The Flower by Roya Sorooshian The Seed "Step on a crack and you'll break your mother's back." Iona hummed as she skipped over the lines in the sidewalk. The rambling streets of Santa Barbara opened in front of her, crawled alongside of her and stretched out behind her. She was like a bird with no cage, so glad that she had a whole day in front of her and roads to explore all around her. She carried a disposable camera in her pocket. She'd been taking pictures of the names etched in the wet cement of long ago, stickers stuck on fire hydrants and flowers. There were so many different kinds of flowers here. She loved the purple ones best - the ones with dozens of little blossoms clustering to make one larger blossom, which she tucked behind her bergundy hair. She skipped, past bus stops and hair salons, to wider, shadier streets with ancient trees and shinier cars. She paused to look over someone's low cement gate and gasped at the beautiful herb garden below, with it's gray and wise statues sitting complacently as the moss crept over them like fog. It was getting darker as she ambled by walls with flowers cascading onto the sidewalk, stopping to look at every new variety. Her skin was tingling witih cold as she passed thrift stores and mexican restaurants. She stepped over a chain slung from two low poles, into a gravel lot on the street corner. She flung out her arms and spun. The car lights melded into one bright blur and the air was layered with smells. Iona sat on a bech, a hardware store's Open light blinking on and off behind her. She watched as the traffic thinned. She smiled, then shivered, turning around to see a boy, a -guy- really, seat himself at the end of the cold cement bench. He looked at her and his eyes smiled, a big, forthcoming smile. She grinned back, and the trees rustled as if applauding. He was skinny, his brown cordoroy pants not quite reaching the top of his black, paint stained, clunky boots. He had a knitted, tight shirt on and a light blue scarf tossed around his shoulders. She bit her lip, trying not to grin quite so large. A boy made in heaven - or at least the same thrift stores she shopped in. "Cole," he said, reaching across the distance to shake hands. "Iona," she replied. He had long fingers. His eyes twinkled, blacker than any night. "You know, I don't normally talk to strange girls on the street" he said, the rest of his face serious. "It's a dangerous world nowadays." He grinned suddenly, his whole face relaxing. Iona's eyes, and heart, danced. "Well I know of somewhere a bit safer," she said, the approaching blackness of night making her feel braver. 30 minutes later they were walking down the dark streets in the hills of Santa Barbara. Iona sipped a half full horchata, it's cinnamon sweetness reaching her toes and making her feel giddy. She imagined she was a butterfly, a purple velvet butterfly, and she was drinking the nectar of some bright flower. Step, step, skip, step. Iona couldn't stay still. She stopped paying attention to the cracks in the sidewalk and stopped to smell every rose. Cole watched her, this little girl, older than he was, probably. She collected fallen blossoms, placed them in the palm of her hand, and blew them like kisses into the night. Twice she'd stopped to pick up pieces of trash from the sidewalk, and once had shrieked and grabbed onto Cole's arm when a dog barked next to her without warning. But for the most part, they walked in silence. Iona humming occasionally and Cole's long legged strides keeping the beat like a steady metronome. Iona turned to Cole. "There's a fairy in every flower." "Is that why you lookat so many?" Cole asked, "are you hoping to find a way home?" Iona looked startled, then brushed away a wisp of her hair. "I like to tell stories." She replied finally. "Every fairy is a story. So is every flower. Every story has a seed from which is grows, a stem to hold it strong, painful thorns along the way, and finally, the story blossoms into sweetness. Flowers are like people. You have to look past the first few petals to what is inside. You have to watch, to cultivate, and love, as they unfurl. You don't know how they'll grow, really, what color or smell they'll be, whether they're a little blossom or a bush. But we all need the same things, water and soil...and we all reach for the sky." She reached her hands up, and then shivered, bringing them back to her sides. "But we need the sun or we'll curl up into ourselves forever." The Stem They met at La Superica's every day. Cole bought a large horchata to share, and each day they picked a different street to explore. Often their adventures led them down to State Street, Iona being choosy about what she snapped pictures of. ("houses, i like houses. beautiful ones with flowers and people.") They read MAD Magazines at The Newstand, looking with slitted eyes over the tops like they were undercover cops. They tried on big bright sunglasses in vintage stores, and looked at the postcards in "tourist traps." They sat outside at the Natural Cafe, eating ceaser salads and pineapple milkshakes, watching the birds hop around. ("You eat like a bird, I'll buy you more...") The greenery hanging on the walls inside made Iona feel fresh and bright. They made friends with the crossing guard lady and her collection of whistles. They made lists of the jobs they could love