Lilacs for Lucas

IV

Boston has a flower shop, a good fifteen-minute walk from our house. The flowers remedied the constant aching in my chest. Effectively melting off the shell of misery I had harbored behind since the hot summer months and into the current awakening spring.

“Can I get some lilacs, please!” A man bursts through the door of the shop. I see Diana recoil, startled by his booming voice and obnoxious disposition. He wears an expensive-looking business suit with a Bluetooth device clinging to his ear. He began leaning on the counter, putting the ass in assertiveness.

Diana and I don’t leave the house often when it isn’t to buy flowers. There isn’t much of a reason to anymore. Once the day came we no longer had to drop Lucas off at school or take him to the doctor, we cooped ourselves up in our little two-bedroom house. Without responsibility comes a lot of free time. That time was spent going through every stage of grief, front to back, back to front, in every possible order. Diana and I are strong, though. Months passed and all the flowers in our house died. So we go out to buy flowers.

“Lilacs?” The shopkeeper bites his bottom lip, slowly backing away from the counter. “We may be fresh out of those, I’ll check in the back for you, sir.” I curse under my breath, looking down at the bouquet Diana was holding. 

“Well. That’s just perfect,” the man says with a scoff. He folds his arms and taps his foot as the shopkeeper disappears from the sales floor. His eyes survey the flowers on display. Forget-me-nots, anemones, peonies. What the man needed was bluebells, not lilacs. I size him up, curling my lip in disgust. 

“Look how shameless he is.” Diana rolls her eyes. “Would it kill people to be a little more resigned?” 

The man’s nose points up like a dog sniffing the air and begins to turn in our direction. My palms grow sweaty.  “What did you say?” The man says, rather than asks. She opens her mouth to rebuttal. A bold indent lined the middle of her forehead. 

Thankfully, the shopkeeper appears from the backroom, and his hands are clasped. “I’m sorry, sir,” the shopkeeper says, “unfortunately, we sold our last bouquet of lilacs to that lovely couple over there.” The shopkeeper wears an uncomfortable smile—their hands gesture over at my wife and me. Diana holds the bouquet close, her eyes straining up at me. The man frowns and turns over to us. The shopkeeper hesitates but firmly says, “Sir, they’re regulars. They normally buy those flowers.”

“Those people?” His finger is shoved at Diana. The shopkeeper tilts a reluctant nod. I stand in front of Diana, shielding her from this freak. “Really,” the man chuckles softly. He splays a toothy grin. “How much were my flowers, anyway?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Thirty dollars,” I reply mistakenly. Diana glares at me, her eyes leaving claw marks on my soul. 

“I’ll give you sixty– no– sixty-five for the lilacs.” The man wears a satisfied smirk. He tightens his tie, completely unaware of his vice. “And maybe I’ll forgive you for bein’ so rude.”  Diana’s lips press together in a tight line, her eyelid twitching. I wait for her to respond. 

“Go to hell,” she said with a short breath. Her hands were like vises around the stems of the lilacs. 

I

“Your son is being suspended for three days,” the principal told me. I blanched. 

“For what?” I asked. I glanced at him, he shrunk himself in his chair as if he was trying to disappear from the situation. Some bruises littered his arms and knees. A fat red blotch tattooed his left cheek, obscuring my boy’s freckles. The principal didn’t have to answer. 

“He got into a fight with a classmate. Oscar Freighter. Isn’t that right, Lucas?” 

I can’t remember my immediate reaction, but I’m certain Lucas did. He flinched at the principal's words. Knives pierced my heart when I saw the shame deepen on his face. I sighed, pressing my fingers to my temple. Another worry line creased my face, but that was the first of thousands to come. Slowly, his head bobbed, confirming that he was guilty. 

For a moment, I stared. At Lucas, at the principal, at the other little shit-faced kid sitting outside the office. The kid smiled. “Unbelievable. I guess… I’m sorry, sir, this won’t happen again.” I apologized on behalf of my son, but I didn’t mind because I knew he was sorry. 

“Lucas will have to complete an apology letter as a form of punishment… and reconciliation.” The principal stood up, signaling us to follow, and guided us to the door. Lucas took my hand but didn’t look me in the eye. I think it was my paternal instincts or something; that told me to go easy on him. Lucas looked beat; covered in grime, welts, and scratches, I think he received punishment enough. I took him out to the car and he buckled himself up. I brought my hand up to his cheek, examining the blemish with a wince on my face. “That hurts, huh, kiddo?” I asked. He nodded, turning his head away from my hand. “I’ll have your mother see it when we get home.”

