Rain and The Skeleton Flower

“Diphylleia grayi,” the stranger beside me murmurs. 

He stands around 180cm tall which means I have to look up to meet his gaze. The first thing noticeable about him is the streaks of his icy blue hair that hide beneath a plain black leather cap. Next is his thick black eyebrows that look like they have been drawn to perfection and finally his dark brown eyes which suggest a bizarre combination of warmth, loneliness and curiosity. Before I travel down the rest of his face, I remember to speak. “Sorry?” I ask. 

He points at the bookmark I am holding. It is a simple piece that has a black background and three white flowers with yellow centers as its main drawing. “The flower,” the stranger says softly. “You were asking about the flowers.” 

“Oh! Sorry, I have this weird habit of talking out loud. Thanks for answering.” 

“You’re welcome,” he responds in almost a whisper.

We shyly exchange smiles and I feel my cheeks turn pink, unsure whether out of embarrassment or something else. Is it me or did the temperature in this tiny off-the-wall bookstore suddenly feel like it is summer?

As I attempt to calm the unexpected butterflies in my stomach, he turns to look at the row of self-help books on the shelf behind us. He moves a step closer to me...and another...and another--- 

And then, a spark. 

Our fingers brush against each other. He quickly apologizes and the words come out of my mouth before I can even think about them. “What is the flower called again?” I say. His eyebrows furrow. 

In those few seconds of silence my brain goes from Should I repeat the question? to No, stupid. Who asks that? to Do I look silly? to Oh gosh, I am silly.

“Diphylleia grayi,” he interrupts my thought. 

“Diphy-what?”

“Di-phy-lle-ia gra-yi. You can just call it Skeleton flower. I am the only weird guy that calls it by its scientific name.” 

He grins and I allow myself to relax. The energy in the room shifts as if the sun finally decides to come out from the clouds. 

***

The soft wind greets us when we step outside the shop. Honestly, I am not one for spring weather. I am what others say, an autumn person. Not only do I prefer the color palette it brings to my surroundings - fern, apricot, rust and coffee all mixed in this picturesque landscape before me. But also, it serves as nature’s annual reminder to me that everything in this world has an end and I must learn how to gracefully let go. For instance, I should accept that we need to part ways now. Thus, despite feeling bittersweet, I extend my arm for a handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you…” 

“Zach,” he replies. 

“Rain.”

“Rain,” he repeats. “Pretty name.”

“Really? You think so?”

“Really.”

I try not to get too delighted.

Zach looks at the ground and gently scratches the back of his head. “Do you want to see it in real life?” he asks reluctantly. “I meant the flowers. I saw some at the park nearby when I was strolling yesterday. They are truly a sight to behold especially since they are rare and only grow around here.” 

I ask for a minute to weigh my options and mentally make a list. 

Pros

• We will spend more time together. That’s a treat. 
• These are flowers that I will probably only see once in my lifetime. Seeing the real version will be a much better souvenir than the bookmark. 
• I don’t have anything else planned for my day.

Cons

• This is my first time in this country and I am a solo traveler. What if something terrible happens to me? What if I get killed and my body will be lost in the woods forever? Will my family search for me? How about my insurance plans? 
• Technically, we are still strangers. What if he is a thief? Or a criminal? Or a rapist? Wait, isn’t he a tourist, too? He does not appear to be a local here. What is the emergency number? He said it’s nearby. I can run, right? What if he chases after me? What if he has a gun and ---

My body tenses. My breathing is more rapid. I start to cough. 

Zach notices and asks if I am okay. I give him a thumbs up but I cough harder. 

“Hey, you’re not okay,” he says with a twinge of worry in his tone. 

I gasp for air and do square breathing. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. After that, I acknowledge five things that I can see - we are both wearing white sneakers, he has long, slender fingers, the time on my watch is 10:48, a toddler is running across us, a lady is walking a medium-sized Shiba Inu. Next, I look for four things I can touch - my arms, my backpack, the glass facade of the bookstore, Zach’s hand. Before finding three things I can hear, my breathing starts to steady. I grab for my water bottle and take a sip. All this time, I am keenly aware that Zach’s attention is fixed on me. “I’m okay”, I assure him.

“Are you sure?” he inquires further. “We can go to a hospital. I’ll ask around.”

“I believe seeing the flowers is a much better solution for me in this case.”

Because I cannot fully release my anxiety yet, I pull out my physical map and ask him to show where the park is. This will determine whether he is telling the truth or not. To my relief, he is right. Mezurashī Hana park is only an 18-min walk from where we are. 

***

The park is different, bigger and colder from what I expected. Initially, it looks like Central Park with its paved trails and regularly mowed lawns where people hang out and sit for picnics in the summer. Eventually though, as we move towards the mountainside, the pavement changes to wooden roads and lawns to less-maintained bushes. The trees are also thicker and the spaces between them are shorter. It’s been a while since we last saw another human being, too. 

“Are you sure we’re not lost?” I ask Zach who appears to be thrilled with our spontaneous escapade. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” he responds. “We’re almost there.”

“You said that 15 minutes ago.”

He laughs and instead of shooting him a look of disbelief, I join him. Usually, I get panic attacks in this type of situation but something about the place makes me at ease. Maybe it’s the inviting presence of raw and unpolished nature. Or maybe it’s the season and how it symbolizes new beginnings. Or maybe it’s neither of them. Maybe, it’s Zach whose dark brown eyes are now gleaming.

“Ta-da!” he says in a sing-song voice. 

My mouth opens at the precious beauty of what is in front of me. Rows and rows of tiny Skeleton Flowers are tuck in the center of their green, maple-like leaves. I can’t believe I am actually seeing them in person. I can almost cry. 

“You haven’t seen the best part yet,” Zach says. “Do you still have water?”

As I hand him the water bottle, I feel a droplet touch my head. “Is it drizzling?” I ask. He extends his arm to check. “I think so,” he answers. “Seems that the universe is in your favor today. Look.” Zach nudges me. 

“What?”

“Sit down and you’ll know why,” he orders. 

I willingly obey and my oh my, the most magical thing happens. The solid white petals are changing before my eyes. With every drop of rain, the color is washed away, turning them translucent. I am so transfixed in their transformation that I can almost hear the flowers tell me that there is astonishment in vulnerability; I should welcome it. 

To witness such marvelous rarity is an indelible gift I will carry until my last breath. 

“Thank you,” I whisper, to this moment, to Diphylleia grayi, and to Zach.