Totems

A matte-black mug with swirling, creme-blue liquid sits warmly in my hands. The tea shop is empty apart from myself, a coy barista and a boy by himself at a table in the corner. I take my tea to the opposite side of the room, and sit so that the bar and the boy are both in sight.

I pull my knees up against my chest and take a long gulp of the tea. It’s a strange taste, like taro and nutmeg, and burns like a spirit on the way down. For a few moments I just sit there and let my eyes roam lazily around the small shop. The boy, a few yards away and facing me from his spot in the corner, starts to tap two fingers on the table in front of him. Aside from this small movement, he’s listless. His chin rests on his free hand. I bring the mug back up my lips and stare at his fingers tapping the table. One-two… one… one-two… one.

The barista sets a few milkpots down and disappears into the back room. One-two… one… one-two… one. The lights in the shop seem to get dimmer. A warm feeling comes over me as I notice how still everything is, how that tapping sound is the only sound to be heard. He’s staring at me. One-two… one… A few inches from his hand I start to see something glimmer on the table. I shift my legs down beneath me and lean forward, focusing. The tea makes my movements feel slow.

From the table-top, it seems, a small, grey figure lurches up and spreads its wings. It’s a dragon -- about the size of a tea-pot -- taking ginger steps around the tapping hand and stretching its neck right and left. How strange. I look to the boy for some reaction but I don’t find any. He’s just staring at me. I squint at the creature on the table; Aside from some shuffling, it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

Then I begin to see something else move in my peripheral; A small, reddish-brown fox has pranced it’s way out from somewhere underneath the boy’s chair. It’s bigger than the dragon by about double and it paces in circles around the boys ankles, stopping intermittently to look at me. Surely this boy is going to notice the wildlife eventually, I think, finishing what’s left in my cup.

In front of me, something starts to creep up from the center of my table. A white rabbit sits contentedly in front of me, wiggling its nose in the direction of the empty mug. We both smell the nutmeg.

I look back to the boy; he’s completely unphased. Thrown, and feeling listless myself, I reach my right hand up and set it on the table next to the rabbit -- and I start tapping. One… one-two-three… one-two. One… one-two-three… one-two. Next to the rabbit, another grey-ish, kettle-sized dragon takes shape on my table, reeling and stretching like the one a few yards away. I’m amazed and staring at it’s leathery wings and glossy eyes when I start to feel something rub against the inside of my ankle. The boy looks down by my feet, and then I join him. A small white fox is on the ground next to the leg of my chair. It looks up at me with steady brown eyes.

Then our gaze shifts again, to the boys table. We’re both still tapping our fingers. One-two… one… one-two… one. One… one-two-three… one-two. Next to the dragon, on the blue and white mosaic tile of the table, another white rabbit appears. It shuffles and peers up at the boy. On the floor, the two foxes have started to circle each other in the space between our tables. I run my left hand over my bunnies head -- what a strange thing for this boy and I to sit in silence with these six strange creatures.

The rabbit pricks it’s nose up, alerted in the direction of the door behind me. I notice the boy’s rabbit too, has turned around to face the door. Then the foxes at our feet stop eyeing each other to stand at attention toward the storefront. The dragons, also, still their stretching and turn. Finally, the boy and I stop tapping and turn to the door.

It’s night outside and the storefront is glass. The dim streetlights pour a warm orange into the shop. Prowling in front of the windows, from left to right, a creature makes its way through the street. A lion, assured and frightening, pauses in front of the door, looks in our direction, roars at us and turns to carry on his way. The rabbits on our tables jump immediately onto the floor and toward the door after him, the movement drawing my eyes back toward the bar. Each of our foxes then scampers back to our ankles and looks up at us. The dragons begin to flap their leathery wings until they’re flying feet above us. I stand, forgetting my tea and starting toward the door to open it.

The rabbit that had appeared on my table immediately darts through the open door and chases after the lion down the street. With a fox at my feet and a dragon overhead, I start to run after it.

For a few moments I listen to the sound of my feet on the pavement and the breath in my lungs, but just for a few, because soon I start to listen for the boy’s steps too, to see if he’s coming along. I can’t quite hear them over my breathing -- and I want to turn around and look but something tells me I shouldn’t.

The lion, a few strides ahead, lets out a roar.

Another sound starts just after. It’s sweet and stately and beautiful. It’s a song, coming from the dragon a few feet above me, and it’s one of the prettiest things I’ve ever heard. I register it, somehow, as a call made for the lion.

When my dragon’s song ends, I hear another start behind us. I think of the boy coolly tapping two fingers on the table, staring at me. I can’t hear his steps, I didn’t see him leave the shop, but I can hear the song echoing down the street, and I know it belongs to that grey dragon that had first appeared on his table-top. Somehow I know that it’s only a matter of time before he catches up, and we’re moving in stride.