I walked around to get in. As soon as I put the car in drive, tears poured from Lucas’ face and a sob ripped through his chest. It was like an unstoppable tsunami and a jukebox of laments playing from his lungs. “I’m sorry, dad,” he wailed. “I d-didn’t wanna f-fight Oscar.” He kicked his legs furiously on the floor of my car. Lucas cried like a monster was trying to break free from inside him. “He just made me super mad, dad, I couldn’t help it!” 

My mouth went slack for a second. “You shouldn’t hit people just because they make you mad, bud.” 

“It’s every day, he’s so m-mean to me,” his voice quivered, sounding like shattered glass. The tears began to let up, but he continued to cry. “I’m sorry for taking you out of work, but hitting him felt so go-good.” 

“Is Oscar bullying you, Lucas? Because there are better ways to solve it than with violence.” I recite some bullshit advice from when I was a kid. Back then, though, I think I believed it. 

“O-okay,” he hiccuped. 

“Hey, buddy, I know it’s hard, but your old man’s here for you, you know that, right?” I try my best to reassure him. Raising a kid is the most twisted labyrinth with no map but I thought when he nodded, I was going in the right direction. “Hey, I know! You like flowers, right? How about we go by the florist in town and get you a bunch of any kind you want?” 

He reluctantly shook his head. His eyes wandered down to the bruises on his legs. “Oscar says flowers are for girls.” 

“Well, Oscar is an idiot,” I refuted. A chuckle bubbled from Lucas’ lips. “And he won’t be there. So you still in?”

Lucas was quiet for a while. He sat on the offer until he decided he couldn’t resist. “Can we get seeds, too? I wanna grow lilac.”

III

After the funeral, I couldn’t speak. I locked myself in our basement. The lilacs I got Diana for our eleventh anniversary rotted upstairs, while my liquor and I rotted downstairs. Until it became too quiet, and I ran out of liquid will-to-live, I ventured upstairs. Bottles crowded what would usually be beautiful thriving flora. Instead, they drooped and wilted. The lilacs had begun to crumble in their flaccid state. Diana wasn’t there.  

She disappeared for almost a month. Those weeks had been the most isolating. I thought she had left for good until she helped herself in. Retrospectively, it was comical. She was in our house, for the first time in weeks, on a Tuesday at 3 p.m. with nothing but the black sweatpants and T-shirt she left in and an old backpack. God, I remember it; the despicable scene. There were dark trenches under her eyes and furrows in between her bones. Her fingernails were brittle, torn at the edges, and jagged with bite marks. 

My stomach churned. I stumbled through rooms thick with the stench of alcohol and cluttered with beer cans and whiskey flasks

“Diana?” I cried. So much tension fled my limbs I thought I would collapse. “Jesus, Diana, where were you?” I wrapped my arms around her and tried not to squeeze too hard. She had lost so much weight, my palms began to sweat with worry. 

“Geneva Cliff. That’s where I was.” She broke down crying and brought her arms up to return the hug. They shook on their way up but latched as if I was made of butter. Her weeps were heavy and unstable like they would rock me off the face of the earth. My throat ached, holding tears within it. I felt her chasmic pain, a bottomless embankment of suffering. I kissed her hair, glad she was safe. “I’m sorry, Ben. I’m sorry.”

“Shhh… it’s okay,” I hushed her. I was unable to grapple with Diana’s arctic bereavement, but I never loved her less. After feeling complete devastation, I was reassured she hadn’t given up on me, either. “I miss him, too.”

II

It was raining in Boston on the day of Lucas’ last treatment. I feel sick just thinking about it. I arrived at the hospital after work and saw Diana and Lucas curled on the hospital bed. Bouquets of lilacs sat on the windowsill with little a notecard signed by his all of classmates. Even Oscar had signed it. Diana and I took turns holding Lucas during his treatment. It was Diana’s turn and she had turned brought a movie to play on the little television they had set up. Only Lucas was fast asleep, so he wasn’t watching it. Upon my arrival, Diana’s face lit up.  

“How’s Lucas?” I chimed.

She brought a finger up to her lips and another one at our sleeping son. 

“Oh,” I murmured. “My bad.” 

Her hands beckoned me toward her as she began exiting the room. I followed her to the hall where her voice returned to normal. “Lucas just had a transfusion and they’re going to monitor him for the night.” 

“How’d it go? He’s doing alright?” I asked. 

“Lucas’ll be fine. I wanted to go out and get him a birthday present for tomorrow… and maybe we could stop home and get some real food.”

“That sounds terrific,” I whined. My hand hovered over my stomach, indicating how hungry I was. Diana let out a chuckle. “What were you thinking of getting him?” 

“Well, Doctor said Lucas’ immune system couldn’t handle any more flowers,” she sighed. “So I was thinkin’ we stop by the hobby shop to pick up some fake ones.”  Diana and I walked to our car. On our way, we watched the rain plummet to the ground like it was an award-winning television series. Exhaustion cramped my back and my entire body was griefed with fatigue. We leaned against each other as we walked. 