as much as she loved hers. (Iona's: interior designer, photographer, bird. Cole's: street musician, juggler, chimney sweep.) They took photo booth pictures in Scavenge and tried on feather boas, thigh high vinyl boots and velvet cowboy hats. They took the trolley down to the wharf and tried to make friends with the pelicans. ("it bit my ankle!") Once, Iona found a dead seagull on the sand. After she'd taken a picture of it, Cole helped her bury it under the pier. They took the bus back when it got dark, leaning into each other to hold themselves uyp when they were too tired to stand. They would part ways at the corner by the thrift store (where Iona bought her boots) and the gravel lot. Cole would watch Iona hop-skipping down the street, avoding the cracks, then turning and melting away into the night. Iona would skip until she knew Cole couldn't see her, and then her posture changed. Instead of feeling light, her feet and heart grew heavy, and a headache started behind her eyes. She doubled back the way she came, slinking into shadows and flower bushes. In the parking lot behind the thrift store there was a small trailer. The trailer had an overhang, and under that there was a brown, worn couch. There were cardboard boxes smashed flat all around, broken beer bottles, and pepsi cans. Iona sighed, and for the next 5 minutes she picked up trash and stacked cardboard. She settled herself on the couch, pulling a ratty sleeping bag over her head. She shivered. She couldn't bring herself to take off her boots, it was too cold. She wished she had Cole's scarf, or Cole himself. She heard a dog bark ferociously, and heard glass shatter in the distance. She squeezed her eyes shut. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would be warm again. Tomorrow there would be Cole. Cole walked for 10 minutes in the opposite direction Iona had. He was more furtive, more suspicious, now that Iona and her trusting eyes were gone. He stopped at the fanciest, most expensive car on the street and pulled out his keys. He was glad he had never let Iona see this. She wouldn't like it, he thought, with all of her talk about today's society, and her thrift store clothes. How she never bought anything, how careful she was about trash and recycleables. He winced as he pulled into his driveway. Drove down his driveway, really. It was longer than some of the streets he and Iona had explored together. He walked, shoulders hunched, past the fountains and topiary that meant he was home. He walked through the sterile black tile kitchen with 3 avacados placed "artistically" on the counter, up the marble staircase, and to his room. His room was different than the rest of the house. Where the house was glass, his room was corduroy. Where the house was angles and edges, his room was bean bags and cushions. Where the house was stark whites and ebony blacks, his room was muted and rich colors of maroon, brown, forest greens and deep blues. There were a few collages on the walls. Some photography equipment. A guitar. A futon in one corner. He walked over to the wall and pinned the photo booth picture of him and Iona on it. There was a note on his pillow, he picked it up and read it. "I don't care if you're gone all day, but I think Wynn does. She's called for you 5 times today. Where have you been? You ARE still living here, aren't you? She wants you to pick her up tomorrow at 11. Your dutiful mother." Cole sighed, crumpling the note. He unpinned the picture of him and Iona and slid it under the futon's mattress. He kicked off his shoes but didn't feel up to even putting on pajamas. Wynn. Tomorrow at 11. He couldn't forget. Thorns Iona sat at a shaded table inside of La Superica. People talked cheerfully all around her. She craned her neck, trying to look at someone's watch. He was late. Cole, was late. He'd always been the one waiting for her before. Always. He'd be sitting at a table witha horchata in front of him, and jump up when Iona walked in. She'd always started glowing from the warm look in his black eyes. But he wasn't there. Iona sat for about 45 minutes before she finally uncurled herself. She stood up, ready to go explore by herself. As she was walking away she heard her name being called, and turned around, her heart pounding. There he was, in all of his tall-dark-and-handsome-frayed-edges splendor. "Iona!" He called, running and panting. "Hi," she said, her voice low. "I'm so sorry" Cole began, but Iona shook her head. "No, it's okay." "Did you get an horchata?" He asked, smiling. Iona looked down. "No, I... didn't feel like one today." He shrugged, and they started walking. Iona's hands were in her pockets. Something was missing. "Iona, where's your camera?" Cole asked, when he realized what it was. "I finished it. Have to take it to be developed." "Did you get another?" He asked, automatically. "No!" Cole was startled by the edge in her voice. "No, I... don't ask me questions, Cole." Hurt, they walked in silence. "Look, Iona," Cole said softly, pointing. "Look at that rose!" It was hanging over a chainlink fence, it's petals slightly opened. It was the richest, almost purple rose Iona had ever seen. She went up to it, leaned down to smell it, grasping the stem in her effort to hold it to her nose. She gasped, and let go, looking at her hand. There were little droplets of blood welling up alrady. "Thorns." She