The Guy, The Girls, and The Flowers
Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden. Today you caught me and demanded to come along to see if the girl is "pretty enough to warrant flower theft."
I creep over the wooden garden fence, as I always did on the first Saturday of the month. Today isn't any different than any other month, I tell myself. It's just... her birthday. I swing my leg over the pointed wood at the top of the fence and wince at the pain from a splinter in my ring finger. I drop down from the rickety wood and a large twig SNAPS under my foot. The lights flicker on in the window to your living room and the curtains flutter open as I dive behind a rose bush. I see your face peaking out from behind the vibrantly patterned curtains.
You're very pretty, with beautiful strawberry blonde hair and steel blue eyes with a light scar under your right one. I see you more than you see me. I'm in chemistry class with you, but I always sit in the back. You've probably never noticed me before. I'm the kind of guy that sort of blends in wherever he is.
Your face disappears back into the house and I take that as my cue to hurry up and pick the flowers. You have six different kinds of flowers in your lovely garden that surround a small bench in the middle, where I imagine you sit while reading your favorite book in the summer. I know you're a bookworm. I've seen you sneaking in a few paragraphs while you think the teacher isn't looking. That reminds me of something she would do. Man, do I miss her. She's who I pick the flowers for, but I haven't seen her in three years.
I pick a bouquet of a few of each of the flowers you have, making sure to cut them off close to the ground so it's not as noticeable when you look at them again. I take an extra couple tiger lilies because I know they were her favorites. I gather all of the flowers in my hand, pull a rubber band out of my pocket, and wrap it around the middle of their stems. It's not the prettiest thing in the world but, then again, I'm not a professional florist. I stick the flowers in my mouth, careful of the thorns from the three roses in my bouquet, and crawl on all fours over to the bush I had dove behind to avoid your gaze earlier. A strange tingling feeling washes over my neck and down my back. Someone's watching me, I can feel it. A shadow falls over the ground as if the sun had been hidden behind a cloud. I turn around and look up. There you are, scar and all, with your beautiful hair pulled back in a ponytail and cascading down your back in natural ringlets.
"Um... hi," is all I can manage as my body freezes right there on the ground with you towering over me. My stomach feels like I've just rushed down the longest roller coaster drop in history.
"Hi? You get caught stealing my flowers and all you have to say is 'hi'?" you demand, your eye twitches slightly over your scar.
"Well- I," I stutter, still on the ground. In my head I scream, Get up you fool, drop the flowers, run! Do something!
Your harsh demeanor relaxes and your eyes grow wide in realization. "Who is she? Where is she? And most importantly, she better be pretty enough to warrant flower theft!" You exclaim, shaking one finger at me with your other hand on your hip.
"I- she- how did you? Huh?" The shock of being caught slowly fades and I find my voice more and more by the second.
You roll your eyes at me and hold your hand out, "Here."
I take your hand and you pull me to my feet. Wow, you are really strong! As you pull, I realize how toned your arms are. I find my balance and dust off my red t-shirt and faded jeans.
"There's some dirt on your upper lip and your forehead, by the way," you tell me. I hastily wipe it away and you continue. "So, the girl. Since you can't seem to talk, why don't you just take me to her? I love meeting new people. After I have met her, I will decide whether or not to let your theft slip. Deal?"
All I can do is nod and motion for her to follow me to my older brother's rundown pick up truck. You climb in the passenger seat, as I do likewise to the drivers seat. I start the truck and after a few failed attempts, we're finally off. As I pull out of your driveway and onto the rural street road, you smirk and say, "I've seen your truck around here before. At first I was suspicious but eventually I let it go after I realized you only came once a month. I assumed you were visiting a relative but- well now I see how it has turned out... My name's Claire by the way."
"Daniel," I tell you.
We arrive at a stretch of land covered in bouquets like mine. Tears come to my eyes and I try to hide them from you but you see them anyway, "Oh," you whisper, "Listen, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to intrude, I just... Are you okay?"
I nod and get out of the car with the flowers in my hand. "Come on," I say before I close the door. You follow me and we begin the long patronizing walk I take every month. After about half a mile of flat land with flowers and gray stones in the ground as our only scenery, we finally reach a small rectangle of stone that reads:
I creep over the wooden garden fence, as I always did on the first Saturday of the month. Today isn't any different than any other month, I tell myself. It's just... her birthday. I swing my leg over the pointed wood at the top of the fence and wince at the pain from a splinter in my ring finger. I drop down from the rickety wood and a large twig SNAPS under my foot. The lights flicker on in the window to your living room and the curtains flutter open as I dive behind a rose bush. I see your face peaking out from behind the vibrantly patterned curtains.
You're very pretty, with beautiful strawberry blonde hair and steel blue eyes with a light scar under your right one. I see you more than you see me. I'm in chemistry class with you, but I always sit in the back. You've probably never noticed me before. I'm the kind of guy that sort of blends in wherever he is.
