An Absence of Wildflowers

For the first time in her life, Joan rode into her favorite campsite and found no wildflower in sight. She couldn’t remember a time she’d ever looked out the window and didn’t see a Texas Bluebonnet or an Indian Blanket or a Brown-eyed Susan. Yet there was nothing, only a field of green grass and the clear blue lake ruffling in the wind.

           The campground was nearly deserted. A few loyal campers remained but were quickly packing their things into their RVs, attempting to beat the incoming storm. Keith drove until he found their reserved spot. He switched off the engine and the two surveyed the area before getting out. They had practically the whole campsite to themselves, save for the family of four about 100 yards down.

           Joan stared at them longingly and Keith looked over at her. “You okay?” he asked. His voice was gentle, comforting. He rested his hand on her knee and peered at her with his soft eyes. But Joan kept her focus on the family, the small children riding their scooters back and forth in front of the camper. She couldn’t bear Keith’s sympathy. Not today.

           “I’m fine,” she quickly answered. And before he could argue, she opened the passenger door and slipped out of the truck, leaving Keith’s hand to flop down onto the empty seat. Joan started unloading their things from the truck bed, unwilling to look up when Keith slowly walked towards her. She knew he would try to stop her, to talk to her, to calm her down. She waited for his hand to find her shoulder. For his voice to whisper her name in her ear in that loving way that sent chills down her spine. For his worthless attempt to convince her that everything would be alright. She swallowed and urged herself not to lose her temper with him. But to her surprise, he only stood for a moment looking at her, then joined her in unpacking the truck.

           After a while, the tension between them was nearly forgotten. They continued unloading in silence while Joan enjoyed flashbacks from the camping gear. Pulling out the stakes and tarp reminded her of her father, when he had finally agreed to teach her how to set up a tent. She had messed it up the first time, failing to hammer in the stakes properly and finding the shelter sideways and loose. But he hadn’t let her give up, and after several more tries, she had erected her own tent, perfectly straight, and her father had called her a “true camper.”

           She unpacked their pots and pans and remembered how her mother made the most savory chili on their small camping stove. She’d mix in the ingredients one-by-one as Joan stared at the pot in awe. When it was finally ready, she wasted no time in devouring every bite. And she’d always laugh when her father dipped his mouth into the bowl to show off a chili-covered mustache.

           But somehow, the items were different now. The stakes were curved and more rusty than she remembered. The pot was grimy with flakes covering the bottom. And the campsite itself didn’t seem as magical as it once had been when she and her father fished from the dock 20 feet below. Now it was just a dirty plot of concrete, used countless times, scattered with the remnants of families before them.

           It didn’t take long before all their gear had been unloaded and set up. Keith had been a camping virgin the first time she took him while they were still dating. He hadn’t known how to build a fire or tie a proper knot until Joan had expertly taught him from her years of experience with her family. And after their five years together, he had finally gotten the hang of it, setting up camp almost as skillfully as she did.

           It became a common thing for the two of them to go camping together. Every long weekend or holiday, the couple would pack their things and drive down to the little park and enjoy a few nights out in the wilderness. It wasn’t until their third trip, noticing Joan’s uncontainable joy, that Keith had asked her why she loved camping so much.

           “It reminds me of family,” she said. “Of hiking with my dad in the forest and singing campfire songs with my mom. You just connect with people out here. You remember what’s important in life.”

           After that, Keith started to hold Joan a little closer on their trips, and from his almost unseen side smile, she could tell that he was starting to feel it too.

           But there were no smiles to be seen that night while the two roasted their hotdogs over the blazing fire. Each sat opposite each other, distant and out of reach, with Joan lost in thought, nearly burning her dog to a crisp.

There she was. Just four years old and struggling to roast her hotdog without dropping it into the fire. Seeing her trouble, her father had sat down behind her, pulled her onto his lap and held her hands around the stick, relieving her of its unbearable weight. They had sat there listening to the fire crackle and watching the sparks shoot into the night sky. She thought there was nothing more delicious in the world until her mother pulled out a large bag of Jumbo Marshmallows.

She and her father sat patiently as they roasted her first one. Suddenly, it caught fire. It was completely covered in flames, turning black inside the yellow inferno. “Daddy, it’s on fire!” she’d shouted. But her panic was short-lived. He blew out the marshmallow with all his might, leaving it free of flames but slightly blackened. “Oh no! It’s ruined.” Her bottom lip stuck out and she crossed her arms in disappointment.

