BRIGHT ;; troyler

I

I wish my story started with a stupid and cheesy teenage cliché, but it did not. I still don't know if it's a good or bad thing.  Probably a bit of both.

I could be the bad guy in the football team falling for the geek girl, or the eccentric hipster falling over the popular boy. I could have lost my parents and have a thousands of problems, be the mute guy everyone hates except my apparently soulmate, I could be working at the flower shop next door, with Mrs Allen, and maybe have feelings for this cute boy in the tattoo department of the street. Apparently universes like these work well and are full of romance and moments were you can awe since it's really, really cheesy.

If I had to choose between these options, I would go for the flowers. I love nature and I have a big thing for cacti. I would feed plants everyday, meet happy people who offer gifts to someone else or themselves. I already know the rules for roses, like did you know that the yellow ones can have a double meaning? If it's from a friend, it means friendship, but from a lover... I cheated or made a mistake.

It's so interesting the significance of things, colours, numbers and other little details of a bouquet can change the result of everything. But I'm still in love with cacti, because they're cute but still attack if you take them in your hand too fast. Kind of reminds me of someone, to be honest... And to go with that passion about plants, the old lady who works there, Mrs Allen, is the nicest person in the world. When I was younger, I used to go there to steal some of her cookies, the ones she bakes every once in a while. She was okay with it and she knew it was me, because I would always eat them while wandering in her shop happily looking at the bouquets she had previously prepared.

Instead, I work in a funeral home. Don't take me wrong, I love the job. I got it from my father, since it's a bit of a family business. My grandad created the place with my grandma, my dad followed, and I'm going to follow too. Father to son, as stupid as it sounds. What I have to do there is not the worst ever; I have to fill a lot (and by a lot, I mean a shit ton) of papers. I have really full hours and full days while I can spend a few weeks not having one client.

Pretty sad to say it, but it depends on the season. Did you know that there's a pic of death in winter and summer? Because of the weather, of course. In winter it's cold as heck, so people die, in summer it's hot as hell, so old people die. Raw way to explain this, sorry. But anyway, to say it, in autumn and spring it's chill, and I have more time on my own, more time to sleep, and if it's not a good definition of a nice job, I don't know what is.

I worked for my father since my 16th birthday. Before that, he took years and years to teach me stuff; how to cheer people up, how to fill the papers, what is aesthetic for a grave, what kind of accessories I have to buy, how to pick nice flowers to go with everything, science of the human body and more specifics for the deads ones. Everything you can learn as a funeral worker, my dad taught me or is planning to do it.

It's not that bad, trust me. It looks a bit morbid but I like it. I have time for my things, browsing on the Internet, doing my homework, but also keeps me awake and occupy me after school  and the Saturdays. Plus my dad is proud that I'm following his steps, and the steps of his dad too, so that's a win-win.

I looked over at my sad sandwich. It's a sad one because I forgot to put any sauce in it and it makes the meal disappointing. The tomato in it feels alone, plus the mozzarella cheese... I'm not even going to talk about it. I fight with myself to know if I should go out, cross the street and buy some mayonnaise or pesto from Mrs. Brie, but again, it would mean that I have to cross the street.

No one ain't got time for that.

And no envy.

I just have to wait my dad, when he comes back maybe I can ask him to buy me something for my poor and disgusting sandwich. After all, he's my dad, so it's his obligation to love me and buy my things. And I will act like a selfish princess if I want to, whining until things go my way.

I heard the doorbell of the shop ringing, so I went to the front. Unfortunately, or more fortunately, it wasn't a client, but my dad in his blue polo that made him look a lot like, well, a dad. The definition of a father, stupid clothes, big smile saying I'm proud and happy. Too bad he never goes fishing, he would be a stereotype if he did.

"Hey. I thought you were a client." I said, smiling at him. "I'm not already dead, am I?" He laughed, taking his jacket off. "Not sure, you do look like it!" I answered, turning his own joke against him. He laughed a bit and came next to me, opening his arms to a hug. I took him for an embrace.

We do that a lot. Our family touch whenever they can. Human contact is really important for us because all of my siblings and I grew up with thousands of kisses and handshakes from my dad and my mom. It's a part of our legacy, every Oakley is touchy as hell, don't ask me why, I think we're all born with that.

"I saw Mrs Allen, she's doing fine! Season is a bit hard for her right now, but since winter is coming soon we'll use her flowers for our service." I made him a head sign. "I'm going to buy another cactus then." My dad looked at me. "Well, it's not one cactus who will change everything for her, but go ahead."

"One won't change, but since I have like three hundreds in my room, I think there's a difference." Here I'm doing it. Being the smart-annoying child as I usually am.

"And in my room - and in the kitchen, the backyard, the toilets... And no talking about the gifts to your friends!" He added to my list, putting his bag on a chair. I go and take his stuff to take them to the back, we don't want our clients to see that we're messy. Who can trust someone to organise a whole funeral if they can't clean up their shop? Not me.

"You were in the back? Why?" My dad asked, now serious. "Oh, the shop was empty. So I took some time for me and I wanted to eat but it tastes like wood..." I started, eyes glittering with stars as I was going to ask him a favor. As I looked at him, all princess-y, looking like a child who wants chocolate, I already saw his head saying a big no, I don't care, go buy your stuff alone you have legs for something but I still tried. "And it could be reeeeeeally cool and make you the best dad ever if you bought me some pesto."

I joined my hands, to make it look like I'm praying for him. But his eyes were still screaming no, and when he opened his mouth to answer I was screwed. "I'm already the best dad, you and your siblings gave me a t-shirt few years ago with dad number one written on it. Now move your lazy ass and buy your own stuff, like the normal nineteen year old that you are. You're not a child anymore, but you still find a way or another to act like a princess."

I laughed at his reaction and knew that he wasn't telling all of this with a subtext of angry father who wants their child to learn a lesson, but more with the subtext of I can be funny right now, I'm going to and I'm not buying your stuff because I'm as lazy as you are.

So I pouted but still got up and walked my way out of the shop. I came back in really quickly because like a big idiot, I forgot my jacket and here in autumn it starts to get cold too early for my taste, so I always put more clothes than I should.

I walked in the street to get to the complete opposite of my own shop, passing by the jewellery of the Howell family, smiling to their son who looked like he wanted to be everywhere except in that shop right now. He had this way too long fringe that every emo teenager has; you know the one I'm talking about, and asked myself when he will cut it off and embrace his face with a better haircut.

Then the animal center, with the lady with a lots of cats that isn't an old lady. As weird as it sounds, was a younger girl than me. She got the shop from, well, her old grandma who passed away few months ago and decided to quit high school to take the shop in her young hands. She was doing pretty fine and if I wasn't so lazy and so sleepy all the time, I would be spending time with her because the glimpse I saw of Amanda was an energetic ball disguised in a seventeen year old girl.

I could do a really big list of every shop in this street, telling you the stories of everyone here because we all know each other like people in a small village, I could tell you about the long time I spend in the pizzeria when I was younger, and the time I want to spend in it in the future, but that's a pretty long list of shops and people life to tell in a small time, I can do that a bit later.

Right now let's focus on the important : my sandwich.