The Tulip Man

Turkey and Swiss sandwich

Today I woke before the sun, and I made my first delivery of the day to a wedding in Green Hill. Over a dozen Peonies were requested, so I fit the flowers into the bed of my truck and made my way downtown to the acre fields where the ceremony was held. As I made my way in I noticed the wealth of the friends and family of the bride and groom. Silk and expensive dresses with hundred dollar suits and bow ties, a guy like me felt shame to come into the event with jeans and a t-shirt. As simple as I was I pictured myself with the greedy green of money and the snarky smiles, it must be nice in the safety net they live in. With all the money in the world, it lies under you like a pillow to cushion your fall. I imagined what I'd use the money for. Maybe an expansion of the flower shop, buying my daughter a bigger ranch, or maybe even having my mother around to watch my kids grow up with the luck of her treatments. No people like me weren't saved by money because of how easy we were. All we'd ever want it for is to give back or take a little bit more time, but even money couldn't promise the voids and empty desires of a wealthy or poor man. I grew into the shame of imagining a life of anything other than what I had. I wasn't as wealthy as the men who walked by me with the hundred-dollar suits, but I was rich. My wife whom I met when I was twenty-five and having the luck to still live and be with her. I was wealthy to have met my wife one morning at my flower shop. As I went out back to water some of the flowers I heard the bell on the top of the door ring, and through the door came in a woman with dirty blonde long hair in an orange sundress. Her back faced toward me my heart still dropped to the bottom of my shoes. Standing there studying her movement as she looked around my shop I waited till she turned to me, and that was when I fell in love with her. I saw her crystal blue eyes and her rosy cheeks. The sun crept through the windows and kissed her skin, and in a crisp second, it felt like I had been living in that moment with her forever. She took a fresh bouquet of lilies and smiled at me. Something in my heart fell forward into her arms and let the risk of love and all of its unknown take me with her. With not enough pennies to rub together, I became the richest man alive, and if I'd fall into her with no precautions and all the intention in the world, then it'd still beat the safety net that true wealth would give. Through my wife, I gained a daughter. I'd have someone to look over and give all the lessons and advice to, and someone I could love as much as myself. My daughter became the second-best thing in my life after my wife. She grew up to be a funny and respectful young woman. I taught her how to hold herself accountable and be wise and humble. I always told her to never compare herself to others, but never to shame those who aren't as fortunate as her own. I told her stories of her grandma to preserve her life in the memory of my daughter. I taught her the wisdom of god and let her find her own beliefs and wisdom in the words of the lord, so long as it was him she'd listen to. My family is what kept me whole and what kept me rich. In a room of men with suits and ties, I was the richest one in the room. The shame soon became pride. I wore my basic clothes as a symbol of my modesty and strength. There will always be the men in suits and bowties coming home to a nice house in the upscales of town, and then there will always be the men in jeans and a shirt riding in a pickup truck, coming home to a family. Later that night I closed down the shop and as I locked up I noticed the young man was at the monkey bars camped out in his usual spot in the same outfit as before. I make my way to him walking across the street and as he stares down at my shoes he pretends not to see me. From afar I didn't notice his hands and how they would shake. I sit next to him and pull out a sandwich I made myself during lunch. "It's white bread with turkey and Swiss. my wife makes a mean sandwich by I outta start cutting out the gluten pretty soon" I said not looking at him and looking across the street at the flower shop. I noticed from the monkey bars he had a perfect view of the shop. He hadn't reached for the sandwich but the man just stood there looking straight. "there's a spot up just about two blocks down, used to be a good bar called the Flying Fish, but it closed and turned into a shelter with food and water with beds and bathrooms for the public. I outta make my way down there, this place ain't no good for resting your head son". still looking straight the man had stayed silent. As I made my effort to reach out to him I only felt his interest in my concern. As wrong as I felt I fixed my jeans and pulled myself off the monkey bars, maybe it took more than words for me to reach the young man, but maybe there was something more than what I could understand that took him here. As I began to walk off I heard the stutter "Do you have money". I looked back at him and in his eyes, I saw nothing except a war. I wondered to myself what he was battling in his mind and what he was running from. Fires filled with anger lit in his eyes and storms of emotion ran his body.by appearance, I could tell he was sick and unwell, but based on his disconnection and little care for survival I could tell the man could care less about where he rested, but rather what he did before the night ended. " No son I don't have much money these days," I say turning back around and making my way home. I was humble enough to know that the young man shouldn't be judged by me. I didn't know his story but for some reason, it angered me that he didn't care where he was. He had nowhere place better to go, and no else resources to guide him, but yet he still showed no sign of interest in the shelter. I wondered to myself if there were people who helped my dad during times when he had nowhere to go because of his addiction to drugs. My mom would often tell me that my father was out at parks and public areas sleeping somewhere on the street because of his greed and impulsive desires. I thought to myself if maybe someone would have offered to help, would he have made his way back home to his family? did anyone ever really choose to leave their family intentionally and was completely aware of what it all meant? maybe it was the way the young man reminded me of my father, but for some reason turning my back to go home didn't feel so wrong anymore. Maybe it is all a choice, even the times when we sit and think to ourselves how badly we feel when we see the incapable. I started to feel weak-minded and naive to think I could offer the young man anything more than what he could do for himself. Just like me, the young man had a choice, but unlike me, he chose the monkey bars.