But her father stood up and placed it between some graham crackers and chocolate. “No, Joan.” He knelt down and handed it to her on a small plate. “It’s perfect.”

Returning to reality, she realized her hotdog was well overdone. She sighed and slid it into a bun. It was no problem. That was how she liked them anyway.

The silence was broken after she took her first bite of the ketchup covered delicacy. “Keith, do you have the marshmallows?”

He stopped chewing. His eyes went wide. “Shit, I completely forgot.”

Joan felt her heart sink. “But…how can we camp without marshmallows? We have to have them, Keith!” She could hear the hysteria in her voice but found it hard to mask.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. We don’t need them.” He spoke carefully, like he was trying to calm a wild animal.

“Yes, we do! It’s not camping if we don’t roast marshmallows by the fire!” She knew she was being unreasonable, but she couldn’t help it. Marshmallows had always been a part of the camping experience, and if they didn’t have them, then they were more like practicing hobos.

Keith sighed and brushed his hand through his hair. Joan could tell he was trying to stay calm. One of them had to be. “I can go grab some from the nearest store, I guess.” He stood from his lawn chair.

Joan looked at the burnt hotdog in her hand. The charred skin had flaked off onto the plate and the bun was mixing with the ketchup, turning to mush. “Wait.” She dumped the remnants into the fire. “You’re right. We don’t need them.”

“Are you sure?” His voice was still so soft, like a warm blanket he tightly wrapped around her. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah. I’ll be okay.” She had lost her appetite anyway.

~

The rest of the evening passed in an uneasy silence. Joan wished it could’ve been one of those peaceful silences, the ones where they both held each other close and enjoyed the sounds of the campfire, when she rested her head on his shoulder and couldn’t think of a warmer place to be.

But agonizing thoughts raced through her mind, dragging her through endless torment. She stared at the fire, waiting for some kind of reprieve that never came. Behind the light of the flames, she thought she saw a wildflower, a bright blue glow, just a few feet beyond their plot. But at second glance, she saw that it was only a piece of plastic stuck to a blade of grass.

By far, her favorite camping activity was picking wildflowers. She’d spend hours finding the prettiest ones then brought them over to her mother who would bundle them up and place them in a special vase used as a centerpiece for their camp table.

Since she started camping with Keith, she would bring the vase herself, scour the area for the most beautiful flowers she could find, and arrange them for the table. It was a tradition she wanted to keep alive, for herself and whoever came after.

When the fire started to die down, Keith finally stood up and made his way to the tent. Joan quickly followed, unwilling to face her thoughts alone, and slid into the sleeping bag beside him. Her eyes were heavy, but she knew the voices in her head were too loud for sleep. She closed them anyway, praying for some kind of merciful hand to wipe her mind clean.

Before long, Keith turned over and pulled her body towards his. She kept her eyes closed, hoping he would assume she was asleep and leave her alone. But they shot open at the sensations from his lips rolling up and down her neck. She sighed as his hand slid down her bare stomach and inner thigh.

“Keith, not tonight.” She tried to pull away, but he only moved her closer, wrapping his leg around hers as his lips began to nibble at her ear. “Babe, no.”

He silenced her, taking her lips captive with his own, kissing her both gently and deeply. She wanted to give in, to let him fill her broken heart with his unconditional love. But it would be no use. Her heart was frozen. She pushed him away. “I can’t.”

He stopped and opened his eyes. They weren’t the selfless, caring eyes she was used to, but panicked and hurting, begging her to understand. “Joan, please. There’s still a chance.”

She was speechless. Anything she said would only tear him apart, snip the last string of hope that he’d somehow managed to hold onto. She couldn’t stand to see him like that, much too close for comfort to the way she felt inside. She pulled his face back down to meet hers and let him take her fiercely under his arms. And as he desperately pulled her shirt over her head, she closed her eyes again and tried to hear his breath over the deafening voices in her ears.

~

She had been right about her insomnia. Keith had moved back over to his side of the tent and fallen fast asleep hours before, and she had been staring at the ceiling, thankful for the droplets of rain falling on the tarp that happened to distract her every now and then. She guessed it must have been at least 2:00 AM, and she hadn’t slept a wink.

She sat upright, careful not to wake up her snoring husband. She slowly unzipped her sleeping bag and slipped out of the tent. The rain had lightened up, and she decided to walk over to the lake. There was nothing better for her to do anyway.

After a few minutes, she walked by the camper with the small family. On the street lay the scooters the children were riding when she and Keith had seen them the day before. She walked over and picked one up. It was pink with silver tassels, rainbow stickers scattered across the front and a name etched into the handles: Erica.

