Mondegris Rain

This must have been the 27th time Wren Lin had this dream – maybe the 28th? – but, honestly, he’d lost count long ago. He didn’t have it in him to count anymore.

“Ah-hah…dammit, not again.” 

He recognized the dream as soon as that famous cold spring Mondegris rain licked at his hair and made his thin, pale hands shiver. This was back when said hair was still long. Back when he’d hop off the train from that old job in the inner city. Back when he made the entrance of this botanical garden his stop. He’d cut through the acres of flowering trees and ponds to get back home. Or whatever home was back then. He could barely remember it now.

The city lights would glow like a spiral of synthetic gems, neon overseers of the massive botanical garden he stood in. The great, illuminated clock tower in the inner city purveying was its warden. 

“Next in line! Come right up!” a voice cried out, with a deep, assertive timbre. A touch husky from exhaustion, but strong with life.  

It came from just around the stone tobi-ishi path. 

Everytime, Mr. Lin tried to resist walking around the bend.

Everytime he would fail.

Once he’d slip past the large sakura tree which was always bare and never showed the slightest sign for flowers – he was always there. 

“Alright, alright! I got it. Your wife hates carnations and she’s allergic to lilies. Oh, what’s that? You’ll have to speak up. Mhm, yeah, I won’t forget! When have I ever?”

A man stood between those familiar shoji doors, beneath the threshold to that flower shop transformed from an old family house. He was the nexus point where the spice of chrysanthemums and dark tobacco mulled the damp air. Vases of various sizes and shapes, and buckets filled with a vibrant array of flowers lined the walls. Standing in the yard before him was–

Yikes.

Mr. Lin’s eyes grew wide. He didn’t know there could be so many customers corralled into one spot, standing side-by-side like they were attending a rock concert, and the man used the porch, the engawa, as a stage. The knife and flowers in his hands were his instruments. 

Mr. Lin had never seen the shop this chaotic before.

The crowd ebbed back and forth, their heads bobbing and twisting and floating to get a better view. Some quite literally. Some didn’t even have heads. Some had many heads and many limbs. Some with lots of hair on places that weren’t even heads. Some were as tall as the house or as small as the flower head of the rose they were leaving with. Heads either human, animal, or neither. 

He’s never seen the half-fish, half-woman with the smoking pipe before. She was definitely new.

The “customers” today were especially colorful. 

Mr. Lin knew better than to stand and gawk. 

He turned around and muttered to himself, “Maybe I’ll try leaving this time…”

“NOPE. Sorry!” 

Suddenly, Mr. Lin felt a grip latch onto arm, its warmth burning through his rain drenched suit. The sharp whiff of flowers and tobacco ensnared his senses. He thought he’d gotten used to it by now.

“Wren, you have GOT to help me with these orders!” the man blabbered a desperate plea.

“W-What?!” Mr. Lin jumped, “Aren’t I usually the one who tries to buy flowers from you?! And watch the knife in your hand!”

“Yeah, yeah! I’ll get to that! Do you not see this line? You gotta help me with this first!” the florist bellowed, taking Mr. Lin by the arm and marching back towards the house, “The customers today are whack. I don’t know what it is about spring time in Mondegris, but If I have to explain to someone why I can’t refund an order made ONE MONTH AGO one more time, I’m gonna personally kick their front doors in and eat their dead flowers that have probably been sitting around since Christmas right in front of them!” 

“W-Wait, why would you eat–? Nevermind,” Mr. Lin choked. He tried to pull back, but it was futile. They were already half way through the crowd, “This isn’t how this dream usually goes–”

“Hey, Wren. Do you even know why you need flowers?” the man said, “Is it for work? For your family? For yourself? Maybe a special someone? Do you even know what flowers you need?” 

Mr. Lin went silent. The man must’ve known he was glaring daggers at the back of his head. In every dream, he knew he needed to get flowers, but for what? For whom? By the time the dream would end, he never found out and he never once got flowers. Mr. Lin tried to free his arm again.

“Nobuhara–”

“And would you stop calling me that!? I keep telling you to call me Akuru, for Mondegris’s sake…”

“No–”

“Anyway,” Nobuhara chirped, “Clearly, you haven’t figured out what you need yet. So, I don’t know, let’s try something new? Why the hell not, right? Upsy-daisy now! Careful not to slip on the petals there.”

Then, with Nobuhara’s help, Mr. Lin was pulled onto the “stage.” He never liked attention, and all these eyes directed at him made his breathing feel short. 

“So, what?” Mr. Lin tried to speak over the crowd’s cacophony, “Do you want me to clean flowers? I’ll remove the rose thorns or clean the stems. I’ll even wash buckets.”

“You have a knack for it, I’ll admit. But c’mon, you do that every time. Let’s try something new: I want you to write down customer orders, ask them what they need and price things out. Maybe then, you’ll get an idea for what you need.”

“E-Excuse me? How am I supposed to help them? I don’t know anything about floral arranging.”

“Of course you do! You’ve seen me do this a million times. And I know that you know the names of flowers, the pricing, and whatnot. I trust ya to know how to pick at their brains and write it down,” Nobuhara said, walking over to his spot, “I’m not asking you to touch the finished product, at least.”

