Feb 1, a year earlier
The chime of the bell alerted Harry of a visitor, prompting him to spare a glance and shift his focus from the Lavender Bouquet he’s preparing. Its odor was enough to wake ‘Tom’, the street’s lazy orange cat and stand at the front of the shop inspecting the source of the smell, delicately detecting it with his nose.
The foreign tourist moved around admiring all the displayed plants from orchids to sunflowers, Jasmines and cactus, gypsophilia in all their mighty colors standing tall and proud itching for a bride to hold them. Small pots of Rubber fig, Snake plant and Succulent lay side by side near the sun in an order almost fit for a theater play, he placed them this way on purpose to give them love from the yellow shiny star and the buyers who are only ever interested in flowers.
He finished wrapping up the Bouquet with a pink bowtie and admired his work for a minute before snapping a picture of it with his polaroid camera and hanging it on the wall next to the other beauties.
The tourist got distracted with ‘Tom’ and their child who threw a rampage upon seeing the floof ball, eventually they both left as the cat strolled toward Harry rubbing up against his leg, sniffing the oh wonderful smell of Lavender he caught earlier.
“It’s okay maybe they’ve had a bad experience with cats.” He told the cute pet who seemed to not care as he yawned and stretched his paws before sliding in an empty pot to resume his nap.
Harry puckered his lips feeling like an idiot for conversing with a cat. Who spends their birthday selling flowers and comforting an animal. Is that miserable? It has to be the dream life in someone’s world. What are Birthdays for anyway? He thought as he swept the floor from the fallen leaves and petals.
He ages everyday and every hour, with the marks of adulthood lingering around every corner, whether it be the loneliness he experiences or watching little kids pick flowers for each other as he gets hit by a whiff of nostalgia.
Every waking day is a reminder that he’s not the little boy from Holmes Chapel anymore, he can’t for the love of god remember his hometown. It resides somewhere in his mind deep down, perhaps he can recall its plants, that would be much easier.
He never realized how far and lost he was in the adult world until he remembered his old life, mundane hobbies he maintained that were his entire focus. Now he wouldn’t even recall doing them.
His memory drifts away to his 10th birthday, his mom organized a small party in their apartment, where he only invited 3 friends (more like his only friends). That day is his favorite memory, the taste of the chocolate vanilla cake on his tongue as he goofed and danced around, then chased his friends with the Spiderman toy his mom got him.
Funny how things change he thought, he can go out now and buy himself that very same toy but he won’t get his 10th birthday back. He envies people who wait excitedly for their birthday and plan the entire day feeling joyous about saying goodbye to another year of their life.
He isn’t pessimistic really, not at all, he just finds it hard sometimes to delight in the same things as ordinary people.
Tom began snoring in the pot and Harry rubbed his head before watering the thirsty plants. The sun today is stretching along the coast with bluebirds roaming around town, announcing a wake-up call to all living things to witness this glorious day.
At least he loves the fact that his Birthday is a gift from nature, there’s this breeze that feels like summer and spring had an affair, it penetrates his nostrils combined with the fresh odor of flowers that he picks himself every other week. A gentle embrace of the sun is always present and he can’t help but stand at the front of his shop and bask his face in it.
