"You can't just take her away from me Veronica. She's my Flower to. We helped her grow, and I want to be there for when she's a mature beautiful rose with thorns, because if she's anything like you, that's exactly what she'll be."
Beautiful, but if...
On the splintering bench, I watch Flower as she oscillates solitarily. There are pros and cons to everything. A pro to her starting school, she'll make friends. When I went to school, it was hard for me to do so. Kids are cruel. Flower is beautiful, smart, and kind. She'll have no problem fitting in. I hope she doesn't get lost in the world of popularity.
Once people know your name, they think they know you. They'll never know the person behind the name, until you let them in. Astounding how people think you're perfect just because of your prestige. Homecoming queens cry to. People make mistakes, no one is perfect. I want Flower to remember that she doesn't have to live up to everyone's standards.
Wrapped in my spiraling thoughts, a woman with pin straight black hair approaches me. Her kind but penetrating blue eyes blind me of all else in the world. In the past, I'd feel threatened by her beauty. Now I can accept that we're both beautiful in our own ways. "May I sit here?" Pointing to the open seat on the bench next to me.
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"Of course!" Who am I to say no? I don't own the bench.
Holding her hands as she takes a seat, "Tyler go play."
I watch the little boy run for the swings next to Flower. As I look at her black hair, I'm baffled. Her son's hair is blonde. Maybe he was adopted like I was. Hopefully if he was, he knows about it, and isn't living a fucking lie. "How old is your son?"
She laughs, but I didn't think the question was humorous at all. "He's my nephew. I'm watching him for my sister while she's at work."
"Oh. That's nice of you." I wish I could work, but it's just so hard for me to trust people to take care of my daughter. I'd rather be the one to watch her, until she starts school. "I'm Veronica." I offer a small smile. I'm a little, well a lot on the edge when people touch me, regardless of race and gender. I'm not a touchy person, unless it's Flower, or Andrew.
"Aubrey. Please, don't call me Abs, or Abby." It's like she remembers a past experience where the nicknames didn't flow well. "Why would anyone want to shorten a name? No one calls anyone by their real name. I don't get it"
I like when Andrew calls me Vee. It feels homey, like we're so comfortable with each other. I agree just a smudge with her. If anyone else were to call me Vee, it would be strange. It would be rude if I just ignored my daughter's introduction. "The beautiful girl over on the slide now, is my daughter Flower."
Aubrey looks at me with half delight, half confusion. "Why Flower? I've never heard anyone named that before."
I cheese at the memories. "It's kind of a long story, but I'll shorten it. When my husband and I first met, I was wearing a dress with tiny flowers on it. He said I was as beautiful as a those flowers, smelled just as lovely. I became his flower, until we had a flower girl of our own."
