By: Katelyn Tijerina
Sometimes on the way to seeing Elena, I stop by someone’s garden and pick a flower here and there. Not enough to make a difference or even really to notice and giving the circumstances I feel a bit justified. Today I pass one of the gardens I steal from. It’s full up of lilacs and daisies, fruits and vegetables. It is one of the most beautiful gardens my eyes have ever had the privilege to lay upon.
I observe the land around me. No one on the street, dim lights from within. I plan to make a heist. There is a long iron gate with rounded spears up top. I grab the sides of the spears and fit my foot snuggly between the two; I bring my foot up and over the spears. I do it to fast and lose my balance; my face hits the dirt but hey I’m in. I stand up and shake myself off. I gather a handful of flowers. Tulips and roses and daisies, forming the perfect bouquet. As I’m preparing myself for departure, I hear a sudden cry
“Hey!” In common sense, I make my way to the fence at top speed; I go to hop the fence but instead feel my shirt press into my neck as someone yanks me back. I fall to the ground landing on my elbows. A woman stands over me; she wears a full, dirty dress and frustrated expression. She stands over me, one leg on either side of my hips and her hands lay firm on her hips. I look quickly to the flowers to assess the damage; other than a bit of dirt, they were still in good shape.
“What are you doing with those?” asks the woman. I stay silent unsure if I should tell her. “Are they for a girl?” She leans down, staring at me intently, “Or for a boy perhaps, or maybe a grandmother?”
“No, no they’re for a girl,” I stutter
“Hmm,” she nods. “As I thought,” she reaches down her hand. I stare at the extended hand and back up at her. Was she not mad? Or is this a trick? But it wouldn’t make sense as a trick. “Come on I don’t bite; I scratch a bit, but we’re on neutral territory currently,” She says scaring me out of my thoughts. I reluctantly accept the offer and she pulls me up. She takes the bouquet; my heart drops. Flowers are not a necessary thing to see Elena, but it is a courtesy I’m happy to provide. The woman wipes the dirt from the bouquet on her skirt and shakes it out a bit, then hands it back to me. I remain speechless. “Alright then,” she says firmly with a bit of annoyance, “Lead the way.”
“You, you want to come?”
“Yes.”
“And see the girl I’m giving these to?”
“Yes.”
“You want me, to lead you, to the girl I’m giving the flowers that I stole from you?”
“Yes! Why is this so difficult for you to understand? I need to know if this girl is worth stolen flowers.” I hesitate not sure if I should lead her to Elena, but I don’t really see a way out of this. I go to hop the fence, and she pulls me down again. Is she still mad?
“I… I don’t under-”
“Take the gate.”
“Oh,” I look down, of course. I lead her out into the street; we walk in silence for a couple minutes. “So what’s your name miss?”
“Oh, my last name’s Hearthorn, but you can call me Belle.”
“Belle hmm.. Beautiful,” I say thinking about the significance. She wasn’t traditionally beautiful, her clothes were a bit unusual, and her face was scarce of any powder, but I guess, yes she is beautiful.
“So whos the lucky girl?” She asks, leaning into me in a teasing manner.
“Um… Elena.”
“Elena, pretty name.” I nod not sure what to say next.
“Is she smart?”
“Brilliant.”
“Pretty?”
“Beautiful”
“How old is she?” Belle asks I count on my fingers.
“She’ll be 18 this year.”
“Older woman, now is she?” She was right. Elena was two years older than me.
“Yeah.”
“How’d you meet?”
“Oh, we’ve always known each other.” She nods, and we continue walking in silence.
“You know, there was this girl once. She was the stubbornness thing,” stated Belle. “She refused to garden with me. She said, ‘I can’t. You’re gonna pick them.’
‘Not yet,’ I’d said.
‘Why bring life into this world if you’re just gonna snuff it out?’ She’d cried. ‘If you love something you care for it, not hurt it,’ then she ran away into the house so she wouldn’t see me garden. She loved flowers, you know, all kinds, but God help the poor soul who picks them and gifts them to her. After that I never picked flowers again,” I smiled. “Your girl like flowers?” she asked motioning towards the bouquet.
“Ya, she loves all kinds of flowers, any kind, from anywhere. She’d smell them and play with their petals, and when they started dying, she’d press them into this beautiful notebook full of all the other flowers she’d previously received. So I always try and bring her flowers.”
“Why’d she stop?”
“Stop?”
“Yeah, you said she’d smell them and she’d played with their petals.”
“Oh, I, I misspoke.”
We started up the brick road that leads to the iron gates. As we approached, she nudged me, “Meeting in a cemetery, kinky” she teased. I smiled. it was nice to have someone with me to see Elena. I wove ‘round the tombstones.
It was sad. Some tombstones stood high above the rest with beautiful engravings and flowers; some had a slab of cement in the ground, and some had barely but a stick. The only thing that remains consistent is that when they first die, they’re pretty and pristine. People come days, weeks at a time; they leave presents, and flowers, they cry, but then eventually they stop coming and fade out. The stone remains dusty and dirty, slowly falling apart. Everyone is eventually forgotten.
I arrive at a particular stone. It’s a shabby little thing, but it’s been revisited which is distinctly noticeable. It is shined to a mirror and half-dead flowers lay beside it. I kneel down and replace the flowers in my hand with the one by the stone.
“Meet Elena.”
