Wilting Peruvian Lilies

I stared at the lily on my windowsill. It had wilted; it’s once striking azalea-like blossoms and pink petals flecked with magenta replaced by drooping yellow petals. Peruvian Lilies had a two-week vase-life if taken care of properly, but I hadn’t bothered to cater for the flower for weeks. As I stared at the dying plant, I had memories of times before, when I’d watered it. She had been there, then, chiding me on how irresponsible I was. I’d smiled, because she always did that and I’d come to like it. We had been friends normally, but one day things changed.

I’d been sitting by myself in the cafeteria outside, watching the birds when she’d come up to me.

Hey.”

“Hi.” I’d said.

“What’s wrong?” She’d asked, rolling her eyes at my expression.

“I’m sad.”

“Who did it? Do I need to maul someone?” She’d clenched her fists, scowling.

I’d smiled then, because she’d cared. She always did, even when she’d tease me and demand I got more tattoos or how my shoes didn’t fit her tastes. She always cared.

We’d drag each other away from friends and take long walks where she’d rant about how everyone seemed to piss her off before cradling my face and grudgingly admitting that she tolerated me. Others would tell me that she seemed to treat me differently, but I thought nothing of it. She was stubborn, yet I found it cute.

We’d meet for ice creams on weekends and she’d spam me with photos of her whenever she went out to parties and I would gush about how beautiful she was. She liked my compliments, though she never showed it, and I meant every word I said. Whenever we fought she’d always ask for a verbal apology and a hug, and it made me feel happy how she always wanted me to hold her in my arms. She’d kissed me once, the type of kiss friends shared, perhaps, and afterwards she’d acted the same but I was elated. I chose not to listen when people said she was just using me. I turned a deaf ear to those who said mean things about her, and got upset whenever anyone suggested that I cut ties with her. A lot of people left, but it didn’t matter to me. Everything would be fine as long as I had her, I thought.

Then things changed.

She’d begun to move away from me. It was subtle, but I could feel it and it made my heart ache. She would ghost me online for hours and act tired whenever I walked up to her in person, and soon the last embers of confidence I once mustered around her died out. She was always busy with schoolwork, which I found hard to believe since she’d always had a certain disdain for exams. I wondered what had gone wrong, and worried myself to sleep for days thinking of how I could make it right. I worried she was going through something terrible and couldn’t tell me.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You’re being distant.” I’d asked. It had been a rare opportunity to walk into her at the café, and she hadn’t avoided me so I took my chance.

“Distant?” She snorted, rolling her eyes. “I’m not distant.”

“Well, okay…”

We’d fallen into a brief discussion before she’d left with her friends. I felt uneasy, like I were being lied to, but I chose not to think of it. She would never do that to me, I thought.

free long periods of anxiety, I mustered courage and texted her on a Thursday night. Although the question I asked was unclear, I vividly remember the conversation:

- What am I to you?

- I feel like we're more than friends. We have been through a lot and I want to be closer to you and make our relationship last a long time because you're really important to me.

-Welp, I like how things are now and I don't want to ruin it. Besides, I don't like teenagers anyways and I wouldn't really take a relationship seriously.

She did not like teenagers.

I didn’t call dropping my phone or falling asleep. All I remembered was staring at the flower vase by my windowsill, watching the dying silhouette of the flower against the backdrop of a sombre moon.

I was making a cup of tea when I heard a knock on my door. There she was, dressed head to toe in a fur coat, leggings and boots. She’d looked like a penguin, and I would’ve told her that and watch her roll her eyes and chuckle.

But things had changed.

We’d sat opposite each other in my room, the unsaid words drifting through the air like a thick fog.

Finally, she spoke. “Hey.”

“Hello. How are you?”

“Good.”

“Ok.”

I looked away, embarrassed by the brief exchange of words. Everything felt awkward, from my hands on my laps to the tea on the table to her sitting arms crossed opposite me.

She stared at my desk, where stacks of books and papers lay in a mess. “You’ve been drawing again?”

“Yeah.” I scratched the back of my neck, making a mental note to hide those next time she came. Although I doubted there’d be a next time.

“Nice.”

Somewhere far away, a vehicle was trudging through the snow. The mechanical sounds filled the silence between us. As I sat there, despite the shirt distance between me and her, it suddenly felt like we were worlds apart from each other.

Her eyes fell on the lilies by my window. “If you don’t water those, they’ll die.”

“I always forget. Would you mind-?”

“I’ve got schoolwork.”

“Cool.”

There was no point in trying, anyways. Things had changed.

I stared at the liloes a while longer. I would throw them in the trash later, and move on with my life, I decided. They weren’t meant to last very long anyways

Just like all good things.

I sighed, falling back in back and letting sleep envelop me.