Your face disappears back into the house and I take that as my cue to hurry up and pick the flowers. You have six different kinds of flowers in your lovely garden that surround a small bench in the middle, where I imagine you sit while reading your favorite book in the summer. I know you're a bookworm. I've seen you sneaking in a few paragraphs while you think the teacher isn't looking. That reminds me of something she would do. Man, do I miss her. She's who I pick the flowers for, but I haven't seen her in three years.
I pick a bouquet of a few of each of the flowers you have, making sure to cut them off close to the ground so it's not as noticeable when you look at them again. I take an extra couple tiger lilies because I know they were her favorites. I gather all of the flowers in my hand, pull a rubber band out of my pocket, and wrap it around the middle of their stems. It's not the prettiest thing in the world but, then again, I'm not a professional florist. I stick the flowers in my mouth, careful of the thorns from the three roses in my bouquet, and crawl on all fours over to the bush I had dove behind to avoid your gaze earlier. A strange tingling feeling washes over my neck and down my back. Someone's watching me, I can feel it. A shadow falls over the ground as if the sun had been hidden behind a cloud. I turn around and look up. There you are, scar and all, with your beautiful hair pulled back in a ponytail and cascading down your back in natural ringlets.
"Um... hi," is all I can manage as my body freezes right there on the ground with you towering over me. My stomach feels like I've just rushed down the longest roller coaster drop in history.
"Hi? You get caught stealing my flowers and all you have to say is 'hi'?" you demand, your eye twitches slightly over your scar.
"Well- I," I stutter, still on the ground. In my head I scream, Get up you fool, drop the flowers, run! Do something!
Your harsh demeanor relaxes and your eyes grow wide in realization. "Who is she? Where is she? And most importantly, she better be pretty enough to warrant flower theft!" You exclaim, shaking one finger at me with your other hand on your hip.
"I- she- how did you? Huh?" The shock of being caught slowly fades and I find my voice more and more by the second.
You roll your eyes at me and hold your hand out, "Here."
I take your hand and you pull me to my feet. Wow, you are really strong! As you pull, I realize how toned your arms are. I find my balance and dust off my red t-shirt and faded jeans.
"There's some dirt on your upper lip and your forehead, by the way," you tell me. I hastily wipe it away and you continue. "So, the girl. Since you can't seem to talk, why don't you just take me to her? I love meeting new people. After I have met her, I will decide whether or not to let your theft slip. Deal?"
All I can do is nod and motion for her to follow me to my older brother's rundown pick up truck. You climb in the passenger seat, as I do likewise to the drivers seat. I start the truck and after a few failed attempts, we're finally off. As I pull out of your driveway and onto the rural street road, you smirk and say, "I've seen your truck around here before. At first I was suspicious but eventually I let it go after I realized you only came once a month. I assumed you were visiting a relative but- well now I see how it has turned out... My name's Claire by the way."
"Daniel," I tell you.
We arrive at a stretch of land covered in bouquets like mine. Tears come to my eyes and I try to hide them from you but you see them anyway, "Oh," you whisper, "Listen, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to intrude, I just... Are you okay?"
I nod and get out of the car with the flowers in my hand. "Come on," I say before I close the door. You follow me and we begin the long patronizing walk I take every month. After about half a mile of flat land with flowers and gray stones in the ground as our only scenery, we finally reach a small rectangle of stone that reads:
Angela Jonson
Beloved Daughter
Brave Warrior
"I loved Angela with all my heart. She would have turned twenty-one today. She was one of the most beautiful girls on the planet. She had olive skin and chocolate colored eyes that sparkled like diamonds. Three and a half years ago she was diagnosed with Leukemia. It had begun spreading a year previously and had grown out of control by the time the doctors found it. She was a trooper. I would visit her at the hospital and ask her how she was. She would always throw the question back at me and make me answer before she would answer herself with, 'I feel with my fingers.' The medicine she took was so strong her hair fell out within the first few months." The tears are flowing freely down my face now. There's no use in trying to hide it. I miss her and I know you know that, "One day the doctors took me aside and told me it would be her last. I talked to her, told her how much I loved her, and cried by her hospital bed. No one else ever visited her. Angela was an only child. Her mom left shortly after she was born, and her dad was under the influence of drugs. She was abused her whole life but when she turned fifteen she ran away and my parents agreed to let her live with us." I wiped the tears off my wet cheeks but it was no use- they kept flowing. I bent over and took the mostly wilted flowers off Angela's grave and replaced them with the new ones, then, stopped and switched them out again. "Here," I said holding the flowers I picked from your garden today out to you. "I'm sorry I've been stealing from you. I won't return to your house anymore."
You smile with tears in your eyes as you look at me with a comforting look. "I know how it feels to loose someone you love. No one should have to go through what Angela did, but neither should anyone have to go through what you did." You take the flowers from me and switch them with the others just as I had before. "You are welcome to have as many flowers as you like in the future. Now, why don't you come over to my house? We can order a pizza, rent a movie, and learn more about each other."
I'll never forget Angela. She was a very selfless person and I know she wouldn't want me to mourn her for the rest of my life. So, this is the tale of how I met my wife.
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