The Garden on the Ledge

With Kate gone, the entire house went into mourning. From her little shelf of knick-knacks gathering dust to the curtains sorrowfully closing in on themselves, enveloping the now silent apartment in darkness. Every nook and cranny of the place missed her presence dearly, but none so much as the sunflower on the windowsill of our study nook.

On the morning I worked up the motivation to leave the bedroom did I see it gazing morosely at the streets below, head bowed. Its once golden petals, having lost their lustre, drooped sadly, and some fell like tears onto the earthy soil, now hardened with lack of water. It was such a strange sight I would have thought it someone else's sunflower if it had not been right smack in my house, for in the years, months, weeks, days, even hours before she left it always smiled brighter than the Sun. After all, that was why she fondly christened it "Sunny", a name I refused to use, treating it as her beloved. Sometimes I would even joke to dinner guests she was more married to the plant than to me.

Ever since I met her, Kate had always been surrounded by flowers. Back then I was just eager to get the thirty dollars my friend promised me if I would accompany her on the piano and scoot out of whatever recital she was in as soon as possible. My friend, however, besides being an aspiring singer herself, was an avid fan of all her fellow peers, and so convinced me to stay with her the whole way through. Most of the performers were alright, all at the very least mediocre, and even while I never was one for classical vocals I couldn't say I regretted staying. However, I couldn't say I would have regretted leaving, that is, until Kate appeared from behind the curtain. She was not particularly pretty, although dressed in an elegant silk, but her voice was that of a nightingale's; it left musicians envious, composers inspired and the general audience entranced.

My friend and I, being such musicians, were no doubt ensnared in her siren song, and so after the recital came to give our compliments, amongst others who were too showering their praise with flowers and honeyed words. Through some dumb luck we decided to all grab coffee after, all of us having some free time on our hands, and I found then that beyond her voice there was so much more to admire. She made terrible jokes but laughed wonderfully at others; she had ambition, decidedly working as hard as possible on her passion. I asked her for her number and thank heavens she said yes, while in the background my friend stood smirking. Little did the three of us know she would eagerly recount that very incident at our wedding, bragging that she was the very thing that brought us two together. We moved in together the next week and it was then that Sunny the sunflower arrived and was given his honorary position of overlooking the window. "It needs to see the Sun," she insisted and I happily obliged.

Sunny the Sunflower was the one thing in the house that would remain untouched, and for that I envied the flower more than words could say. Kate wasn't always a very...... happy person. There would be days I would wake up next to her and leave for work, yet she would still be right there when I came back in the evening. She seemed constantly at war with herself, to the point her muscles couldn't work from all the conflicting instructions all the different parts of her demanded of them. Sometimes, she would cry, or laugh, or yell at me, turn over tables in her anger, spill dinner across the kitchen counter, lie on the couch gazing emptily at the ceiling.

But Sunny the sunflower would be watered day after day without fail. Even on her worst days she would exit the bedroom, with an numb look in her eyes, to douse the soil lightly with the water pitcher before going back to bed. I didn't understand it and I still don't. It was just those things I never understood about her and now I never would be able to, like why she left. Why she walked into the middle of the freeway with the same empty smile on her face.

I ran my fingers over the pot, tempted for a fleeting moment to toss the pot out the window. For once, wouldn't it be nice to be the one who breaks the things and not the one who has to fix what's left behind?

But Kate loved Sunny, and loved it dearly. And even though at times she sure as hell didn't act like it she loved me too. I loved her. We loved each other dearly and we took care of each other. On the days she would burst out of the room smiling and give me the biggest hug when I got home, on the days she would make our favourite soup and supplement the warm feeling in my stomach with all the kisses I ever asked for, she had these moments that would make any small grievances I held disappear. We saved enough money to have a small piano moved into the house after a year, so she would drag me to it and deign me her official accompanist for all time with a pleading look on her face I could not possibly deny. In those days our love made us stronger.

I sighed, grabbing the water pitcher, finally quenching poor Sunny's thirst. Sucking in a deep breath, I lifted the cover of the piano and set my fingers a hair's breadth away from the ivories. Flowers like music.

She took care of Sunny, because she loved it. She would want me to take care of myself, and of it, now that she was gone.

And if I was the one who had to piece back together what she left behind, shattered, as always, then I would do so gladly. For the woman I loved and always will love.