Flowers - Nichole Hall (motivational books for women TXT) 📗

Wilted

 

It’s a bit funny to think I had a chance at keeping the jasmines alive after planting. Their sad, yellows leaves droop and the actual pedals stopped blooming. In my defense I did try everything humanly possible. Planting the jasmines in five foot block of soil surrounded by decaying brick, they did have a chance. I followed the instructions word for word and even got plant food. Sprinkling the actual flowers with water everyday and pouring just the right amount of water into the soil, which by the way was not cheap to buy. Yet, here they are, withering away and my failed attempts to keep them alive are the highlight of my day, my week, hell even my year.

 

Nothing ever wants to stay alive around me and planting these flowers just proves the point. Dropping the now will be never used again garden gloves and tools near the dying flowers, wiping the sweat of my forehead, I give up and head back into the house where a fresh glass of lemonade awaits, and jokes at my expense.

 

The screen door that has to be thirty years old and really does nothing to keep the flies out or even intruders announces my reentrance into the old dusty house. Grandma says dust builds immunity to the allergens in the air though the sneezing from the both of us never stops. One time I tried dusting when she went out to the grocery store, she noticed. Oh boy, did she notice. A five foot nothing, cane using hunched over grandma with the greyest permed hair scared the living crap out of me that day. Okay, lesson learned. Choose sneezing over grandma’s fury, dully noted.

 

“Are they alive, Willow?” I follow the direction of the voice finding grandma sitting at the big brown, polished oak table (the only dust free item in the house), originally hand carved by my grandfather. He was a carpenter, taught my father and was supposed to teach me before but he passed away before he could. My parents didn’t have much time to teach me, with my mother waitressing and my father trying to keep his carpenter skills alive and learning basic business skills, there wasn’t much time to teach me anything. Then four years ago, when i was just thirteen and hitting that puberty age of liking boys and getting ready for high school, a drunk driver took my father’s life and my mother bailed out of town. Since she had no family in the nearing area and grandma was the last living relative, I have been living with her ever since. It hasn’t been all that bad, but sometimes a girl wonders what she did wrong in her previous life to have to be in this situation? “Girl, you in there?”

 

Grandma shakes off her reading glasses, setting the newest book in one of her romance novel series.

 

“Yeah-I mean no, they are dying.”

Taking a seat across from her at the twenty foot table, grandma hides her smirk, just barely. Her lips twitch a bit, and soon to follow will be an offer of some lemonade to cool down the soul.

“I’ll grab you some lemonade.” Reaching over she pats my twisted hands, grabs her cane and inches slowly into the kitchen through the connecting door. No matter how capable I am of getting my own, grandma insists on doting on me any chance she gets. Secretly, I think she is holding on to whatever physical youth she has left. Other times I wonder if it’s because she gives me pitying looks when she thinks I am not looking before offering a glass of lemonade, snack, food, money or whatever I need.

 

The rubber sole of the cane slithers across the hardwood floor. Grandma pats my head from behind.

“Lemonade to soothe the soul child. Lord knows you worked too hard for those flowers to die.”

And the cackling starts at my expense. A doting grandmother with jokes, that’s something new.

 

 

Strawberry and Vanilla

“Okay, so did you see the last episode of Parenthood? OMG!”

Mandy bounces along my bed frame, also carved by my grandfather, from one foot to the other. Mandy is that type of person so full of energy, and in small town she needs something to keep her entertained most times. That would not be me, but Monica Potter who once lived here in Arab, Alabama years ago. She is Mandy’s idol for my best friend’s pursuing acting career.

 

“Whew! It’s hot in here.” Mandy fans her face, still unable to even sit down.

“Humidity kills.”

Mandy nods her head. We have been banished to my simple bedroom away from the air conditioner due to grandma’s knitting club. 

 

“Come on, let’s go to the ice cream parlor. Everyone will be there.”

Before I can even reject that idea, Mandy grabs my hand and soon we are out the front door, Grandma simply waving her hand for a goodbye before we hop on our bicycles heading into town.

 

The ice cream parlor has not changed in years. They still carry those big tubs of ice cream rather than simple ones like at Baskin Robins in a cooler where there is ample amount of selections. This place keeps it old school and simple with three flavors: vanilla, strawberry, chocolate. Not much to choose, but in the humidity, it’s a nice break from the sweltering heat.

