Dandelion Boy (Sample)

Tree

Dad was driving me to school.

I sat behind him,

holding my books.

The radio speaks at full blast to make up for

the silence.

I look at dad through his rear view mirror.

His eyes are focused on the road.

Beyond him, the road seems to

keep going straight.

"Dad," I say from behind him.

"Hmm?" he replies, turning off the radio.

It was a nice gesture.

That he actually wanted to

listen.

"Do you ever think that people are kind of like plants?" I ask him.

"Plants?" he repeats, puzzled. "How do you mean?"

"Like, flowers are the like those people better in life, weeds are people that were flowers but went wrong, and trees are like the wise, reliable people," I explain.

"Hmm," he thinks. "I didn't think of it that way. What is momma and daddy to you?"

"Dogwood trees," I answer. "They're really sturdy and brighten up a landscape easily."

My dad is a landscaper and

my mom owns a flower shop.

They know what I'm talking about when I talk about

plants with them

so I can save some

breath.

"Hey, that's real nice," he smiles at me through the rear view mirror. "That makes me happy. I bet momma would be happy too."

"That's just what I think," I shrink so I disappear from view, bashful.

"What about you, Gray?" he asks. "Are you Artemisia? Or a pretty little Anemone?"

I pause.

"I'm the grass, Daddy," I tell him.

He glances at my over his shoulder then.

I know he wants to say something

to make me not think that way.

Saying the right words

is tough for him.

"Hey, Gray," my dad starts. "I think you're a good daughter. You're beautiful as a baby."

I could tell he was feeling awkward.

His speech was

full of breaks.

"What really matters is kindness, hard work, determination, and the will," he chants with motivation. "That's what makes a good person, Artemisia."

"I know, dad," I sit back in my seat. "It's okay."

 There's a pause.

"Hey, I was thinking we could go out for dinner tonight," he mentions. "What do you think?"

"I think it would be cheaper at home," I let him down gently.

Bills are not to be taken

lightly.

"You're right," he sighs. "Mom cooks the best, doesn't she?"

"Yes," I agree.

The school is right in front of us.

Dad pulls up right in the front.

"See you at dinner," he waves as I climb out of the car.

"Bye, Daddy," I wave back.

He drives out.

Mom and Dad

still work late.

Their jobs aren't easy.

Flower shops are tough to keep open

and landscapers need a regular amount of customers.

I see them both only around dinner on week days.

But we're okay.