Gold and Brown and Golden Brown

Esme was a simple woman. She kept to herself and didn’t care much for the drama that came with city life. As a youth, she’d been so enraptured by the tall skyscrapers and fancy cinemas, but now? Now she preferred to enjoy the simpler things in life.

She awoke at eight in the morning to the sound of her alarm clock. Perhaps it was old fashioned to still have one to smack her hand down on as opposed to a sleek new digital version, but Esme liked to stick with what she knew. She knew the way the smooth metal felt as she searched with a wandering hand for the button seated between two cold bells. Her hand lingered there with the silence in the moments after the noise, before her eyes opened to look over to her bedside table; to the clock face staring back at her. If that thing doesn’t shut the hell up, I’m going to bury it in the garden, Esme. Just watch me. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. The little things never failed to remind her of Matthew. He was a firecracker - it was one of the many, many reasons why she loved him.

Rolling out of the bed after a moment more, Esme picked up her round-rimmed glasses and slipped them on. The pinch at the bridge of her nose was familiar and she relished in it. With a sigh - not sad, but resolute - she stood and began to hobble towards her closet. Old brown eyes searched through clothes as wrinkled hands moved along each piece of fabric. For a moment, her fingers stopped on a dress, well-worn with love and use. Matthew always said it was his favorite on her. Purple is your best color, darling. Always has been, always will be. He certainly knew what to say to make her blush. Moving past that memory - she’d long since grown out of it - Esme settled for a simple thin sweater, not purple, but tan. Paired with some blue bleach-stained jeans and she was ready to start her day.

The old wood of the floor creaked under her boot-covered feet. She knew exactly where to step to avoid the groan of the oak, but it didn’t matter as much now. The only being she could possibly bother with her movements was her old tabby cat Vivienne, whom she scratched behind the ears affectionately. Vivi simply yawned and stretched out against the worn leather of the couch, offering up an appreciative purr before dozing back off. Esme decided that she’d give the little feline more time to rest - why should she disturb someone else’s sleep just because she liked getting up early?

Half expecting the sound of a screaming kettle to reach her ears, she then padded into the kitchen and put some tea on alone. Matt preferred coffee, but he always made sure to steep her tea. He’d tease her and her herbal remedies, but no one made a good cup of chamomile like he had. He was silly like that - a walking contradiction. Saying something brash, but doing the sweetest things a girl could ask for. Esme could still remember his grin, bright and cheeky, right before he’d given her ten packets of violet seeds on her thirty-first birthday. He was evidently proud of himself since she’d been wanting to add violets to her ever-growing garden for god knows how long. Told you I’d find ‘em! You didn’t believe me, but I was right. Admit it, I was right!

“You were right,” Esme murmured, staring at nothing in particular.

Vivienne looked up as though she’d been spoken to. Who else would Esme be talking to? In return, Esme only shrugged at her cat as if to say ‘Can you blame me?’ before pouring herself a steaming spot of tea in her favorite faded pink cup. The one with the dancing bears on the sides. It made her smile.

After a moment more spent sipping quietly, she made her way towards the back door of the house, pulling it open with a resounding creak. A blast of fresh morning air hit her and she took in a deep breath, staring out across her garden. It was still wet with dew, glistening in the light of a new day. Her boots crunched across the earth as she walked, picking up her basket and gloves on the way towards the left sector of her garden. Matthew, in all of his untamed glory, seemed to think that dividing their garden up into pieces and plots was a needless feat. Why not put the peonies with the peppers? Maybe they’ll become friends, you never know. His jokes never failed to make Esme laugh, even so many years later. With a faint nostalgic smile on her lips, Esme got on her knees and bent over her squash with a little hum.

They looked like they were doing well, albeit a bit slow growing. Squash were finicky things - one could never tell if they’d shoot up or if they’d lay dormant until they felt like cooperating. Thankfully her tomatoes were doing rather well, all shiny and red just the way she liked them. They made great sandwiches. A little bit of fresh meat from the market, lettuce, tomato, cheese, rye bread, avocado spread? Heaven in a bite. Her mouth watered. She needed to remember to feed herself as well as she did her cat.

Picking a few of the best ones, she set them in her wicker basket before moving on. Next was the corn, which she had to stand up for. Her height didn’t even reach the top of the tallest stalk. She’d always been small, petite, even in her youth. Now hunched with age and wisdom, it was much the same. Reaching for a few ears, she placed those in her basket as well, wrinkling her nose momentarily. She’d never been a big fan of corn - it got in between her teeth and seemingly never left. Corn was much more Matthew’s speed. His hair was once almost as yellow as the corn itself, like blonde sunshine. Her own hair had been a simple mousy brown. He made her like it. Esme, brown is the color of life. It’s the color of the earth, of tree trunks, of coffee. You’re my life - my beautiful brown-haired brown-eyed girl. Don’t you ever forget that. It was the greatest compliment she’d ever received and brown had never been the same to her since.

Blinking from her reverie, she felt a little bit of that bothersome morning dew gathering in the corners of her eyes. Wiping it away, Esme gave a wistful smile to the dirt and then shook her head.

Onto the right sector. The flowers. Her favorite things to grow. Call her stereotypical, oldfashioned, whatever else, but flowers never failed to brighten her day. She had her preferences, but honestly? Any kind of sweetly scented flora gave her great happiness. It was no wonder Matthew had done a better job of keeping the food side of their garden up. There was still more over there she had yet to look at, but if anything, she dwelled on the flowers the most. How could she not? The bursts of color lit up her field of vision and her world in the process. Leaning over her forget-me-nots, she ran her hands across the soft petals as delicately as she possibly could. Blue. Baby blue, small, by the dozen. Great for bouquets when they were in season.

Briefly, she glanced out towards the rising sun, mimicking the sunflowers up ahead. Matthew usually stood right beside her with one broad arm around her shoulders, hugging her close against his side. The sun’s rays nearly felt like his body heat. Esme let her eyes slip closed. It was just the two of them, then. Just him and her and the earth around them. Just gold and brown and golden brown.