Mums

I open my heavy dark oak door, and as I step outside the cool spring breeze wraps around me. I shiver, surprised by the frigid wind, but wrap my arms around myself and continue to the flower stand. 

I’m on my way to buy a bouquet for my friend Ana, who’s been having some trouble with family recently, when my body starts to steadily adjust to the weather. I notice the dark clouds forming above, rain I smile to myself. My favorite weather, sitting inside, covered up to my chin in blankets, drinking warm milk or coffee while reading or watching a movie. Rain has always calmed me down, relaxed me to a point of complete bliss. Whether it was when my family’s cat Lime had run away and I’d spent restless nights tossing and turning in the bunk bed me and my youngest sister Mora shared, or even when I was jittery for the first day of high school, the sound of water hitting the ground continuously had become a deep comfort for me. Ana reminds me of the rain sometimes, she’s one of the most down to earth and truly best people out there. Even when she was going through her parent’s divorce when we were nine and ten, she would take care of me. Always braiding my hair, and helping me if girls were being mean at school, she has the same sense of stillness to her character, a calm nature that can never truly be taught. I honestly envy her sometimes. My restless and eager traits have never been particularly helpful when it comes to dealing with hardships, but Ana has always known what to do to get the best out of a bad situation. She grew to be the older sister I never had, and I strive to be like her for Mora everyday. 

I finally reached the stand, a small cart-like shop with wild flowers decorated all around. Terry Hodges is the owner of this array of arranged plants. I've visited her often in the past to get gifts for my mother and sisters. For birthdays, graduations, apologies and other special occasions when I thought that our home could use another splash of color with an elegant bouquet. 

I look around, not sure of what exactly I’m looking for but knowing that when I find it I’ll know. I’ve never been much of a planner, I have strong gut feelings and have seldom been doubtful of them, which is the philosophy behind my decision for Ana’s flowers. I look around at all the daisies, sunflowers, roses or every color you could think of, and I’m beyond tempted to press them against my nose to inhale all the fresh scent of flowers. My eyes settle on a glowing arrangement of tulips, from crimson red to a bright yellow, the plants seem to represent a sense of life that I want to bring to my dear friend, but it doesn’t feel perfect, so I continue my search. I then found the most magnificent bundle. Chrysanthemums of a vast range of pinks, with small white roses settled neatly between, and long green leafs sticking out evenly. 

This is it, I decide, and converse with Mrs. Hodges over the weather before I’m off again.

Rain droplets begin to tiptoe from the sky, and I pick up my step, not wanting to get soaked. I get to Ana’s, seeing her dark green Volkswagen parked outside, I get an extra sense of security knowing that she’s home.  I knock as a formality, since I’ve been walking in unannounced every other day for the past 17 years. I instantly feel the dense mood of the house overcome me, and I’m suddenly afraid that my flowers will die right there in my hand. I step into the lonely kitchen and find a glass vase from one of the cabinets to hold the bouquet, placing it on the table next to the stack of food that I figure would be as tall as me if it were all piled up in one neat stack.

Ana appears from the door to the living room, where I see that she’s been watching tv and studying. Ana had dreamed of being a lawyer ever since we joined debate together in middle school. I never enjoyed a second of it, but seeing her be so passionate over it banned me from ever quitting the team. I remember her spending hours rehearsing, researching, and coming up with countless defenses for the claims she would be planning to state. That determination was another thing that I admired about her, but something is different now, her messy clothes and hair merely add to her unorganized composure. But I suddenly realize what’s really wrong. I see that passion slowly fading.

I show her the flowers I brought, but as they have little effect on her despair, I offer the one thing I know I’ll be useless with. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I ask her, seeing an almost immediate light prevail through her eyes. At least It’ll help.

She thoroughly explains the situation, most of which I know but she adds details about how these events are making her feel. Back in December, Ana’s oldest brother Reeve passed away in a car accident. He was practically head of their family, forced into providing for them after their parents split, Reeve had been head of their family ever since. With their mother leaving to run off with another family and their father becoming so emotionally torn that he was rarely if ever there to help, absolutely all of the responsibility had fallen to Reeve. I witnessed it completely shatter him, a boy who had once dreamed about becoming a painter-an artist-in foreign cities enjoying his life, and eventually mold him to mature into the shattered remains of who he once aspired to be. He remained gentle, kind, and I could see how much of him was left in Ana. For starters, they looked almost identical. He was four years older, but their curly blond hair and round, elegant, dark eyes made them appear as twins. After he passed, Samuel, the second oldest of Ana’s brothers, tried to abuse the wealth that their parents left behind for them, which had been passed down from generations in their family. They’d always lived comfy lives, but when Sam took this course of action, it felt to Ana as he was pouring salt right into her open wounds. Luckily then she had more spirit, she fought back, and he laid off after coming to an agreement over their shared portion, then disappeared from town. This left Ana alone with two younger siblings: Nicolette and Noah, twins, to take care of. She had to pause her studies for a while, struggling to have time for everything, and eventually she just snapped. 

We moved to the couch, and now I watch tears roll down her weary face, and feel like my throat is lodged, because I’ve lost the ability to speak. Instead, I bundle Ana in my arms, and, when I regain my voice, sing the tune she used to hum to help me fall asleep when we were younger. I feel her drift off to sleep, almost relieved that she’s able to be relaxed enough to do so. 

Not relaxed, exhausted. I correct myself. 

It’s pouring now, I warm some milk for myself and set a mug out for Ana, unsure of when she’ll wake. I sit beside her, both covered in thick, fuzzy blankets that belonged to her mother.

“Christine?” I hear Ana ask drowsily.

“Yes?” I respond, feeling my eyes begin to shut down.

“Thank you for the flowers.” She says, and rolls around back to sleep. I close my eyes, and inevitably feel myself doze off too.