where flowers bloom [Scherzo & Itzal]

"Don’t wait for someone to bring you flowers."

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I had gotten up early that morning to put the coffee on and to make sure that I got the porridge boiled before my mother or sister had come into the kitchen. This time of year always weighed on all of us, and I’d found that by doing little things for both of them made the mornings easier.

It often felt hard to wake from the sound of the chirping alarm clock, especially as dark as it was. Sleep still sat on my eyes, and it felt easier to turn over under warm sheets and sleep through to the afternoon. And so it was for my mother and sister, too, that they felt rousing only when some of the heaviness had lifted from the night before. But each morning felt like a slog, with all the days starting to run up against one another.

Even as I lit the blue flame on the stove with a match and put the tin atop, I dreamed of catching another hour or so of sleep. Thankfully a good cup of coffee and a list of to-do’s would keep the thought at bay. It was a trick that I’d learned a few years ago, that by listing out all the things that I had to do that day, I could keep myself pressing forward. That way I could break apart what stood in my way with a tic against every part of my list that got accomplished. I know it sounded silly, but there was a bit of satisfaction in checking off each piece.

I finished off a cup of coffee strong enough to chew and tucked my coat over my shoulders, readying to meet the day. Today I wasn’t working in the processing plant, which meant that I could spend it doing all the little chores that needing doing. The first of which was something for my mother and sister (and I suppose myself, too). I stepped out onto the gravel path and out toward the street into town.

As I approached the shop with fancy lettering along the side, I couldn’t help but smile. Flowers were a luxury that richer families in the district could splurge on. For us, they were reserved for special occasions – of which my mother would say there were none – and so I’d spent more time gazing into the shop than actually ever having set foot. Today, though, I’d scrounged together a savings from pinching pennies and socking away unspent lunch money.

‘Welcome to Sinclair and Saxon. How can I help you today?’ I stared over at the young man with a smile. How nice it must’ve been to be able to work in a flower shop. I spent my days separating fat from the remnants in a giant vat that helped to make soaps.

“Thank you. Yes. I’m looking for something for my mother and sister.” I turned to look at a set of peonies and stared off at a collection of red roses. “You have a lovely shop. I’m sorry I haven’t been in here sooner.”

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"Plant your own garden and decorate your own soul."

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