She smiled and placed it in a dry spot under a tree, thinking about how beautiful Erica must look riding her little scooter. She turned and continued her walk as the torturous memories started to replay.

It had been six days since the appointment. Six days since she and Keith had visited the doctor who ripped her apart. Six days since their dreams had been crushed like the fallen leaves under her feet.

It’s a very rare condition...Only happens to a handful of women…Possible but unlikely…You’ll probably never be able to have children.

She hadn’t said anything. She’d kept her mouth shut as his words turned into the broken records that now played in her head over and over again. Keith had fought tooth and nail for a better answer, stammering, threatening, begging. But she hadn’t heard any of it. The new words in her mind were much too loud.

They’d been trying for years. Each pregnancy test that came up negative brought her a little lower to the ground, but Keith was unwilling to give up. Months went by with more and more disappointment, and by the time they’d made the doctor’s appointment, Joan felt like she was looking up from the floor.

It was something they’d both wanted for so long, a little baby to call their own. She’d wanted a girl and Keith wanted a boy, but Joan knew that deep down, her husband wanted a daughter to spoil. And now every hope they had was gone, burned to the ground and blown away like ashes. And it was all her fault. Well, not technically her fault, but she was the one with the problem. She was the one who took away his dreams of dressing up with his little princess or playing catch with his future all-star.

Joan finally made it to the water’s edge and gazed quietly at the stillness. She found a dry patch of land and sat. The rain seemed to have stopped for a second, making the water look more like a solid crystal. She took a deep breath and sighed, hugging her knees to her chest. She thought about jumping in, wondering if the shock of the freezing water would free her mind.

Instead, she decided to skip some stones. “Remember to throw it sideways.” She saw her father’s arm swinging out towards the water, tossing a rock that bounced four times.

“Like a frisbee!” she’d said. Her father laughed and nodded. Joan had thrown it as hard as she could, never getting a bounce. She’d finally skipped it three times when her father had taken her hand in his own and perfectly casted the stone onto the smooth water.

She’d mastered the skill now. Easily getting in four, five, six skips. She reached for another and, realizing she was all out, pulled her legs back into her chest and rested her chin on her knees. She should probably get back to the tent. Keith could have woken up and been worried about her. She moved her hands to the ground and right as she started to rise, she heard a faint whimper.

She stopped, turning her head towards the brush, wondering if she’d finally gone crazy. After a moment, she heard a similar whine, louder this time. Walking over towards the bushes, she moved them carefully to the side, frightened of what she might find.

She moved a few branches out of the way, and suddenly she saw it: a small bunny laying in the dirt, cut open and bleeding. Her stomach dropped. Its small belly was slashed open, spilling its contents onto the ground. It must have been attacked, but for some reason, it was still here, left to die.

Joan’s panic was uncontrollable. This bunny, this small innocent creature, could not die. It wasn’t right or fair. She took the two sides of its open wound and desperately tried to pull them together. The bunny writhed in pain, pulling away but unable to flee. Blood covered Joan’s hands, and although she did everything she could to push it away, in came the worst memory of them all.

She was sitting on the bathroom floor, the tiles covered in a thick sheet of blood. The pain in her abdomen throbbed as she ejected more and more fluid and tissue. She had tried to hold it in, to push it back with her shaking hands. But nothing could stop it from pouring out.

Keith had been at work, but she screamed for him anyway, begging him to save their miracle that was dripping from her fingertips. And little did they know that the bleeding would mark the end of their once-in-a-million chance. That they would never get one again.

The rabbit squirmed under her touch, each attempt to save it resulting in more pain and blood. The tears in Joan’s eyes started to blur her vision. “No, no, no! You can’t die! You can’t!” The whimpers turned to horrific moans, and after the bunny let out a bloodcurdling shriek, she finally let go.

She couldn’t stand its cries anymore. She couldn’t take the pain in her heart from the agony she knew the rabbit was feeling. She had to give in and free it from its misery. There was no point trying to save what was already long gone. She turned away, sobbing as she found the biggest rock she could find. Turning her eyes the other way, she hammered the rock down onto the bunny. She crushed it, pound after pound, until the whines finally ceased, her violent weeping the only sound in the forest.

She dropped the weapon, unwilling to view the damage she’d done, and looking where she had found the rock, she saw a single wildflower, smushed flat into the earth. Her bloody hands rose to meet her face once again, staining her cheeks along with the tears that never stopped.