April Flowers

She liked the spring flowers the most – tulips, daffodils, bluebells. She didn’t find those too often. There were an abundance of roses and lilies, typical flowers for the dead. As she walked amongst the rows of gravestones, she wondered why more people didn’t bring wildflowers for their loved ones, or even plant them on top of the bodies. She had mixed feelings about the artificial flowers that some people left. On one hand, they could never die. But to Amina it seemed like a taunt for the dead: here is something that will never die, unlike you.

She paused before one gravestone. Inscribed in the simple block of granite was a name in an alphabet she couldn’t read. Little crocuses bloomed at the base. Surrounding them, and the headstone, was a ring of mushrooms, seemingly out of place in such a well-manicured cemetery. She remembered hearing an old tale about fairy rings and madness, as she walked onward in search of other blooms to collect.

When her basket was full, she headed home. She had a method for her filching habit – one or two stems from each bouquet left for the dead. Any more than that increased her chances of getting caught. She already had to abandon the old cemetery uptown after the caretaker started following her around. Amina had to pretend to mourn at a stranger’s grave and then once she left, she never returned.

Her home was small and unassuming, a little bungalow in the older part of town. It had been left to her by her grandparents, the mortgage already paid off. She had enough money leftover from them to subsist on, and for that reason she never attempted to get a “real job.” It was enough for her to dry the flowers and herbs she found on her daily walks and make them into tinctures and teas. Her grandma had also taught her to read tea leaves, and every so often, someone feeling lost in the world would visit Amina offering to pay if she could provide some guidance. Sometimes people couldn’t pay and so they’d trade all sorts of items: homemade loaves of bread, jewelry, little trinkets and knickknacks.

Depending on her mood, she’d tell the truth or make up a story to ease the worries of whoever came to see her. No one ever doubted her, likely because of the rumours that her grandmother was a witch, but also because the inside of her home looked like a witch’s home. Bunches of flowers hung from the ceiling to dry, there were heaps of glass vials filled with what one might assume were potions (oftentimes it was just juice or tea), and she had various crystals scattered all over the house and pendulums dangling in front of the windows, which cast prismatic rainbows throughout when the sun hit just right.

She loved the eclectic clutter and never denied it when people called her psychic or told her she had “the gift.” She didn’t think she was special at all. She was just lonely. And lonely people had the ability to intuit others’ thoughts and feelings. Besides, most people had the same problems, so it was easy to figure out a pattern. Almost everything came down to love or money. Sometimes both. No, I’m not special, thought Amina. I just see what other people don’t let themselves see.

In the gilded mirror that hung over the hearth, Amina tried to see herself the way others might: long hair to hide behind, olive skin, and eyes that sparkled in the sunlight but always had a tinge of sadness.

As the sun started to set, she started contemplating using one of her potions on herself. She doubted they worked, and so until now all of her stock, painstakingly created the way her grandmother had taught her, was solely reserved for her customers. It couldn’t hurt, she thought, filling the bath tub with warm water and adding rose petals and a few drops of a fragrant concoction designed to bring your true love to you.

She soaked in the mixture until the water got cold. She got out and watched the water circle the drain. She couldn’t help wishing that magic was real, that her true love would come find her by the time the moon waxed fully.

She jumped when she heard the doorbell ring. Could it be? So soon?

She opened the door to reveal a man, about thirty years old, with a five-o’clock shadow and a slight paunch. Her heart fell. There was no way this was her true love. No, not him.

“I, uh, I was told you do readings?” he said hesitantly. When she continued gaping at him, he added, “I can come back another time. Or not, if you don’t want me to. I just feel so lost, I don’t know where else to go or who else to talk to.”

Amina felt deflated as her hope that her magic was real dissipated. Instead, she opened the door wider, beckoning the stranger in, and did what she did best – listened.

“Do you grow all these flowers in your garden?” he asked on his way out.

“No, I steal them,” answered Amina bluntly. “From the cemeteries. Growing them myself takes too much work and it’s too expensive to buy them.”

He nodded. “Thank you. For helping me. How much do I owe you?”

She paused, and for some inexplicable reason she said, “don’t worry about it.”

