The Lilac Gardens

Allergies

Everyone loved the spring time. They all knew it was time when the flowers began to bloom and the steady rain began to fall on and off during the day and night. They knew when the sun began to shine and release its hidden warmth among the people of the earth.

But for Will, he knew because of his allergies.

Will felt like his insides were being constantly tickled and there was no way he could itch them. He was practically allergic to the outdoors: pollen, grass, you name it. He sneezed so loud, it could be mistaken for a nuclear explosion. He had a runny nose that flowed as much as Niagara Falls. His eyes were so red and swollen that every March, he was told to report down to the office for a mistaken case of pink eye.

Will hated spring.

So when his mom told him to escort his grandmother to the Lilac Gardens, he essentially threw a tantrum.

"Mom, do you know what's at the Lilac Gardens? Flowers!" exclaimed a more than unhappy Will to his mother. She continued to wash the dishes, tiredly ignoring her son's complaining. "Do you know what is in flowers? Pollen. And what am I extremely allergic to? POLLEN."

Will's mom kept on scrubbing the white clay plate while foaming suds made their way from the blue sponge, a product of dish-washing soap, water, and friction. His grandmother was at the ripe age of 68, and she was feeling the need for company. Naturally, all grandparents would go to their grandchildren, right? Well, that is, if their grandchild wasn't a whiny five-year old stuck in a sixteen year-old body.

"Mom, what if I get a really bad allergic reaction to the pollen? What if they have to call 911?" Will said with an accused tone. He leaned against the granite counter top.

"Oh please honey. The only person they'll be calling the ambulance for is your grandmother. You'll be fine if you take your medicine."

"MOOOMMM!" he whined again. "I'm gonna not be able to breathe and everything is gonna be swollen and I won't be able to see! I could DIE!"

His mom sighed and turned off the faucet.
"Will, please," she said, drying her hands on the kitchen towel. "Can't you be more grown up?"

Will pushed forward on the counter with his elbows, sliding slightly down to the ground. "I'm arguing my case in a grown up way. Statement: I do not want to get killed from the weakest forces of nature, pollen. What an unheroic death that would be. What will you tell your friends when I die? 'Oh my son was killed by inhaling flower dandruff, so tragic.' Do you really want to tell your friends that?"

"Will, please," his mom said. "Grandma has been so lonely after Grandpa died. She wants to spend time with her grandkids before her own time runs out. Can you just do it for us once?"

Will looked at his mom's saddened expression and rolled his eyes back into his head. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest, like the god of guilt-tripping had shot him with an arrow. An image of his grandma popped into his mind: a gray-haired old woman sitting her her rocking chair, silent tears running down her face.

"Oh why hasn't my grand baby visited me in so long?" she would croak, staring off into the distance.

Will let out a groan of defeat, his conscience getting the best of him. "Fine, I'll take her."

Curse his good morals.