Then, Nobuhara got started, his apricot handled knife in hand, taking swift strokes to the heads of flowers. Mr. Lin frowned and turned to the crowd. He was met with a floating head-sized eyeball shrouded in shadow. It blinked at him once. 

Mr. Lin took a deep breath and grabbed some pen and paper.

…

It was difficult to tell what the customers were saying at first. In his previous dreams, he never bothered to listen to whatever conversations Nobuhara had with them. Honestly, most of the customers didn’t really “say” words. They more or less grunted sometimes even…rumbled? In this case, Mr. Lin would pass the “attempted” message along to Nobuhara who had to re-interpret his interpretation of the customer’s order. 

“This could’ve been so much easier…” Mr. Lin groaned, pressing a knuckle to his temple.

“What was that?!”

“You heard me.”

Still, somehow and some way, it appeared he was getting the orders right. Once Nobuhara finished an order, the customers would leave happy, or so Mr. Lin supposed. None of them threw a fit. No attempts to demolish the shop or his body. All good so far.

While waiting in line, some splashed in the puddles or shared snacks. Some wondered when the sakura tree beyond the bend would bloom. They had the time to make merry, to think mindless things, and they didn’t mind wasting it here. Mr. Lin didn’t know what time it was, but he did know the clock in the inner city ticked on. Everyone was eager to get flowers. 

Everyone had some kind of agenda awaiting them beyond the garden gates. Everyone wanted something to give.

Mr. Lin did get a bit nervous when the ogre with the giant spiked club shook his head and pointed to some delphinium in the back. He didn’t know how to apologize for not understanding that the customer wanted blue delphinium, not purple. Nobuhara saved him from that instance.

“Figured out what you need yet, Wren?” Nobuhara asked once the ogre, carefully holding the delphinium in the palm of his hand, left.

“I haven’t. I don’t know if writing orders is helping me either,” Mr. Lin said. He wasn’t spiteful. It was simply a fact. 

His eyes fluttered back and forth between Nobuhara and the racoon with glasses flipping through a book of example floral designs. He noted the leaf the racoon usually wore on its head in past visits was replaced by…a pope hat? Weird. 

“But it’s fun for the most part,” Mr. Lin added, “It’s different from what I usually do when I end up here.”

“Yeah? You’ll have to remind me what the ‘usual’ is.”

“Well, usually– Excuse me. This is the one you want? Replace the hot pink roses with lavender? Okay. Nice hat by the way,” Mr. Lin scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to Nobuhara, “Usually, I just wait outside in the rain and wait for you to finish whoever you’re helping. I don’t know why I never have an umbrella, it’s a pain. Anyway, afterwards, we just…talk. I suppose. Beyond that, nothing else happens.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Maybe you should try going to another florist? At this rate, you’ll just end up hating me,” Nobuhara chuckled.

Mr. Lin didn’t respond. Nobuhara went back to his flowers.

…

“And as for the kameosa – he’s the strong gentleman here with the cane –” Nobuhara lowered his voice, “I know he looks like a giant jug filled with water, but don’t just stick the flowers into his head. Give it to him by hand.”

“I know better than to do that!” Mr. Lin hissed, “Thank you, sir. Take care,” and handed the bouquet of pink and purple lisianthus with baby’s breath.

With that, the crowd was down to one customer. While Mr. Lin swept, he could hear the last customer – they must’ve been a couple – whispering between themselves.

“I don’t get why when someone dies, a whole bunch of flowers have to die, too.”

“Oh, hush! Your grandmother loved these.”

Then, they fell away into mist of Mondegris evening rain. And with that, Mr. Lin heard Nobuhara’s floral knife clatter onto the floor.

“Holy sh–! Finally,” Nobuhara groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes, “We did it! Thanks, Wren. It sucks all the flowers are sold out. Sorry about that, I owe you–”

“Nobuhara,” Mr. Lin began. The name felt like the very same knife slipped into his throat, “I can’t keep coming back here–”

“Hey, isn’t that some kind of trope? Or maybe–?”

“What?” Mr. Lin was exhausted. Was he serious?

“You know, what that one customer said just now. That thing about flowers having to die when someone else does, too? I swear I’ve heard similar lines from fiction before. I don’t know. You’re the writer.”

Mr. Lin sighed.

“I’m an editor. But sure,” he said, too tired to even sound annoyed, “Usually, it’s some tough character who says it. Aloof, haughty. Probably has had their share of violent troubles in the past. Then, they make some powerful insight about flowers and death when contemplating, I don’t know…loss? To call that a trope, however, I’m not so sure. More importantly, why are you asking? And why are you trying to distract me?”

When Nobuhara didn’t answer, Mr. Lin could smell the fragrance of chrysanthemum and tobacco grow weaker.

“Your name is spelled with a ‘W,’ right? Wren,” Nobuhara juggled the word in his head, spelling some kind of character in midair, “‘Not an ‘R’?’ Ren. Huh. What’s the deal with that?”

