Flower Ch. 02

I closed my eyes, kept taking those long, calm breaths and let my thoughts run through what had happened in just one short day. I forced myself to concentrate on the new and positive things in my life, but could feel threads of niggling doubt twining around it all and a black spike of fear piercing its way through the center. What would happen to me if I was discovered?

I thought about what could possibly happen, realizing that what could happen had already happened hundreds of times before. It didn't make me less scared, but that just wasn't enough for me to stop the plans I had made.

I felt my body relax again as I leaned back and let thoughts about a happier future fill my mind. My mother used to say that as long as there was life, there was hope; and even if I was broken in so many ways, I was still very much alive.

I was woken from my thoughts by a low "wroof" and opened my eyes to an adorably smiling dog, his mouth open and tongue hanging out; he really was a big goof. He treaded closer and pushed his head under my hand again, letting me know it was yet again time for me to pet him. A woman would have had to be made of stone to refuse, so I just laughed and started stroking his fur and scratching his head. There was something about that dog that made you want to pick him up and hug him all day long. After a good while of stroking and talking to him with silly, gooey-wooey words, that's almost what happened as we ended up side by side on the stone bench, his head in my lap and my fingers slowly running through his golden fur. I closed my eyes again and let dog generated calm and happiness spread through my body.

I opened my eyes slowly and stretched my body lazily, wondering what had woken me from my short snooze when the sound of a man calling for his dog gave me the answer. I eased myself up from my stone seat and Alfred jumped down and followed me as I walked towards his home.

Once again I walked through Edward and Alfred's lovely garden, and with my senses still extra sensitive it was even more like walking through a small bit of paradise; the flowers, the colors, the sweet fragrances!

I walked slowly through the garden, letting my fingers caress some of the flowers, breathing in heavily, as if trying to suck the essence of it all into my own being. Once again I could feel my face smiling, a natural, uncomplicated smile, here in this lovely place where no artifice was needed.

Minutes later, when we met Edward as he walked around his house, my smile still lingered and I made no effort to put on my public persona mask. There was something about that day, the garden, the dog and the man which made me feel safe enough to be plain old Rose, if only for a short while.

I greeted Edward with a "Hello, look who found his way into my garden again" and when I was invited in for some tea, I impulsively answered yes. I saw the same surprise in Edwards eyes as was probably in my own; it was in truth a strange day.

* * * * *

The fact that I was now consciously looking out through my window the same time every day, watching for signs of the sad beauty in the next door garden, made me aware of my stalker-like tendencies; but I had convinced myself that I was doing it for the right reasons. Besides, at my age, it was normal to be a busybody, at least if I had been a woman.

I was worriedly scanning her every day for signs of new injuries and on the few days she didn't make an appearance I felt sick in my heart and soul, as my mind started spinning thoughts of her untimely demise. This really couldn't be considered a healthy behavior, I knew that, but since there was nothing else I could do I kept standing there, like an idiot, unable to come up with a plan to save her.

I knew that the anxiety I was feeling was enhanced by my own life experiences, mainly the fact that I had been a witness to and sometimes a victim of violence in my own home environment as I grew up. My father had been an outwardly mild and calm man, who turned into an angry and violent man as soon as he drank too much of the whiskey he loved. My mother had of course been the foremost victim of his violent nature, but once in a while, me or my kid brother would also be given the full attention of his angry hands.

Once I was out of the house, studying to become a doctor, I didn't come back home as often as I should have, and as the years moved on and my father grew older I suspect that the violence became more frequent. My mother died from cancer a few years later, which sent me into a deep spiral of grief, but I still regretted that I didn't help my brother to get away from that house, right there and then. Based on things that happened later on, I suspected that my brother was treated even worse from that day on.

My kid brother, ten years younger than I was, a gentle soul in a tall and strong body; with the beauty of my mother and the strength of my father. I remembered that I tried to protect him, so he wouldn't hear my father yelling or see my mother crying. And then in the end I just left him there, unprotected, as I went off to become the great doctor, the best healer that the modern world could provide.