whispered, tears in her eyes. She looked up at Cole and thought about how little she knew of him. Cole looked at her and saw a flower wilting. "I have to go early today," he said. "Oh." Iona looked away. Clouds were forming. The flowers were losing their sun. "I'll walk you back to La Superica though," he said, trying to brighten his voice. "No, it's okay." She stared, dully, at the rose while he walked away. She ached, her whole body ached like one big purple bruise. The tears had dried, leaving her eyes feeling red and stinging. She shouldn't feel like this. She had no reason to feel this bad. But she still slumped, lowering herself to the ground, leaning against the fence. "Why?" She whispered. "I knew I shouldn't have let him so close. I'm nothing but a fragile flower, why didn't I remember? Petals are torn too easily and uprooted too fast. I told him so at the beginning. But why didn't I remember?" She put her face in her hands and cried, the purple rose bobbing as she shook the fence with her sobs. Cole ran to his car and threw open the door,turned the key, and screeching he pulled out into the traffic. He looked at his clock. "Shit" he muttered. 20 minutes later he pulled into his driveway to grab a change of clothes. He groaned when he saw a familiar shiny, white convertible parked at the top of the driveway. Sure enough, as he walked through the door he heard his mother's voice and Wynn's high laugh echo throughout the black marble kitchen. There she was, leaning against the counter, platform sandals, capri pants and a tight white sweater. They stopped their talking and looked up. His mother raised her eyebrows and gave him a half smile. She patted Wynn's arm, gave Cole another appraising look, and left the two alone. Cole strode over to Wyn and kissed her. She broke away. "How've you been?" She asked, tapping her painted yellow nails on the tile counter. "You haven't been around forever and my phone messages seem to be sucked into a black hole." He shrugged. "I've been okay." Then at her look, he continued, "but not as okay as I am now. Hey come up to my room! I have some new photography equipment to show you." "Oh is that the line you use on girls now?" Wynn laughed, showing small white teeth. "And besides, you know I'm not into your picture thing anyway Cole." But she let herself be pulled up the stairs. "Your room is so dark" she said as she settled herself on the futon. "Theres too many blues and purples." "That's why I need you," he said. "To lighten the mood..." He reached for her again and she giggled. "I'll kiss you if you take that awful scarf off," she said. He took it from his neck, held both ends and tossed the loop around Wynn, pulling her to him. They settled on the futon and proceeded to lighten the mood. Iona sat on the wooden stairs leading down to Henry's Beach. Her chin was in her hands. She stared at the ocean, and the sky, to the point where there was no distinction. Usually it calmed her, the melding of the blues. She felt like a part of everything, combined and connected. Today it puzzled her, frustrated her. She strained her eyes, trying almost desperately to make out a difference. There was the smeared line of blue, then a line of almost white, then darker blue again. It was like someone had drawn streaks in pastels and then smudged it with their thumb. She knew how it felt. How life had been blue before, but a light blue. A blue that had been light enough to see through, or color over. A blue that wasn't so deep she couldn't swim. And then that bright light, the sharp beam of sunlight that shone through the clouds and struck her straight in the eyes. She remembered feeling blinded the first time she had met Cole, sitting on that bench with the hardware store sign buzzing over them. Every day since then had been so bright, so glittering. Every street sign had held an adventure, every flower housed a fairy. It had been dazzling. Like huge clouds on a sunny day, glowing from the inside out. The light had changed now, since she'd been watching. The dark blue was growing, the white line thinning. The blue had gotten so big, so overwhelming. It had deepened, turning a dark purple. She stared until it completely filled her vision. Choking back a small cry, she blinked, surprised to feel her eyelashes wet. She thought about walking on wet sand with Cole, wanting to draw hearts up and down the beach, and take pictures before the water washed them away. She thought maybe she just had salt water on her cheeks. Maybe it would dry, leaving a trail of salt crystals down her face. She thought about waking up, cold and shivering, her sleeping bag frosted with dew drops. She thought about prowling the streets early in the morning and wishing she was a flower that didn't mind the dew crystals sitting perilously and beautifully on their petals. She thought about the houses she saw, and wondered if she'd ever have a farden in a backyard, or a fence to plant vines to hang on. She wondered if she would ever have windows with windowsills to put pots overflowing with the brightest flowers on. She wondered if she would be satisfied even then, with only a house and flowers to keep her company. If she would be happy by herself. A small breeze picked up and blew the hair off of her neck. She wondered why she let herself be so cold without him. She'd go and get her pictures