Paris Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems.
In the summer after his sophom...
André follows my lead as I stumble outside, my hands heavy with a wooden crate full of flowers. A cool rush of sea breeze blows through us, and I'm glad we waited until the afternoon to plant. I stoop down onto the grass, setting the wooden crate between me and André. All sorts of flowers grow in Neo's lush garden. Burgeoning pastel tulips, pale blue forget-me-nots, bright red roses, and soft violet pansies. They all look beautiful, but nothing compares to the pink carnations we're about to plant.
My mom adored pink carnations because they meant something to her. The intricate fuchsia petals reflected her deep love for me. When I look at them, I still recall my mom and her ability to heal any wound. Whether the pain was physical or mental, she could remedy it. I'll never be able to experience her affection again, but that doesn't mean my wounds can't heal.
Before I leave Neo, I want to plant a symbol of my time here. To me, pink carnations symbolize more than a mother's love. They symbolize love's many forms. The love of friendship I share with Sabina and André. The love of family I share with Nessie and my dad. The love of romance I share with Gray. Most importantly, the love and self-respect I finally have for myself. And, yes, the love I'll always have for my mom, even if she isn't here anymore.
Without love, I wouldn't be here today. That's a symbol to celebrate.
André digs out small holes in the dirt for me to plant the pink carnations, and we fall into a steady rhythm. There's a notable silence between us as I struggle to find the words for what I'm about to say. I focus on the setting sun, noting the various trails of red, orange, and yellow melding together to paint a watercolor sky. Yet the pleasant view fails to calm me down, and André senses my despondency.
"Just say it," André says, his voice surprisingly calm.
"Say what?" I ask innocently, even though I think he knows.
"Dr. Cole cleared you to leave Neo, didn't she?"
For a moment, I stare into André's shimmering blue eyes. His unrelenting gaze soothes me, and I assure myself that he'll understand. After all, he's my friend.
"Yeah. She said I've reacted positively to my antidepressant and showed immense progress since coming to Neo. Calling my dad was the icing on the cake."
"So why don't you sound happier? This is what you want, isn't it?"
"Of course!" I exclaim, "I'm just worried about..."
"...me? Paris, I'll be fine. Ask Dr. Cole. She's pleasantly surprised with how seriously I'm taking my recovery. Besides, I wouldn't let you hold yourself back for me."
"Promise me you're telling the truth. You're not just saying this to make me feel better," I communicate sternly, peering my dark eyes into André's.
"I promise."
Despite the dirt on our hands, André and I share a long hug, silently memorizing what it feels like to hold each other.
After we pull apart, André talks about his latest therapy session with Dr. Cole, his parents upcoming visit, and his itinerary for the Arizona trip. He plans to tell Sabina upon leaving Neo, which, according to Dr. Cole, won't be for a few more weeks. Although, André doesn't seem upset about it. Instead, he actually seems hopeful. Perhaps he'll be just fine on his own.
***
By the time we finish planting the pink carnations it's past sundown. The night sky is a rich indigo, complimented by dozens of gleaming gold stars. I'm proud of our vibrant addition to Neo's expansive garden, and I'm certain that the pink carnations will only continue to grow and blossom, much like me.
As André and I return inside, an icy gust of wind sends chills down my spine. For a split second, the familiar scent of citrusy-sweet primrose perfume tickles my nose, but it dissipates before I have a chance to take another whiff. Without hesitation, I turn around and gaze out at the garden, almost expecting to see her, a radiant ghostly vision floating above the pink carnations.
"Paris, are you coming?" André questions, reaching out to grasp my hand. I follow his lead, returning to the dimly lit sitting room. There's a few people on the couch watching a movie. André and I accompany them, halfheartedly paying attention.
Every so often, I turn to gaze out the window overlooking the garden. When I turned around earlier, she wasn't there. She never was, but she'll always be in my heart.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