After my father died, or even before he did, my brother and I grew apart. My brother started a family with a wife and a beautiful son, who I met on a few occasions. I was practicing medicine, saving the world one patient at a time and I didn't have or take time to get to know my closest family.

When I turned 45, I met the love of my life, we married – the invitation I sent to my brother remained unanswered – and started a simple, calm and loving life together. When we found out that we couldn't have children, we were sad for a long time, and I tried reaching out to my brother, thinking that having him and his family close would make up for not having children of our own, but my brother turned all of my attempts away with angry words.

In the end my life was filled with the stressful days of being a doctor and the peaceful evenings and weekends with my wife and the garden that we both loved. I suspect that the flowers become our children, as we pampered and cared for every colorful specimen.

And now I had found another beautiful flower to care for, I thought as my neighbor finally made an appearance, and the pressure around my chest lifted slightly, leaving me free to finally take a deep breath. She was alive, and if my eyes were not mistaken, in good form – with no visible ailments.

With decided steps I walked downstairs calling out for Alfred. I was going to get to know the lovely Rose, and I was going to help her, whether she wanted me to or not!

With the help of a well-chewed sneaker, I sent my furry helper into the garden next door, hoping that the trick that worked so well the last time would bring her back once more. Perhaps if I let Alfred stay with her just a little while longer than before, she might be willing to sit down and chat for a while and perhaps drink a cup of tea?

With giddy but nervous excitement running through my body I forced myself to sit down, wait and think about what I would say to her so she knew I wanted to, no – needed to, help her. It wouldn't be good to tell her I saw her walking every day, but perhaps I could tell her that I had seen her pain the last time we met and that it had made me worry. And the fact that I was a doctor, albeit no longer practicing, should reassure her, shouldn't it?

After deciding on a good enough starting point, I started thinking about my brother again and the time when I hadn't been there for him and later on, when I hadn't been there for his family, when history repeated itself, when the beaten became the beater. I remembered the angry teenage boy who had confronted me at his mother's funeral, telling me the truth about his mother's life spent as a punching ball. I did then for him what I should have done those many years ago for my brother; I made sure my nephew would never have to set foot in the same house as his father ever again. I wish I had done more and much earlier, then perhaps I could have saved my brother as well; as it was he died a few years later, hitting his head in a brawl at the local pub, after drinking the whiskey that his father used to love.

I pulled myself out of my memories, thinking about my nephew, whishing that I had a much closer relationship with him than I currently had. We talked on the phone at least once a week, but we hadn't met in a while, and talking about feelings or other deeper thoughts wasn't something we really did over the phone. Something had to be done about that too, I decided as I stood up and prepared to start calling for Alfred.

"Here boy!" I called, with a short, low laugh at the excitement shooting through my belly. My, this was just as exciting as real fishing with a hook and a line.

I called for Alfred a couple of more times, waited a little while longer and then walked slowly around the corner of the house. I paused when I saw her walking through my garden, stopping to smell one flower here and caressing another flower there, taking her time, enjoying herself, a smile on her face. Alfred was happily following her around, eagerly waiting for her attention to turn back to him, which it did from time to time as she spoke to him in a low voice and brushed her hand across his back.

She finally turned her steps towards me and I walked up to greet her. She smiled her beautiful smile and told me she'd found Alfred in her garden again. Once again I offered her tea and my company, and this time – surprise of all surprises – she accepted my invitation.

I quickly led the way into my house and saw her seated at my kitchen table before I started the short process of making us both some tea.

I kept looking at her out of the corner of my eye and saw her run her eyes over my kitchen, saw her puzzled look when she noticed my wife's collection of female fertility symbols on one small shelf in the corner and saw her lifted eyebrows when she took in the framed paintings of flower upon flower, also curtesy of my dear, departed spouse. The kitchen was filled with all of the things we had collected over the years, that room – the heart of the home – lovingly filled with all of the things we cherished, to make sure – as my wife had put it – that we got to start and end every day surrounded by happy memories. And I cherished those memories even more now, after having spent the past three years without my sweet, beloved Sally.

