me, I'd say, and I took to climbing the limbs.

I climbed and I climbed to the hive.

Honey.

The hive had guardians. They buzzed and buzzed.

Honey please.

The hive dripped. I licked my lips.

No.

I reached out my hand. It dripped on my finger.

No Honey.

The guardians pushed me back.

Honey not for you.

I laid in the crook of the limb.

Honey for the bears.

I'm the natural born cousin to the bear I'd say. I tasted the honey on my finger.

No Honey for you.

So sweet that it burned. I closed my eyes. I felt the stings.

No Honey. No Honey please.

I fell asleep.

Allergic to honey and allergic to bees.