“Are you even listening to me? Fine. I’ve told you this before,” Wren scowled, “My parents liked that the character used for my name meant ‘Ripple.’ They thought if they spelled it like the bird in english, however, they’d sound clever. Honestly, they were probably just indecisive.”

The kadouka, gazing at the floral knife in his hand, had a faint smile, “A small bird stuck in the cold ripples of his making. Our making, maybe? And how do you spell ‘Lin,’ again? From the Chinese, so maybe it’s something like…? Whatever, it doesn’t have to be that deep–”

“Nobuhara, I shouldn’t be talking to you right now. I don’t even know how I could be. You’ve been gone for so long.”

“I know,” Nobuhara tore his eyes toward the green and stony paths, and nodded, “How’s the garden doing? Mondegris? I bet the city’s changed, especially closer to the boardwalk. I’d hate to see the condos that are probably built around there by now.”

Mr. Lin felt a shiver colder than the rain run through his spine.

“These are things I’ve always wanted to tell you, is that it?” Mr. Lin said, picking up a few cents of change a customer left behind, “I’m here wondering about what flowers to get, but I don’t even know if I should even use those flowers to mourn over you just yet.”

He didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t care about rain dripping down the awning to his shoulder. With all utter selfishness, he wanted to say that for so long. But what use was it? The man before him, the man Mr. Lin had spent so much confusion over, wasn’t even real.

He’d had enough for now. Mr. Lin was just about to shrug, tell him “See you next time,” and leave. That’s it. Then, do it again. And again.

“Sorry. I’m being cruel. I get it if you do hate me,” Nobuhara said, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

“No, I don’t. Honestly, I just–”

“And I’m sorry, again, because I’m going to keep being cruel,” he continued, walking over to meet Mr. Lin at the edge of the engawa with the same smile, “This is going to be the last time. I don’t think I’ll be able to make you anything, you’ll have to go back empty-handed, after all. Sorry for wasting your time, it would have been nice hearing you call me by my given name. But, it was good seeing you.”

“No, it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. And stop telling me to call you ‘Akuru,’ got it?” Mr. Lin spat, “I’ll save that for when we actually meet again. I have to apologize too. I never let you teach me how to arrange. I just always watched.”

Nobuhara – Akuru – looked surprised. He always had this distant melancholy tint to his eyes, as far and as distant as he actually was now. But he also looked pleased. 

Then, he placed his knife into Mr. Lin’s hands.

“You almost never make the same arrangement twice, y’know?” Akuru said, “Even when you’re using the same flowers, of the same variety, from the same grower. Flowers behave in different ways. Branches extend and bend themselves unique to their environment. Even when they fade, they all fade in different ways. Well, no one really appreciates flowers at that point. It almost always ends up in the trash, but I still enjoy them even as I walk them to the compost.”

“What are you going on about?” Mr. Lin, staring at the knife in his hand. Its blade was worn, its apricot-color handle faded– 

–and it was his.

“Who knows,” Akuru said, hands reaching out into the cold, “You’re the writer.”

Then, Akuru plucked the neon gems in the city skyline, one by one into the palm of his hand. And all the light of this world lay in it, swirling and swallowing the rain, the city, and the clock beyond them.

…

When Wren woke up that morning, he didn’t know he dreamt that night. Not that he gave himself the time to think what with the yammering outside his door.

“Please, I really need a bouquet! It can be anything!” A man, clad in a suit and tie. Must have been in the middle of his commute to work, “Except for lilies because they smell, and carnations because she finds them boring. Oh, oh! And not a lot of greens or babies' breath, she just picks those out.”

“L-Like I said, sir,” Wren could hear his associate outside say, “That’s not a service we do here. I’m just a groundskeeper–”

“That’s right. Mondegris Botanical Garden hasn’t had that service in over seven years,” Wren said as he snapped the shoji door open. The light of dawn pierced his eyes, “Good morning.”

“Mr. Lin!” his associate yelped, “You’re here already?!”

“Yeah, apparently. I must’ve fallen asleep here after we finished clearing debris from yesterday’s storm,” Wren said, rubbing the sand from his eyes, “Mondegris rain.”

“You’re the manager of this garden?” the man in the suit said, “I thought a florist worked out of here. Please, if there’s any way you can help me, I would love to get her flowers when we meet later today. I don’t have the time to pass by another florist, I messed up.”

Wren frowned. He could sense his associate shift uncomfortably at the display. He was tempted to turn around and say no altogether, but something…

He felt something tug at his hand.

“You don’t have to beg,” Wren said.

“Mr. Lin–?” his associate squeaked.

“It’s okay. I’ll do it this time,” Wren turned to his customer, “You’re asking for a lot, you understand? It’s a cold spring, I don’t have a lot to work with outside of what’s kept in the greenhouses. So, don’t be disappointed if I mess things up. And don’t laugh.”

The man nodded. His associate, too.

“Now then, what can we use,” Wren said, and looked down at the knife in his hand. 

Then, in the corner of his eye, along the tobi-ishi steps and around the bend, was a tree blooming with pink petaled branches. It was bright like neon, glistening from Mondegris rain.