"My wife and I spent most of our time together here in the kitchen or out in the garden, and as you can probably tell, flowers and gardening was one of her passions" I said and nodded towards the colorful wall Rose had been looking curiously at.

"I can tell," she answered with a crooked smile "both by the paintings and book collection, and by the way your beautiful garden looks... and feels."

I nodded as I poured hot water into the large, black tea pot that I hadn't used since my wife lived. I silently watched as the water covered the tea leaves, realizing that I hadn't thought of my wife this much in a long time. The sadness still lingered but the sharp pain of sorrow had been dulled; it no longer felt like my life had ended when Sally had been taken from me.

I quickly made the table with cups, biscuits and tea and sat down in front of my guest. I poured the tea and nodded towards the wall behind her.

"The wall behind you is covered by some of my memories." I told her and saw her turn around and stare at the collection of old posters, medical literature and, yes, there were some flowers there too. A sixty-year-old picture of my family was carefully placed in the center of my collection, mostly as a reminder of where I came from and the importance of taking care of the people around you. Beside it a picture of an angry teenage boy made sure I would never forget.

"As you can probably tell I used to practice medicine," I told her with a smile when she turned her face back towards me "and though it was hard work, I loved every second of it. When I met my wife she taught me to enjoy other things as well, flowers, gardening... and tea."

She sipped her tea and looked up at me, a true, sincere smile covering her face.

"My mother loved tea as well," she told me, her eyes soft and warm, stuck in memories as I had just been "she used to say it warmed your heart as well as your body. I haven't had a good cup of tea in years and years."

I contemplated the way her lovely face seemed relaxed and that her smile was so entirely different from the last time I had met her. She seemed almost peaceful, and I wondered if I had been wrong in my assumptions about her life. In that instant the loud sound of a chair falling over in the hallway, as Alfred came bouncing in, made her tense up. Her shoulders rose high, her fists tightened, her face grew white and her eyes flashed with fear. No – I hadn't been wrong.

Like a heat-seeking missile, Alfred walked up to her, pushing his head under her right arm, lifting it up and putting his head under her hand, making sure he had her attention. When she felt his warm, soft fur under her hand, the tension seemed to seep away almost instantly and it wasn't long before a hesitant smile covered her face again. It seemed that my dear dog knew just what to do, whilst I still worried about even where to start.

"So, now you know I'm a doctor," I told her, keeping my voice low and calm "and that means that I'm used to seeing all kinds of diseases... and injuries. I don't want to send you off running, but I have to tell you that I could sense that something was wrong when we met the other day. You were hurting, a lot, weren't you?"

She tensed up again, but not as much as before, my words probably buffered by Alfred's efforts at keeping her hands busy, making sure that she kept running her fingers lovingly through his fur. When she looked up at me, it seemed that her eyes were filled with a storm of feelings, fear, anguish and pain and for a short moment I regretted sending her into that pool of misery. I took her quick nod as an acknowledgement, and decided to push on.

"I'm not going to tell you my complete life story but, in short, I watched my mother live through the hell that I think you're living in right now. And I wanted to tell you that I'm here for you, and I want to help you if you'd let me?"

She stood up and looked at me, tears in her eyes. She shook her head and started walking out of the kitchen and for every step she took away from me I felt hope slipping away. I looked at her, desperately searching for something to say that could possibly make her stay, but drawing up blank. Before I could call her name she turned around and looked at me, tears streaming down her face.

"Right now... I can't..." she whispered "such a strange day... thank you!"

I watched her walk out my door, her words enough to yet again fill me with hope. It was a weak and trembling sort of hope, but enough to keep my mind busy once again, trying to come up with plans to help her, to save her – before it was too late.