The Boy Who Made Flowers Sing

9 | Isla de Flos

The ferry ride was a pleasant experience. The spray of the warm Caribbean waters and the smell of flowers and salt penetrated the air. The island came into view and Elena's jaw dropped in astonishment. It was bigger than she expected and covered in greenery. The fog that surrounded it made it seem mysterious, but as the ferry got closer and the fog cleared, Elena could make out hills and the peak of a volcano. She saw so many shades of every colour on the island. How could so many hues exist in one place at once? 

She looked down at the glistening, foaming water and heard Anna's giggles over the roaring motor of the boat. The white ferry pulled up to the port and the passengers climbed out onto a deck. Elena looked back across the sea and saw nothing in sight. The fog had blurred even the little peak of Cartagena in the daytime. She wondered how ominous it must look at night. If this wasn't a tourist site, she would have felt stranded.

"Here we are, dad," She whispered to herself. "We made it."

The island looked like a small town minus the cars. There were little huts that made up the resting places and restaurants. There were lights strung up everywhere making it look like a festival. Dancers and magicians also occupied the island with their talent. It was quieter than the Old City of Cartagena, but still busy enough to pass as a small town. She observed the towering volcano and hills covered with foliage and trees. Seagulls circled the beach scavenging for bits of food. Elena walked along the shore of the beach and watched the children playing. Later, she lay on the sand and watched the clouds change shape. 

The sun was on the horizon and the sky had turned a baby pink. The sun would be setting soon. The surfers started retreating to the beach. She was sitting beside an older woman in a hut who had traveled with her here on the ferry. She was also traveling solo. The woman had been staring at her for some time. Elena glanced at her a couple of times, but the lady didn't say a word.

"So, where are you coming from?" The woman finally asked her, her voice cutting through the silence.

Elena snapped out of her thoughts and replied. "Canada. And you?"

"I'm from Australia," The woman replied. "Are you here alone?"

"Yes," Elena answered.

She hoped the woman wouldn't ask why.

Why did everyone keep asking her that? Elena thought.

She was slightly annoyed that someone had interrupted her peace. She showed the woman she had no interest in continuing the conversation by concentrating on her drink. The woman continued to stare at her which was freaking her out. Elena finally looked up and frowned.

"I'm sorry," The woman turned red. "You look so much like my niece."

The breeze blew through the woman's short-cropped blonde hair and she smiled. Elena felt bad for being annoyed.

"That's alright," Elena said.

The woman looked away a bit embarrassed and pursed her lips.

"Where is she?" Elena spoke up, trying to make her feel at ease.

The woman was delighted with this question.

"She works for a charity and travels lots. I usually don't know where she is."

The woman looked a bit sad when she said this.

"Her name is Denise. Her mother - my sister - passed away a year ago and now I look after her."

"I'm so sorry," Elena didn't know what else to say.

"Thank you," The woman said kindly.

The woman smiled at her bashfully. Elena didn't know how to continue the conversation from here.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to ruin your vacation like that. Sometimes I say too much," The woman chuckled.

Elena smiled at her and looked at the woman's blue eyes as they looked down towards the sand. It seemed like this woman was in a lot of pain because her eyes communicated that.  She probably felt the need to tell somebody.

"I lost my father to cancer," Elena said, trying to cut through the awkward silence.

The lady gave her an apologetic smile.

"It is hard," The woman began again as she gazed towards the sea.

The breeze pulled at her silky red scarf loosely tied around her neck. "You can't keep the pain in anymore sometimes. It'll come out in harsh ways if you don't tell somebody."

Elena slowly nodded but didn't agree with her. "I guess I like keeping things to myself."

"It's easier if you tell a stranger though," The woman said as she smiled, sipping on her lemonade. "That's probably why I told you."

The woman chuckled again a bit louder this time.

"What do you do about the pain?" Elena asked, suddenly interested in the woman.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She unwrapped her fingers around the drink and clasped them instead. "Well, in the beginning, I became an alcoholic. I'm not proud of it, but I was able to quit. I haven't touched a bottle in six months."

Elena listened intently. She was surprised at the woman's frankness but appreciated her honesty.

The woman continued and spoke with passion. "I'm a painter, so I began a huge project. I've painted all of my memories of me with my sister that I can remember. Every colour in my paintings represents a feeling or a combination of them. I have most of our memories depicted on canvases and they hang on various walls in my home. It's how I keep her alive. Once I began, I resolved I wouldn't take another sip of alcohol again. It was because I was projecting my energy into something that made me forget about it. I loved it, but it wasn't easy at all."

The woman shook her head and brushed her blonde bangs out of her face. "In the beginning, it felt impossible. I kept making empty promises to myself so I joined Alcoholics Anonymous. As I immersed myself in my paintings, I lost my appetite for alcohol over time. I was drinking it because I wanted to forget my sister. But, my paintings made me realize I wanted to remember her. And she was all over my walls. Instead of it making me sad, it made me quite happy. After a while, I even loathed the smell of any alcoholic drink. Mind you, this took a whole committed year."

"That's amazing," Elena was intrigued.

"The point is," The woman continued. "You've got to find something to express your feelings in. And instead of trying to forget, you need to remember the good times. If you try to force yourself to forget, the memories come back and haunt you. But, if you keep your father alive, you come to terms with it."

Elena nodded her head. The woman had a nice perspective on things. But, how could she remember the good times when it hurt so bad? No one was going to save her at the end of the day. It was all up to her. Elena didn't know how she would dig up the fresh past and she was no painter. She needed to find something that could help her without hurting her.

It was dark now and the stars gleamed above. The woman and Elena sat on high chairs sipping on their drinks and sharing each other's pain. They didn't even ask each other's names. They sat in silence as Elena pondered her words and was grateful for the silence. All they could hear were the waves.

The woman soon bid her goodbye, stepping off the chair and walking towards her tent. Elena sat under the moonlight pondering the woman's words some more and listened to the waves hitting the shore as she looked out into the fog back at a mysterious Cartagena.