Short Stories (Collection)

Flowers

*This is all over the place, but I do like this one*

Mom always said flowers could bring joy.

I played with trucks in the sandbox while she tended to her roses. She hummed a relaxing tune that lulled me into my nap time. I soon took noticed those colorful objects protruding from the dirt.

We strolled through the garden section at the supermarket. My small hand was swallowed by her own. I was dragged up and down every row of plants, even when my little legs felt sore and my tummy begged for a PB & J.

My hand was never left vacant though. No matter the amount of squirming and squealing. She patted my hand and took a hold of another plant.

Sometimes, I envied that garden. She admired the blooming flowers with such a caring face. I wanted my mom to look at me with even more care and motherly love than her flowers.

She offered me a spot beside her while tended to her lovelies. My head nodded vigorously. That bright smile of her's made birds sing. She shoved one of her sunhats on my little head. Her laugh encouraged me. I was able to bring her happiness, and I wasn't a plant.

I was given the job of carrying the bucket for weeds and a tiny shovel. According to her, it was a very important task. When I set it down she said I did a good job.

I sat intensively watching as she fixed up the garden. Beads of sweat piled on her face. My pudgy hands grabbed a rag and tapped her forehead. She giggled at my actions and said thank you. I gave a toothy smile. My tiny brain couldn't process the accomplishment I felt. I was making her happy, just like flowers.

As I grew, I claimed a spot to the right of her. I began to pull the weeds for her and water them while she was away. No matter what argument happened the night before, I was always next to her at the garden.

Now, her spot is vacant.

Bright color petals won't give back the woman who raised me with such love and kindness. I no longer feel the joy she said those plants could bring. The weed bucket was next to my side. A gentle wind accompanied me. The sweet air still smelled as if her perfume was naturally there.

Wilting flowers were slowly recovering, just like me. The laugh and smile still linger in my mind, but she would want this garden to stay flourishing. I planted more than we had ever. Violets, roses, buttercups, anything and everything shared the garden.

Pulling weeds, I felt two pudgy hands dab my cheeks with a rag. I smiled at the child next to me and responded with a thank you. They giggled.

Even in death, her words still spoke a truth.

Mom always said flowers could bring joy.