Tea and the Elephant

So this was India. The fabled, exotic India I had only read about. Looking around, I fanned myself with my handkerchief. It wasn’t very exotic—just hot and muggy. According to the newspaper, this June of 1894 would be the hottest month on record.

We’d only been here for a day, but already I missed the foggy streets of London and the clip-clip-clop of the hansom cabs on the streets. And, of course, I missed the library—my only true friend.

I sighed and set off down a path. I had only ten minutes until teatime—and I couldn’t be late. Otherwise, who knew what Mother would say?

That was when I saw the dark, bulky shape luring in the shadows. I stopped. My heart began to thud.

Then the thing moved.

I swallowed a scream. As it stepped toward me, the ground trembled. As the creature came into the open, I saw it was an elephant. I gasped. I’d only read about elephants in books until now.

He stood only a few feet away. Then he reached out his trunk toward me. I held my breath. What was he doing? He patted my shoulder.

With that, it was sealed. For the first time in years, I realized I had a friend.

Suddenly, I realized how late it was. I yanked out my watch. Four minutes until tea. But how could I go when my new friend didn’t have a name?

“You need a name,” I said.

The elephant nodded as if he understood me. Amazing what animals could do these days.

“How about . . .” I paused and thought, “Earl Grey?”

The elephant nodded again.

I looked at my pocket watch. Two minutes. “I have to go.”

Earl Grey looked at me sorrowfully.

“But,” I said, “we shall meet again.”

And so we did. Every day before tea, I would run out to see him. And every day Earl Grey would be waiting. Just like a true friend.