He nodded again, waved awkwardly, and left.

…

She didn’t end up back at the cemetery until almost two weeks later. The man, whose name she didn’t find out until their second meeting (it was Glen), had taken to visiting her every few days. He was depressed, and she realized, she was too. She had never really known her parents, and realized from a young age that she didn’t care to. As far as she was concerned, her grandparents were her real parents. Her grandma died first, four years ago when Amina was nineteen. She went quickly, in her sleep. Her grandpa followed soon after. He was a shell of a man without his beloved wife. He lasted three months without her, and then made himself foxglove tea. Amina found him in his bed later, cold and stiff.

After that, she dropped out of school. She had started university but after her grandparents died, she had a hard time getting out of bed. She let weeds take over the garden and lost contact with all her friends. One evening, the doorbell rang. She dragged herself out of bed to find a neighbour at the door, one who had frequently sought the services of her grandma. This lady was old and swore that the tinctures made by Amina’s grandmother were the only thing that eased the pain of her arthritic joints. In that moment, Amina decided to take over her grandma’s business. The garden was uninhabitable by this point, every herb and flower choked out by weeds. And so, she began finding the ingredients she needed elsewhere. It started at the cemetery her grandparents were buried in, and then she began exploring the others in the city, making mental note of which ones generally contained what. Other times she’d gather flowers purely for her own joy. They were one of the only reasons she looked forward to the days ahead.

But now, she had another reason. She really enjoyed Glen’s visits. Sometimes they would have tea on the front stoop, and then one day, Glen suggested they clean up the garden. That way she could stop stealing from dead people, he said with a grin.

Still, she missed the calm of the cemetery and being amongst the dead. So almost two weeks after she met the first friend she’d had in a long time, Amina found herself back at the cemetery.

She walked along the rows, picking flowers from errant bouquets. She stopped once more before the simple tombstone with the wildflowers and fairy ring. She still hadn’t figured out what language the writing was in but that didn’t matter anymore, nothing mattered anymore, because sitting on the grass in front of the headstone, eyes closed and lips moving ever so slightly, as if in prayer, was the most beautiful girl Amina had ever seen.

She had sharp features – high cheekbones and a pointed nose. Her skin seemed to glow and she had a mass of fiery red curls. Amina felt a presence behind her and turned to look, but there was no one there. When she looked back, the girl was gone.

All through the rest of the day, she couldn’t get this girl out of her mind. Her mind was foggy and she thought of casual ways she could get her attention, maybe say hi and strike up a conversation. By the time the sun rose, Amina was already fully dressed and ready to return to the cemetery. She would stay there all day, and maybe all night, hoping to catch one more glimpse of the mystery girl.

By the time the sun was at its peak, Amina was beginning to grow impatient. She had paced up and down the rows several times and was now boldly leaning against the fairy ring tombstone. Basking in the unseasonably warm spring heat, Amina felt her eyelids begin to droop, her sleepless night catching up with her. I’m just going to rest my eyes. Just for a minute.

When she awoke, the trees were casting long shadows. She shivered. The grass underneath her felt damp. Did it rain? The air felt electric, almost as it did before a storm. She felt eyes on her. Slowly she looked up and saw her.

Their eyes met and Amina managed to croak out a very weak “hi.” The girl jumped, obviously startled.

“You can see me?” She stared inquisitively at Amina, studying her face. She reached a hand out to stroke Amina’s cheek.

“What’s your name?” asked Amina.

“Eurydice.”

“I think I love you, Eurydice.”

…

They sat at the base of the grave and talked until the full moon hung heavy in the night sky. Eurydice explained all about the glamour she wore and how no mortal had ever been able to see through it. Amina explained all about why she frequented cemeteries, how she felt closer to the dead than the living after losing the only parents she had ever known. After a while they grew weary of talking and laid in each other’s arms, both of them enjoying the warm embrace of another person.

Amina awoke with a smile. “Come home with me?” she whispered to Eurydice, who had spent the whole night studying the planes of Amina’s mortal face.

“I can’t, I have to go back,” she said gently, gesturing to the fairy ring.

