My Flower

Chapter 8 - Tape of Ghosts

~ ~ ~ 1999

The chipped cherry-red paint of Blossom's fingernails was starting to look worse for wear, but she couldn't bring herself to fix them. They were a testament to the last time she'd felt even remotely like herself – the day she and Hunter had made the bet. A ridiculous, slightly reckless bet that involved her, a self-declared cynic, going on a real date, a romantic date, with Hunter, of all people.

The clock on her purple lava lamp read 6:13 PM, and butterflies, sharp and frantic, were performing a mosh pit in her stomach. The date was supposed to start at 7:00. It was almost time. She was supposed to be excited. Hunter was...well, Hunter was Hunter. He was her best friend, the goofy, overly-optimistic counterpoint to her own brand of simmering sarcasm. She'd known him since they were in kindergarten, building forts in her backyard and riding their bikes until their knees were scraped raw. He was the one who had seen her through everything, including...him.

A shudder ran through her, cold despite the sunny September forecast, clinging to her skin like a damp t-shirt. Jamison. His name was a ghost, a low hum vibrating beneath the surface of her conscious thoughts. She tried to push the memory back into its locked box, the one she hoped time and sheer stubbornness would eventually bury, but it was no use. The image of his smirk, the way he'd used to touch her elbow like it was an electric current, flashed behind her eyelids.

It had started out like every other painfully perfect teenage romance. The late-night phone calls, the shared mixtapes, trying so desperately to make their long distance relationship work despite living in 2 different countries. But it hadn't ended that way.

There was screaming, accusations, tear-stained letters tossed in the trash, and a gaping wound where her heart used to be. The wound had scabbed over, sure, but it still felt tender, fragile. It was a wound that kept her from believing in anything remotely resembling "love," and that's why she'd taken Hunter's bet. She had to prove she was right, not just to him, but to herself.

A muffled giggle from downstairs filtered through the floorboards, bringing her back to the present. Her younger sister, Elena, and her mom were probably making bets of their own about how long she'd last before she bailed on Hunter. She rolled her eyes, pulling a dark purple tank top down further and smoothing out the wrinkles in her cargo pants. It was a very casual, very un-date-like outfit she'd agonized over for an hour. She was trying to send a message that she was still herself. That she couldn't be broken with a stupid date.

She picked up the hairbrush, running it through her unruly blonde locks. She caught her reflection in the mirror, the one she tried to avoid these last few months. Her face looked tired, her eyes a little haunted. The optimism she used to wear so effortlessly had been exchanged for a layer of cynicism that clung to her.

A soft tap at her door broke through her brooding. "Blossom? You still alive in zhere, or did zhe aliens finally get you?" It was her dad, his deep german voice laced with a playful humor he used to try and lighten the mood.

"Very funny, Dad," she mumbled, opening the door. He leaned against the frame, his usual smile in place. "You look nice. Zhose pants, are zhose, vhat, cargo pants?"

"Yeah, Dad, they're cargo pants. Very '98," she retorted, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Right, '98, you kids and your ffashion trends." He chuckled, then his expression softened. "Look, I know zhis is probably a weird zhing vith Hunter and all, but you okay, kiddo?"

Blossom paused, looking at him. She had always been close to her dad. He understood her in a way no one else did, especially after what happened with Jamison. She shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just a silly bet."

"Sure," her dad said, his face showing that he didn't quite believe her. "Vell, you know ef you, need anything, call us."

"Thanks, Dad," she said quietly. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked over to her desk and picked up her Walkman. She took one of her favorite bands, Nirvana, off of her nightstand and put in the cassette. She pressed play. Kurt Cobain's voice filled the room, his raw angst a strange comfort.

When she went downstairs, her family was waiting for her. Elena, still hopeful and optimistic about love being she was a victim of the sick tragedy herself, was practically bursting with glee. "So where is Hunter taking you?" she asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

Blossom gave simple shrug "Dunno, I told him to surprise me." He could take her to the moon for all she cared. Nothing was going to change her mind and in the end, she'd get that coca-cola jacket.

Their mom, who was stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce, didn't miss a beat. "Honey, I hope he at least takes you somewhere that serves food. You need to eat something more than Cheez-Its." She laughed, wiping her hands on her apron.

Blossom rolled her eyes, but a warmth bloomed in her chest from their gentle teasing. It was nice to feel their love surrounding her, a shield against the nervous energy buzzing beneath her skin.

A knock echoed through the house, making her jump. Her heart did a frantic flip, almost dislodging the Nirvana cassette from the Walkman. "That's him," her sister announced, and before she could protest, reached over to open the front door.

Hunter stood there, a goofy grin plastered on his face. He'd traded his usual band t-shirt for a slightly nicer button-down, which, Blossom had to admit, was kind of cute. "Hey, Blossom, you ready to do this?" he asked, his eyes shining with an uncontainable excitement that was almost contagious.

   In his hands he held out to her a bouquet of flowers, a regular exchange the had done since they were children, Blossom loved plants and had many decorating her room. Flowers, she dried and hung them on her wall, she loved to collect new types, so Hunter always tried to bring her different ones.

   She thanked him but then handed them over to Elena, asking her if she could hang them up to dry for her while she was gone. Her sister begrudgingly agreed and walked away, shooting Hunter a quick wink.

Blossom took a deep breath, trying to steady the erratic rhythm of her heart and shoved the Walkman into her back pocket. "Ok I'm good now. Yeah, let's go."

As she followed Hunter out the door, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting inside her. The butterflies were still there, frantic as ever, but mixed with something else, something that almost felt like...hope. A cautious, tentative kind of hope that she was almost, but not entirely, sure she didn't want to kick to the curb. The tape of ghosts, for today at least, needed to be turned down. This was her date. And she, despite her best efforts, was a little excited for it.