of tapioca pearls

The smell of tapioca pearls was enough. Enough to force me to take upon the job, and enough for me to continue it.

“You need to shake it until the drink becomes cold”. These were the instructions I was given to make each drink; so I did. I didn’t just shake until it became cold though. I continued even after. Even after my arms felt like they were going to fall off, and the ice was long melted. Soon, the feeling became warm. It’s hot in the summer, and our little store on the corner of E William street was like a little sun in the center of downtown. It wasn’t necessarily the radiation though. The heat of the boiling tea pots behind the front counter was what seemed to do it. 

As the line began to grow outside of the door, I stood at the front. 

“What can I get for you today?” What could I get for them? I wonder if my sickeningly sweet smile would satiate them. Or maybe the honey dripping from my voice. “One honey milk tea with extra sugar.” I ran to start making their drink; but we were out of green tea. I took a deep inhale, and felt the smell of tapioca pearls become injected into my veins. I closed my eyes, and turned around, walking towards the warm sun that was the back of our little store. In the back, the only thing that you could feel was the heat of the tea. I saw your back hunched over the pots, the sink behind you looming over your figure with more dirty pots. It didn’t smell like tapioca back here. The sweat dripped from your forehead, and you barely caught it before it landed into the pot. Somehow, you seemed to hear me. Your eyes caught me, and I released the inhale I didn’t know I was holding. “Gì?” What.

What? What made you look so small at that moment? What made me feel small? What about us made us belong in our little store?

So, I shook my head. I turned back around into the cold surface. The sun dimmed a bit. “Are you okay with black tea?” And there was that smell. Of tapioca pearls. 

Author: Salem Dinh

Editors: Luna Y.

Image source: Frank Zhang, Unsplash