That night, I was convinced everything would be okay. We bought Lucas fake lavenders, lilacs, and purple hyacinths. I took Diana home and cooked her a proper meal; grilled salmon and rice. We were so warm when I held her on the couch we bought together. The two of us ate together in the dining room without Lucas. I can’t help but feel like that was all foreshadowing. 

“How’s the lilac bush coming along?” Diana asked.

“Why don’t we go see?”

 I got up from my chair but I froze. Diana’s phone rang. 

“Hello?”

“Is this Diana Jackson?” 

“Yes.”

“Your son is in surgery.” Time began moving at Mach speed. 

We rushed to the hospital, expecting Lucas to be in surgery for hours. It was only thirty minutes, though. Thirty, goddamn minutes and the doctor came out with a stunningly neutral, unreadable expression. “Have a seat, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson.” He took one, as well. “There… has been a complication with the transfusions. Lucas’ leukemia had severely compromised his blood-cell count. We treated it with a blood transfusion and after a while, we thought he was improving. As you know, we then administered a bone marrow transfusion. Unfortunately, Lucas had developed Graft-Versus-Host Disease; essentially, the donor’s blood and plasma began attacking Lucas’s body. At nine o’clock tonight, his appendix ruptured. Since he was low on platelets and white blood cells, with an already deteriorating immune system, we tried everything we could–”

“No…” Diana covered her mouth.

“I am truly sorry Mr. and Mrs. Jackson. Lucas died from massive hemorrhaging and infection at eleven o’clock.” 

I felt like I was standing on a tightrope that was falling out from underneath me. Maybe it was because my eleven-year-old son was dying, and I wanted to grab the doctor by the collar and scream in his face. I wanted my throat to hurt. Take my blood, my bones, my heart. Just let Lucas look at lilacs a little longer. My internal mania was stifled. I was choked up, my mouth was the sandy deserts of the Arabian Peninsula. The space in my heart quadrupled, empty. Knocking everything around when it beat. Lucas would never see his lilac bush. Hell, he would never see prom. Or a college dorm. The first funeral Lucas ever attended is his own. Seeing how quickly things lose meaning, gave me motion sickness. 

He was gone. 

V

The midday breeze cools down the tensity after we pace a few blocks from the cemetery. Our eyes meet after looking at the bouquet. Between us was an air of serenity. Then, like a little kid, Diana’s chest spasms with a peal of roaring laughter. Her bright, scrunched-up face illuminates a mile-long smile across my face. It was contagious, infecting my lungs, and expelling my breath into my own fit of laughter. My core turned to jelly, and I put my hands on my knees to support myself. We step to the corner of the sidewalk, both of us cackling like madmen. I placed a hand on Diana’s shoulder, a series of giggles bubbling from my throat. I felt a rush of euphoria around her. For a moment, I was a love-stricken kid again instead of a childless father. 

“I’m sorry, Ben,” she says through her laughter. She is hunched over, holding her stomach and slapping her knee. “Jesus, did you see that guy’s face? Priceless!”

“You told him to go to hell,” I say through another round of laughter. “Over flowers! He got so mad, D.” My stomach cramps up as I gasp for air. 

She sighs and catches her breath, the smile sticking to her lips as the laughter dissipated. “What an idiot, thinking I’d give him Lucas’ flowers.” We began to walk again, side by side, our shoulders touching. Diana held the bouquet to her chest, looking down at the arrangements. Purple and white lilacs dance over her nose as she bends her neck to take in their scent. 

“I had fun with you today, you know.” Diana’s eyes were fixated on the ground. “Going to the flower shop. As mundane as it is, it makes me feel like we’re a young couple. Like old times.”

“Isn’t that just the worst thing ever?” I quip. “It’s been over a whole year since Lucas died. We know it isn’t immoral to have a sense of purpose, do we?”

“I would say it’s truly incredible, then,” she affirms, “After so long– thinking we’d never be happy again– that losing Lucas was the end.” 

“Lucas was my sun and stars, D.” I turn to her, covering her hand with mine. “It’s like… after Lucas’ future was stolen, we couldn’t see we still had one,” I say slowly. I choose my words both thoughtfully and carelessly. Even if it isn’t the right thing to say, it was exactly my thoughts articulated. “I thought my life had lost meaning but, I am still madly in love with you.”

You know what she does? Diana sniffles, her eyes becoming glassy. She looks up at me smiling with a tearful gaze, and my heart softens. I am in pieces. Love archives in my heart every day that I’m with her. I learn renewal, at that moment. I ruined myself over Lucas, but I’ll fix myself for Diana. She unties the ribbon around the bouquet of lilacs and hands me half. “Because I love you, I believe we can still be happy.”