Amina nodded. “When will I see you again?” she asked. Already she couldn’t bear to be apart from Eurydice.

“Meet me back here in three days. I have a plan so that you and I can be together always.” Amina didn’t know what kind of plan Eurydice had in mind. They were from different worlds, yes, but Amina didn’t understand why Eurydice couldn’t follow her home where they could spend the days making potions and the nights making love, falling asleep tangled in each other’s arms. Maybe there were some faery rules she didn’t yet understand, but she still thought of Eurydice as human despite her pointed teeth and otherworldly beauty.

“Three days,” Amina said in agreement.

She stood to leave, but before she could say goodbye Eurydice stooped to pick a handful of flowers for Amina. “I know you like crocuses,” Eurydice said.

Amina was stunned, because she hadn’t mentioned this. Something her grandfather used to say popped into her head: “love is knowing the person as well as you know yourself.” Eurydice hadn’t said “I love you” after Amina had, but now she knew she did. Amina watched as Eurydice placed her hands inside the fairy ring and slowly disappeared.

…

When she got home, she found Glen sitting on her porch. His eyes lit up in relief when he saw Amina coming up the sidewalk.

“I was worried about you!” he said. “I thought after our last talk that maybe you…” he trailed off. He was referring to Amina saying sometimes she felt more dead than alive, and he could relate because he often felt the same way. Perhaps that’s why they clicked so much – they had each other to lean on and the days seemed less dark and dreadful when they were together, either drinking tea or rehabilitating the garden.

“I met someone,” she said sheepishly. She couldn’t help blushing as Glen asked her for all the details. She conveniently omitted the part that her newfound love was one of the fae, mostly because she thought it would make her sound insane.

He cut her off abruptly when he heard her stomach growl. “Let’s go inside, I’ll make us something to eat.”

She thought it was sweet that he took care of her, almost like a father, even though he wasn’t too much older than her. He never fully explained why he had come to her house that first night, but Amina could tell he had lost someone close to him. She figured that she had come to fill that void in his heart, and he was filling the void left by her grandparents.

…

Three days later, Amina returned to the cemetery. Eurydice was there already, barefoot and glowing. She was holding a strange looking fruit. “Here, take a bite!” She had a manic look in her eye that made Amina pause.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Just try it!” she insisted.

Shrugging, Amina took a bite. It’s soft, juicy flesh burst with flavour.

“I figured it out! It’s how we can be together forever!”

“What do you mean?” Amina was put off by the urgency in Eurydice’s voice and the fact that she wouldn’t explain anything.  

“Listen, Amina. I can’t leave the fairy ring for long, it makes me ill. Now that you’ve had fae food you can come with me!” She stared expectantly at Amina.

“What do you mean?” Amina repeated.

“You’re like me now,” she said excitedly. “You can come in the ring, we can be together forever! I’ve been so lonely, Amina, you don’t know how fantastic this is for me!”

A month ago, Amina wouldn’t have hesitated. She had had nothing tying her to the mortal realm, but ever since Glen had come into her life, things were different. He was like her, he had nobody else. She felt intense guilt at the thought of abandoning him.

“But I’ll still be able to go home, right?”

“This is your home now,” Eurydice replied.

…

Glen had taken to visiting the cemetery every day since Amina disappeared, hoping to find her walking amongst the tombstones with her basket of flowers. He had also been diligently tending to her garden. He planted all the flowers Amina loved, and some that his daughter had loved. They were so alike in some ways. Losing Amina almost felt like losing his daughter all over again. One day, he too came across the tombstone with the inscription in a mysterious alphabet.

All of a sudden, he felt completely at ease. He did not see Amina standing there, now encased in a glamour of her own, but he thought he could feel her. And he no longer felt so lost.

…

Amina watched Glen walk away, a twinge of sadness piercing her heart. She knew he would continue the garden and find his purpose in that. As for her, she had started her own garden with Eurydice. She had gotten over the initial shock of the new realm and having to stay there forever, but rejoiced in the fact that she had found her true love.

She would figure out a way to go back to her old house and Glen eventually, just to visit, but Eurydice was right. This was her home now.