written by alainaisntcool :-))
My mom is a florist. I remember the summers when I was off of school, I would go to work with her. I helped around the hole-in-the-wall shop that smelled of pollen. There was no other employees but my mom; she worked for herself. I would memorize each flower and its meaning.
Gypsophilia, festivity.
Gardenia, joy.
Iris, inspiration.
Magnolia, dignity.
There was always one flower that I didn't bother to memorize, and that was the Chrysanthemum. The Chrysanthemum's meaning was far too worrisome for my younger self.
On a humid summer morning, my mother had come into the back room, where I was watering the flowers that were recently brought in. A tall and tan man came in behind her.
"This is my daughter Maria" my mom introduced me to him.
"Hello Maria, I am Adrian" he gently replied, a smile stretched across his face.
Adrian had a deep voice and a different demeanor to him. He was going to be working with my mom in her shop. I would always wonder what had brought him to the small brick store -- that most people walked right past; it was so small. Although it was tiny from the exterior, the interior was quite large. Its white walls were almost hidden by the hanging baskets and refrigerators that held the flowers. It was nice though, and so was Adrian.
Adrian was almost like a father to me. I had never known who my real dad was because he had left before I was born, so it was new to me. In the fall of 2006, Adrian started to come over for dinners and sometimes he would spend the night. Sometimes turned into always and as soon as I knew it, Adrian was moving in with us. A few months later, he and my mother were married. I noticed when he looked at my mom with a glint of something in his eyes.
About 6 years into their relationship, things started to change between my mom and Adrian. They no longer hugged, and no longer kissed. They started to take separate cars to work and would come home at different times, usually my mom first. Some nights, Adrian would not come home until the early morning hours, his eyes dark and alert. He and my mom had started to sleep in separate rooms and would raise their voices at each other.
It all came to a screeching halt when I was in my junior year in high school. After I walked into our house, all of Adrian's things were gone and my mom was on our black leather couch, staring aimlessly at the wall.
"Mom" I said as I dropped my bag on the white linoleum floor and ran to my mother.
Her long black hair was in disarray and her once youthful eyes had dark blue bags under them. She was wearing a large cream sweater, his sweater, and grey sweatpants. It looked like she hadn't slept in days. When I reached the couch, I grabbed a hold of her hands, and they were ice cold.
"Mom," I repeated as I looked into her eyes.
Slowly, she turned her head towards me. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. She started to cry into my chest. I had never seen her so small. This was not my mom, and seeing her like this made me break.
A few years later I found out what had happened, Adrian had been seeing a man for the past four years. And the day I came home to find my mom on the couch and his things gone, he told my mother he no longer loved her, and just like that he disappeared. I hadn't seen him since then.
I was now two years into college and everything seemed alright. My mom had expanded her storefront, and new customers arrived. I was working hard in school, and I only had 2 more years to go. But when I woke up that morning, it didn't seem quite right. The air was thick, my throat felt scratchy. I slowly made my way out of my bed and headed to my closet. Languidly, I put on my clothes and gathered my things for class. When I reached the cold metal door leading out of the dormitory, I could feel the cool wind coming through the spaces. It was raining out, and the sky was almost black. Great, I thought. My first class of the day was anatomy, and that day we were getting a new professor, since the previous professor was on maternity leave.
As I reached the lecture hall, I smoothed out my wet hair and fixed my backpack. I quickly found a seat and opened a new page in my notebook. When I was about to grab my phone, the sound of someone clapping their hands together interrupted me. Putting my phone back, I looked up at the source of the noise. First, I noticed the glass vase of Chrysanthemums on the large mahogany desk in the corner of the room. Next, I looked up and the tall tan man in the front of the room. My blood ran cold and my hands shook. His hair was peppered with grey but his eyes still had a strange glint in them. Maybe he doesn't remember me. I thought to myself, hoping it was the case.
"Hello, I am Mr. Rios and I will be your anatomy professor from now on." he called out to the crowd.
The rest of the class went by fast, since I tried to focus on the information being said and not the person saying it. How could this be? I questioned myself, it didn't seem real. Once the lecture ended I rushed out of the room.
Safely, I made it back to my dorm and as soon as I took off my shoes and changed out of my wet clothes, I crawled onto my thin twin sized bed and slept.
Over the next four months, my mom started to contact me less and less, until it all came to a standstill. It was a cold Monday morning and when I finished my morning routine, I stepped out of my door. But before I could fully leave, I noticed a bouquet of Chrysanthemums sitting on the doormat -- I didn't attend classes that day.
Winter break started, and I went home for the first time in almost a year. When my stop arrived on the bus, I hopped off and walked to small plastic bus stop shelter. I took a deep breath and adjusted my wool coat. My heart was pounding for an unknown reason, but my breath remained labored. The smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the cold winter air. After I checked my phone for any messages, I started towards my house.
As I reached the front door, something didn't feel right. I grasped the door handle tightly and twisted it. It was unlocked. The smell of metal was evident and there was a crystal vase with a bouquet of Chrysanthemums in it. I rounded the corner to the living room and looked around the room and there was blood.
My mom was a florist. I remember in the summers when I was off of school, I would go to work with her. I helped around the dainty brick store that smelled of pollen and earth. My mom was the only employee, she worked for herself. I would memorize each flower and its meaning.
Gypsophilia, festivity.
Gardenia, joy.
Iris, inspiration.
Magnolia, dignity
Chrysanthemum, death.
--
i did not write this story, but my good friend did. all rights go to her
