Her First Orchid

Her First Orchid

Tucker Bradley Sloan

-This short story contains some substance abuse material, and mature themes.

           Sally was shopping and spending more money than she should have for her husband’s upcoming birthday. 2010 was going to be a good year for the couple. Her eyes hit an orchid, and she said, “Come to my house. Come to my house to die.” Four months later- she still had that orchid. It had turned into an ugly little thing. All brown and blotchy with damp peat moss that smelled like fertilizer. One might say, “What’s the point in keeping it?” But, to her, it was special. It was the first orchid she had ever bought, and when she bought it, it only had one bloom. White with purple trim were its flowers. In its full glory it had a mere three blossoms.

           Matthew wore a navy pinstriped suit. It was hideous. He had married Sally, an older woman a little more than twice his age, because it made him feel special. Wanted. Needed even. He worried for Sally as her seasonal depression grew during their first October together. So, he asked her, “Why do you sleep all day?”

           “Because I’ve probably smoked forty-thousand cigarettes, so I know I’m gonna die young, and sad, and wrinkled like I’m eighty! And I’m tired. So tired. And my arms hurt so bad- they feel like they’re dying because of the cold. Now, if you can’t understand that, then go straight to hell!” The forty-year-old snapped back.

Sally flew off the handle regularly during the gloomy months of the year, but Matthew did not know this. She did not have many friends. Hardly a soul would come to visit her, but she liked it that way. Every time someone would draw close to her- she would push them away and tell them off. This time was different, though. This was her husband. She screamed at Matthew in a way that made her feel bad, but she would not apologize. She never apologized for her actions. Her mother once told her, “Don’t ever apologize for anything. You must do what you must do to survive. Just survive, little one. Just survive.”

           Matthew was a newlywed at the age of eighteen. He had asked a simple question. This was the first time Sally had ever snapped at him. He then thought to say, GOOD RIDDANCE, but he said, “Goodbye,” instead. Then Matthew left and slammed the door right behind him. Off to work he went on foot, but on his way, he had tears running down his sad face. Poor Matthew. Poor guy. He then felt an intense feeling of loneliness that he had never felt before. Does anyone love me? Does anyone even like me? Matthew had no family. Everyone who was in his life had died on 9/11. Years later he met Sally. His trauma caused him to be extremely sensitive and he was always on edge. He walked to work quite quickly, and it began to snow.

           Sally was the only one left in Matthew’s life, and she had snapped at him. His fellow employees didn’t care for him, and that made him incredibly sad, too. His work life was dull and boring. He hated being a publisher, but he was doomed to be a publisher until his last day on earth. Sad, but true. He wanted to do his own creative writing, because that was one thing that made him happy.

           Sally woke up from a nap. Her nightmares had been so intense that it took her an hour to recover from them. Usually, she didn’t dream at all, but the previous night had been different. She became restless, so she went outside to get some air. “Is that smoke I smell?” She asked herself. “Yes, that’s smoke!” It was blowing in from a few blocks away. She thought of Matthew. She had an oppressive sense that something was wrong, and she was right.

           Matthew had taken a lunch break when he saw the crash from a picnic table outside of his office. The vision of a woman in turmoil flashed before his eyes. The office was a short distance from his house. Just a couple of blocks away. Someone had sped their car into a light post, and the car soon caught on fire. Matthew could see it, so he was on his way. Screw work. He could catch up another day. Was this an accident, or was it on purpose, he thought. Whatever the reason for the crash was, he knew the driver needed help.

           Pearl had been drinking on the day she crashed her car. Whiskey and Diet Cokes were her favorite. She had three tall drinks, and her blood alcohol level was 0.23. The bartender, a good friend of hers, always made her drinks strong.

           “Please,” she said, “Please make the drinks strong.” He did as asked, but he was not aware she would be driving home.

Just before she took her last sip, she had a vision of a man crying, and screaming in her face, and she smelled a faint smell of smoke.

Pearl had seasonal depression just like Sally. She rarely got out of the house, but today was different. She was going to drive over to her mother’s house for a visit, and nothing was going to stop her. Nothing.

           The smoke was coming from several blocks away, so Sally decided to investigate. What could this be? Sally wondered. What could this be? As she walked towards the smoke source, her eyes began to sting. Once she arrived at the source, she saw poor Matthew struggling to rescue Pearl from her car- a silver BMW. Matthew’s sleeve had caught fire, and Pearl looked like she was asleep. Sally screamed at Matthew to get away from the car, but he continued to struggle with Pearl- who had already died from smoke inhalation. Pearl’s hair caught fire, and her body was getting burnt as cowardly spectators stood around taking pictures and videos of the incident. Sally rushed in to save Matthew.

           “Hold on!” Matthew screamed at dead Pearl. “I am not going to leave you!” Then Sally ripped off her red coat and threw it over Matthew to put out the fire that was burning his skin.

           “She’s gone!” Sally screamed at Matthew. “I love you, so step away!” Matthew was not able to save Pearl that day. That horrible day. So, he stepped away with Sally just in time for the car to explode. It went up in flames, and Matthew broke down in tears for the second time that day.

           “My arm!” Matthew cried. “Oh, my arm!” But he was crying even more for Pearl. Before she caught fire, Matthew thought she had a beautiful face. A face that was so familiar to him. But from what? Where?

           “I know it hurts, my love. I know. You did your best, love. You did your best!” exclaimed Sally as she put pressure on his wounds and cried. “I’m here. I’m here for you.” She whispered as the paramedics arrived.

           After the incident, Matthew slept for two days in the hospital, then Sally took him home. Her orchid had died, but she continued to water it in hopes that it would come back to her.

           Matthew had lived, and Pearl had died, and all Sally could think about was her orchid. She knew that it would die someday, but she was not yet ready to let it go. No, she was not ready.

           As Matthew convalesced, Pearl entered his mind. It was as if she was talking to him. “Come back. Come back and save me.” He heard. So, Matthew took his first walk since the accident, and Sally joined him. On the way, they picked flowers that did not belong to them, but, obviously, they did not care. They laid them by the broken light post where Pearl had died, and she whispered to Matthew in his ear from the beyond, “Thank you. Thanks for trying to save me.” Matthew wept. Then, he and Sally, slowly headed back home together.