Tuesday, May 4, 2004

Wilt

"Wilt"
“She walks on over--flowers’re in her hair, wavering in the moonlight.”
“Daddy, what kind of flowers are they? Are they pretty flowers?”
“Yes. Pretty flowers.”
“I like pretty flowers.”
“I do too. So where were we? Ah. Yes. The moonlight on her, flowers wavering.”
“Daddy, what color are the pretty flowers?”
“In the moonlight they look a pale, dark red.”
“Red’s a pretty color. The prettiest, daddy.”
“I know. Now honey, you’re going to have to quit interrupting daddy. Or else he can’t tell the story. OK?”
“OK daddy.”
“Her face is right in the moonlight, the light on it. She has beautiful quaint little lips. Round, sphere eyes, glimmering in the light, green. One of the flowers is falling from her hair, it rolls down, hangs like a bang. Then falls--to the ground. It blows over to me. I pick it up. I still stare into those eyes. She has eyes just like you. Green and round--you’ve got her eyes.”
“You aren’t kidding daddy? Do I really have her eyes?”
“Yeah, you do. You’ve got her eyes. Now--I’ve still got the flower, it’s over here, in the back somewhere. Hold on while daddy goes and gets it, OK honey?”
“OK.”
“Ah--here it is. Let’s look at it. What does it look like to you, honey?”
“It looks old. And it’s not too green. It’s not too red. Daddy, what’s wrong with it?”
“That’s because it’s wilted. You don’t know what wilted is, do you?”
“No I don’t. What’s ‘wilted’?”
“It means the flower’s dead. You see how it’s drooped over like this, how it’s lost most of its color? How it’s not too green--how it doesn’t look alive?”
“I do.”
“That’s what--this is what wilted looks like. It looks dead.”
“Oh.”
“I will still keep this flower forever.”
“Why daddy? It’s icky.”
“Because it’s all I’ve got left.”
“Left of what?”
“Your mother. This flower’s a lot like your mother. Your mother’s wilted and not too green, just like this flower. Your mother’s wilted.”
“I see, daddy. Daddy, why are you sad? Wilting’s not too bad. I think this flower’s still beautiful.”
“Oh, daddy’s just remembering mother. Should I go on with the story, you think? Or did you want to look at the flower a little longer?”
“You can go on with the story. Daddy, just don’t be sad. I don’t like you sad.”
“It’s OK. I’ll get over it. Here, let me put the flower back. It’s bad memories. I want to remember the good memories.”
“OK.”
“All right. It’s back where it was. Now, back to mother. It was there, in the moonlight, I first met her. It was like we were meant to meet at that moment in time. I felt the flower hit my leg--ever so gently--and I picked it up, looked at the flower. I held it up to my face and smelled it.”
“And what did it smell like, daddy?”
“It smelled like flowers do--pretty and nice, sweet but bitter, tasty but missing.”
“That sounds like a good smell. I wish I could smell that smell.”
“Maybe someday you will, honey. I’m sure you will.”
“Do you think so, daddy?”
“I do. I’m sure you will. And when you do it, I’m sure you’ll feel something like what I felt. Because when I was smelling the flower, I pulled it from my face a bit--I could still see it in my line of vision--and there she was, there was your mother. I saw her and the flower at the same time, it was almost like she was the flower. The pretty eyes, the petite face, the flowers in her hair, the wind blowing it all around. There she was. “
“She sounds pretty daddy. I wish I could see her.”
“I wish I could too.”
“So what happened next? Did you go over to mommy?”
“Yes, I did. At first, I just sat and stared at mommy. Her beauty was so striking, I was scared to go over to her.”
“You shouldn’t’ve been afraid, I’m sure mommy didn’t care she was beautiful and thought you were.”
“Maybe. But daddy was still scared. I did walk over to her eventually. I talked to her a bit. I said to her, ‘Is this your flower?’ and she looked at me, with this smile--it was there and it wasn’t--it was a genuine smile--and she said, ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ I asked her, then, if she wanted it back. The same smile, only this time I could see her teeth a bit. White teeth, even whiter in the moonlight ‘No,’ is what she said. ‘You can keep it.’ And so I’ve kept it ever since. I told her, ‘Thank you,’ and stood there looking at her a while longer. We got to talking about more things, and the more we got to talking, the more beautiful she got. I liked her voice, it was a sweet voice. Her voice--it reminds me of your voice. You’re so much like your mommy.”
“Why is it making you sad daddy? Aren’t you happy I sound like mommy?”
“No honey, it’s not that. It’s not you. It’s just. . .it’s just daddy misses mommy.”
“I miss mommy too, and I never even met her.”
“Oh, I know. It’s OK. Maybe when you wilt you’ll meet mommy too.”
“I’d like that.”
“I’d like that too. We’ll see if it happens. So, back to the first time I met her. After we talked a while, I kissed her on the cheek--she asked me to. I kissed her like this.”
“That’s a nice kiss, daddy.”
“Sure is. It was pretty late then, too. And I asked her, ‘Do you want a ride home?’ and she said ‘Sure.’ So I gave her a ride home--dropped her off. And that’s the end of that story.”
“That was a nice story, daddy I liked it more than the ones in books.”
“I’m glad you like daddy’s story. But now, it’s time for all the little girls in the world to sleep. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes daddy.”
“Do you want your night light on, honey?”
“Yes daddy.”
“OK. I’m going to go now then. Daddy’s got work in the morning.”
“OK daddy. But wait.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be sad. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I don’t think daddy can help it.”
“But daddy shouldn’t be sad.”
“Why do you think he shouldn’t be sad?”
“Because he has his memories of mommy. And spent times with her.”
“Oh, I know. You’re right, honey. Now, daddy’s got to go to sleep. I’m going to shut off the light.”
“OK daddy. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
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