Once Mandy and I finish leaning our bikes against a railing, we enter the nice AC shop where our sweat drops from the ride over freeze in spot. 

The place is packed as usual and most of the kids from our school are lingering about at the bar stools or in the red booths. We are lucky when a mother and her son leave from two bar stools near us. We don’t hesitate to swoop in.

“Hello there girls.”

“Hi Mickey.” We respond in unison. Mickey gives Mandy a friendly smile, it slips just a bit when he looks at me. There it is, the sympathy look. At first when they started happening from everyone in this small forsaken town, it was embarrassing. Then the looks grew irritating, now I just try my hardest to brush them aside. 

“Vanilla and strawberry mix?”

We both nod. Mickey smiles and starts making our concoction. Mandy turns around in her bar stool with her elbows leaning on the counter top so she gets a better view of everyone in here. She can’t stand having her back turned on people. I’ll never understand why, but that’s her choice. 

The ice cream begins melting right away even in the cold room, Mandy and I don’t hesitate to dig in.

“Ohhh, there’s Kevin and his little minion.”

I turn my head just a bit, taking in Kevin and his best friend Charlie. Kevin and Charlie are the most popular guys in our high school. While Charlie is known for what we teenagers say a “man-whore,” Kevin is the total opposite of untouchable. 

“What I wouldn’t do to have one night with him.” My best friend whispers dreamily. 

“Good luck with that.”

“Do you think he’s gay?” Mandy blurts out, eyes wide open as if she just made a revelation. I take another look at Kevin and Charlie who have found seats at the far end of the bar top. While Charlie has that all american good boy look with blonde hair and blue eyes, Kevin...well Kevin is not. He isn’t sexy or hot or whatever girls say to describe him, but Kevin just has the aura of masculinity and dominance that just doesn’t go unnoticed by the female population. I mean he may not be the whole adonis god like gorgeous male, but his dark short cropped hair and hazel eyes aren’t too bad in the looks department. While his nose has a nip in it, like its been broken a few times, he has that square jaw. Both Kevin and Charlie walk straight and tall, pride shining through their eyes.

“Nah. Maybe he just doesn’t like the small selection here.”

Mandy rolls her eyes.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Look if anyone could catch him, it would be you. Although I think you and Charlie both with blonde hair and blue eyes would make some pretty cute babies some day.” 

Mandy starts gagging as I continue chuckling. Charlie’s reputation really is not a secret. Nothing really ever is here. 

We finish our ice creams in silence, Mandy observing everything and everyone while I stare at my empty bowl wondering how to fix the broken flowers. 

“Ready to go?” I ask Mandy. The sun is beginning to settle and grandma worries about me riding this late at night.

“Yeah, I guess.”

As we leave the cool into the melting pot outside, we both climb unto our bicycles. Searching for my phone that’s normally in my back pocket of my shorts, I come out empty handed. 

“Crap, I left my-

“You looking for this?”

Immediately Mandy is in flirty mode. Flipping her braid behind her shoulder, she climbs off her bike sashaying towards the two males, one of whom holds my cell. Grabbing the phone from Kevin’s hand, I look up to see that he actually isn’t paying attention to my friends antics but staring back at me waiting for a response.

“Yes, thank you.”

Both Kevin and Charlie smile, which is enough for Mandy to start fanning her face in more of hot flashes from hot male approach than the humidity. Charlie turns around, walking backwards staring at us while he and Kevin walk the opposite way of our destination. 

“See you at school, Mandy.”

For once, my best friend is frozen to one spot. 

Dead Flowers, A new Beginning

It’s official, my flowers are dead. No more. Just pitiful branches with no leaves or blossoming white petals filling up the surrounding area with their wonderful calming smell. It’s been a week since I figured out they were dying. Deep down, I hoped they would live to fight another day, but they gave up. I want to plead and beg for my flowers to please, please live. Don’t let me down now, please.

“Honey, you can stare at them all day but that ain’t gonna do nothing but make you look like some crazy person. Now go on and give them up.”

So says my grandma, as she tends to her living and thriving vegetable garden not three feet away.

“You don’t give up on your vegetables.”

In her long flowery dress, bending on her knees, with a straw hat to shade her face, Grandma keeps on