Flowers are for the dead (An inspired story)

Once, you said something that captured my attention and I was so amazed with those words coming from your mouth that I wrote a short story (or at least I tried to) about that argument. When I finished writing, I was thinking on the reason why I choose to make a story especially about what you said. And I was there, all by myself sitting in front of my laptop where my 698-word-story was, just thinking. Maybe I wrote that because I really liked what you said. Or maybe I did it not because of what you said, but because in fact, it was you who said it. And I was there, all by myself sitting in front of my laptop trying to end my anxiety writing stuff, words that mattered to someone, writing to calm myself and the monster that no one knows, and no one ever will.

Autumn was just ending, it was cold, and no one was outside. The only thing you could hear was the air lifting the leaves like wanting them back in the trees.

 

Jocelyn was walking across the woods to get home. It was drizzling, foggy, and the trees were like ghosts to her eyes. She couldn’t see the sky; she couldn’t see more than 50 meters away because of the really heavy fog; but she could see how this rose bush -that was behind a leaking drinking fountain as ticking down- had 5 gorgeous white roses holding in their delicate petals raindrops from the night before.

But Jocelyn didn’t care about the beauty that the nature was offering her in that moment. She was going to spend about 2 or 3 hours in that dark, foggy, and drizzled place to think about what to do about the only thing that was interfering with her happiness: Her parents.

She was a nice girl that lived in a beautiful house with her candid and lovely parents; but there was a little inconvenient with them. The only thing they wanted was Jocelyn following the family tradition -becoming a doctor-, but she didn’t want to.  She wanted to become the greatest pianist ever! But the only things she would have been told are words like “musicians don’t earn enough money to survive and I don’t want you begging us for money” or “music is not professional, no one will ever take you serious”. Words that not even the wind of that cold autumn day could have taken away.

Jocelyn found a place to sit and have peace for herself. She approached the bench, removed as much water as her hand could, and serenely sat down. Five minutes had passed, and she was starting to relax and think about what to do for this problem she had with her parents. Suddenly, she heard something weird, a sound, like someone hitting with rhythm the bench right behind her. So she looked back, and there he was, a guy she knew but never talked to. His name was Alexander Dautzenberg. He was a guy she knew that existed, but really never talked to, but she thought he was someone interesting. Due to her shyness, she never could start a conversation with him, so she just knew how his face looked. Jocelyn noticed that he was making that perfectly rhythmic sound using tree branches he found on the floor as drum sticks and several different parts of the bench he was sitting on as drums. He was so concentrated while doing this that she didn’t feel like disturbing him, but when she decided to move away, he stop “playing” and turned around just so see her back. –Hey you! –Alexander said. Jocelyn, feeling kind of embarrassed, turned around. –Hello. I’m sorry if I interrupted you. I’ll go home now. –But Alexander, with a broken and weak voice told her that it was ok. –I wasn’t paying attention of what I was doing anyway. –She felt the necessity of staying there with him. And that was what she did.

They started to talk about them, others, and music. Jocelyn was feeling comfortable with him and she didn’t even remember about being disagreed with her parents. Suddenly, the rose bush with the 5 white roses caught the attention of Alexander, and she noticed it. –It’s beautiful what nature can give us right? –Said Jocelyn. –Yes. And only the dead can know how it feels to receive a piece of nature –answered Alexander. –What do you mean with that? –Asked her. –Well, you might think I’m kind of weird by saying this but for me, flowers are for the dead. –Jocelyn stayed speechless and full of so many questions that she didn’t know what to say. After a few seconds of intense thinking, she said –girls like flowers, how are you expecting to find a girl happy of not getting them? –After hearing this, he replied –but I’m not looking for a girl who loves or hates receiving flowers, I’m looking for a girl who despite my opinion on every single thing will love me.

And this is how Jocelyn understood that Alexander was following his heart by thinking what he wanted, not what he have been told to. Later that day, she showed her parent the blow-organ she kept under her bed, and told them her plans for the future.

This story was written for the final assignment of the year for the English III class around April, 2012.