Daisies

I've never liked flowers. Yes, they're pretty and nice-smelling and all that garbage. In my opinion, they're solely overrated. Sold at high prices just to wither and die three days later. There's no point to them, really. I'd rather tell someone I love them instead of handing them a bunch of half dead roses.

Maybe it's because I was named after a flower that my dislike of them grew. Being named Daisy was no easy task throughout school. All throughout classes, teachers would assume that I loved flowers, or at least liked them. As their own sick little joke, they'd give me the floral printed pencils and folders, laughing to themselves. I think I broke them. Early on I developed the reputation of a troubled child. I was cynical from the beginning, anxious and cautious of anything that seemed to good to be true.

Maya was too good to be true, I first thought. We were paired together for a school proect in the fourth grade. She was all sun and bright smiles, eager to solve fractions or whatever nine year olds do at that age. We seemed unlikely to get along, but we just hit off, much to the surprise of everyone else. Maya and I were inseperable, and it didn't help that we had classes with each other ever since. One thing about Maya, though; she adored flowers. She could go on and on, listing just about every kind of them. Magnolias to irises, she was nearly obsessed, trying to get me to smell them or memorize their meanings with her. I played along, just happy to see her happy. Every holiday, she would get me daisies. She knew how much I hated them, but whenever she brought me a bouquet, bought from the nearby flower shop or swiped from Ms. Bearne's garden, I always caved. The next day, though, I would dispose of them quietly and quickly, only saving the red ribbon she'd tied to the stems. I guess you could call it a joke.

By the time we graduated high school, I absorbed most of Maya's knowledge on flowers. We would make up our own little code based on the floral meaning. The day of graduation, she gave me a bouquet of pear blossoms along with the expected daisies. Everlasting friendship, it means. I should've known better, but it didn't stop me from giving her a red carnation pin. It was only an imitation of a flower, but I still couldn't face Maya to deliver it. I ended up leaving it on her doorstep. Besides, she would know what it meant. My heart aches for you. The next day, she came over and I nearly burst into shakes. But she didn't say anything, not a word. Over time, I settled into the oblivious idea that she didn't know who gave her the pin. It was cowardly, but I couldn't bring myself to ask. Who knows what her reaction would be.

As the years grew on, Maya and I remained close friends. We would still spend afternoons together, walking to nowhere and laughing at everything. If Maya was the sun, I was everything in it, basking and holding onto her as much as I could. There were other friends of hers, and sometimes I felt as though I were being selfish, but how could you hoard a person? Eventually, life pulled us apart. I went on with my job, and Maya eventually had to move away. Rent was too high, she said. She didn't meet my eyes when I offered for her to room with me. I don't think I ever cried as much as I had that night.

Twenty five is a weird time. People around you get married, start families. No one dies at twenty five. But as far as anyone could tell you, I always excelled in being the outlier. It was a heart attack. In the middle of spring, no less. A time of frolicking and basking in the sun, and there I was, unable to move. Who gets a heart attack at twenty five? Genetics, I heard the doctors say. When I opened my eyes again, I knew something was wrong. I was still in the hospital room, but not on the bed. I was by the door, watching my family cry over a body-my body. I wanted to reach out to them, say something, but I couldn't. I was a ghost. As long as I was alive, I never feared death. But this afterlife, this ghosting, was a joke. I wandered around, waiting to finally fade. It didn't happen. So I walked back to my parent's house. What else could I do? Inside the house, I almost retched at the smell. Flowers. Millions of bouquets of flowers surrounded all the rooms. God, there were even daisies. If I could have disposed of them, I would have. But being a ghost has its downsides. All I could do was watch.

There were lilies, customary. Daisies-a sick pun to my name and life. There was also various gift shop flowers, with over saturated sunflowers and chemically prepared roses. I stopped at one, however. It was a group of daisies, and I would've turned away in disgust, but something stopped me. A red ribbon laced itself in the bouquet. I bent down to see the card. It was Maya's handwriting, offering condolences. I didn't think she would've heard so quickly. She was three states away, anyways. Even though I no longer had a heart, I felt something sink deeper into my body. Just because you're a ghost doesn't mean you can't feel.

The funeral was deathly sobering. They used the most recent portrait of me, looking dour and, well, mean. I saw my two siblings sitting together, eyes on the ground. They were both older than me. The rest of the family sat close to them, all in black. My aunt Sarah was there, a necklace of daisies draping down her neck. I never liked aunt Sarah, even more now that I saw the explosion of daisies she draped over herself. I wondered why my uncle hadn't said anything-almost everyone knew about my hatred of daisies. But then again, if aunt Sarah got an idea in her head, there was no stopping her. On the other side were my friends. I only had a few, from highschool and fewer from college, but at least they had the sense not to bring flowers. The funeral service was short, none of us were avid churchgoers. I thought it was nice, though. Even nicer was when my brother stopped the attendees from throwing roses on my casket. I can't bear the thought of being thrown in the ground with more decaying life.

My family had gone back to the funeral home, no doubt crying into their dishes of casserole. I decided to stay outside, wondering when I too would leave. I was about to venture closer to my grave, when I heard the screech of tires. I turned, and a strawberry-pink car came barreling into the parking lot. Out stepped Maya. My non existent breath caught. We hadn't talked for a few months, out schedules had been busy. She had been crying, her eyes puffy. She wore a dark purple dress and carried a bouquet in her hands. That was Maya, she never wore black. Maya always joked that wearing black was a harbringer of death. I guess you could debunk that now. I walked over to her, and then I stopped. She was still crying, and I wondered how she made it without crashing. But that wasn't my biggest concern. On the lapel of her dress, the red carnation pin sat there, just as pristine as the day I picked it out at the shop. Maya walked past me, wiping her tears with a cloth. I followed her. She made her way to my grave, and seemed distressed that she missed the service. Maya stood over my grave. We stood there for some time, silent, before Maya started to talk. Her voice was raspy from crying, but she went on. She talked about how we first met, our pranks, our time together. I listened intently. And then she talked about the pin. She told me that she knew I gave it to her, and that she always felt the same way. I stared in shock. She continued, crying even harder now, whispering that she should've told me while she had the chance. I wanted to comfort her, brush the tears from her face. But there was nothing I could do. I felt myself fading as she talked, though. I was growing lighter, and I felt panic. Not at the final stop of death, but for Maya. I needed her to know I was there. So with the most focus I could muster, I took the bouquet from her hand and put it on my casket. I watched, fading, as a look of shock set on her face. She looked straight through me, and a smile appeared on her face. I didn't know if she really saw me, but as we looked at each other, all the words I couldn't say passed through us.

I've never liked flowers, but I think I could live with a few daisies, wrapped in red ribbon.