This is copied and pasted from my post in the group, Read Romance, Write Romance, in the discussions under Photo Prompt #12 - Tea Time. I thought I would share it here, and thank Rachel for posting the pic that generated the thoughts, and Veronica for helping me remember to include some important pieces of the puzzle. Enjoy! *smile*


...but it wasn't a painting. People depicted in paintings didn't move, or speak, nor did the smoke from their cigarettes cloud the glass that covered the artwork. Just then, the woman turned to look straight into Shannon's eyes. The two held eye contact for what seemed to the girl an eternity. Finally, Shannon spoke.

"Am I dreaming?" she asked in a voice so soft it was obviously not intended to be heard through the cloudy glass.

The woman continued to stare, and took a thoughtful puff from her cigarette, letting the un-inhaled smoke drift out of her mouth casually. Only after the smoke was gone did she inhale, and begin to speak.

"No, Shannon," she replied in a smooth yet quietly forceful voice that seemed to emanate from inside the girl's head rather than arriving through her ears. "This is no dream, child."

The woman took another puff from her cigarette, and again allowed the smoke to escape in one thick tendril from her lips before she closed them. It slowly rose, straight up, making a statement all its own as it pointed to the utter stillness of the air around them.

"What is this?" the young girl spoke a little louder this time, but still very quietly. "Who are you?" The latter question seemed to catch the woman in the frame by surprise, though she showed no response to the first.

She turned away from the girl before answering, and Shannon immediately sensed that the woman was somehow ashamed, now, even before her words came forward. This time, there was no puff on the cigarette to think.

"I'm you, Shannon, sixty years ago when you mistakenly chose status over love." A single tear fell down the woman's cheek, disappearing into the fabric of her pashmina like a bit of spilled water, and bearing a commensurate amount of further consideration from either. A sharp inhalation of breath preceded her next words. "And, I'm you," she continued, her eyes glistening more brightly with each coming syllable. "Twenty years from now, if you continue as you are."

"What are you talking about?" Now, Shannon's voice held a bit of defensiveness.

"The boy, in the hallway this morning," the woman barely waited for Shannon to finish her question. "Stephen."

"What about him?" Shannon's reply was filled with her patent, casual dismissiveness. "He's a nobody, and he'll always be a nobody. I don't have time for people like that who just take up space while everyone else actively contributes."

"Do you know why he never talks?" The look in the woman's eyes was scathing, and the question obviously rhetorical given that she didn't wait for an answer. "He doesn't talk because his mind is so focused on what he feels for you that his breath catches in his lungs and stops him from speaking. Because what he feels on the inside simply doesn't have words capable of describing it. Because his thoughts are entirely consumed with plans and ideas of ways he might one day be able to show you his world, and true love without boundaries or borders." She paused again, looking away from the girl and drawing once again on her cigarette. "He doesn't love you because everyone else does. He loves you because he sees what no one else sees, behind your masks, behind your pretty smile, behind your popularity. He sees a little girl, trapped inside a cage, bound by expectation, caught up in pretense that controls her and deprives her of happiness every moment of every day; and he would give his very life to set you free."

"Who cares about one little boy who doesn't matter to anyone?" Shannon was now almost shouting, and standing in what was now a very aggressive posture as if she were preparing for an attack. "I'm popular enough that I don't need to bother with the likes of him."

The woman behind the glass blew the smoke from her mouth quickly, obviously frustrated. "What do you see when you look at me, Shannon?" She maintained her distant gaze, and made no attempt to to regain eye contact.

"I see a beautiful lady, with nice things, in a beautiful house, enjoying a cup of tea without a care in the world." The reply to the question came without any thought at all. "I see someone I will be happy being."

"So smart, and yet so ignorant," the woman exhaled the words more than spoke them.

"You must be ignorant," Shannon replied gruffly. "I'm sure you're very popular, with your fine house, and nice clothes, and yet you can't even enjoy your popularity because you're worried about the little people who don't matter."

"You see what you choose to see, Shannon, which is how I, we, ended up here, like this." Her voice was cold now, resolved.

"We'll just invite five more people over for tea, tomorrow." Shannon's words showed just a hint of concern. "Good company always lightens the spirits."

"You see six teacups on this table, Shannon," the shade behind the glass replied casually. "Look again, my dear, and you'll notice it's our lipstick on the rim of every one of them."