developed, she thought. She'd go and explore like she used to, back when there was only herself to worry about. She stood up, stretched, and set off for State Street, pausing only to pick a flower from a bush and put it behind her ear. Iona walked along State Street, trying to infuse a little spring into her step. She walked behind two brown, slender, beautiful people. Golden sparks seemed to flow from each of their eyes when they looked at each other. She had a funny ache in her chest when they reached for each other's hands. She wished she had money for a new disposable camera. The day was sunny, and nobody seemed to be in a hurry. She walked quickly, passing the golden brown couple in front of her, and darting in and out of other meandering people. Every store she passed had a memory that at first made her want to grin, then bite her lip. She walked into RiteAid and filled out the envelope, then put her camera inside. She walked out, past the ice cream counter, wishing Cole was there to share a cone with her. She shook her head and kept walking. Outside, she stood, torn. From one direction she heard a frolicking guitar playing. From the other, drums played a duet with her beating heart. The sounds mixed oddly, right at the point where she was standing. She could smell something garlicky to her left, and something cinammon sweet to her right. She stood, pulled in two different directions. Somehow, something has trivial as which direction to go was as important as life and death. She stood, her skin quivering with indecision for a few more seconds, then turned to her left. There he was. Cole, looking into a store window. Cole, holding hands with a laughing blonde girl she had never seen before. Maybe Iona screamed, maybe she was silent. But something made Cole look up, straight at her. Their eyes met; confused, hurt, bewildered and defensive. Iona turned on her heel and ran away, as fast as she could. He hadn't known she would be there. If he had, he would never have let Wynn drag him shopping with her. He had never thought that Iona might be there, wandering around State Street like an ordinary person. Somehow he had never thought about what she did after he left her each day. So he hadn't thought, and he had obliged to Wynn's pretty pouts. His heart hadn't been in it though. Wynn seemed superficial. He was holding hands with a giggle shell. He'd pointed out the crossing guard lady, and Wynn wrinkled her nose. He had showed her a little bird hopping alongside them, and she'd sniffed, talking about diseases. In one last vain attempt he had picked a flower and tried to put it behind her ear. She had brushed it away, so that it didn't mess up her hair. He let himself be pulled shop to shop. He had the distinct feeling of being a puppet lead by a puppet. He was wondering how to cut the strings that had grown so tight with habit. These knots, between him and Wynn, had been tied for so long they had shrunk to something that seemed painful now. He was thinking this when he smelled cinnamon, and thought of horchata's and Iona. He looked up, and there she was. Her face was stricken, her eyes filled with hurt, so dark and purple he felt like he was drowning in it. He realized with dismay that Wynn still had hold of his hand. He stood, mouth open, gaping, as if paralyzed. Iona ran. "...Isn't that cute?" Wynn said, oblivious to the drama that had just played out. "What?" Cole asked automatically, still staring at the spot Iona had been standing in. "Honestly Cole, where are you today?" She asked impatiently. He blinked, pulled back to the reality of Wynn's voice and hand, still tugging on his. He yanked it away. Wynn looked shocked. "I should be anywhere but here" he said gruffly, and without any more hesitation he took off at a run in the direction Iona had fled. Wynn stood, open mouthed and outraged. Then she too started running. Cole ran and ran, blind to the people he bumped in to. One smart aleck teenager yelled "and they're off!" But he was deaf to all jeers. His feet pounded, his head pounded, and his heart pounded. Where had she gone? Iona ran as if trying to outrace the tears streaming down her face. She ran without thinking, instinct and habit taking her back to the lot behind the thrift store, where she threw herself on her couch and sobbed in pain into a cushion. Iona had disappeared. As he ran, Cole searched the streets with desperate eyes. Where was she? He realized how little he knew of her. How little he had asked about her. One shining night she had appeared, and he had just accepted it. He'd assumed she would always be there. A panic started rising inside of him. He remembered the night he met her. he hadn't believed she was real at first. Maybe that's why he had let things go on like this for so long. She had been too good to be true, so he went along with the fairy tale, not thinking of the consequences. He'd been delightfully surprised that second meeting at La Superica, when she'd walked through the door. She was real, or at least, a dream that would last longer than one night. La Superica. Of course. That's where she would be there, it was the only thing that made sense. So he ran. Wynn paused, out of breath and cranky. She pulled off her platform sandals, narrowed her eyes and kept running. Cole burst through the small entry way of La Superica's. "Iona!" He bellowed, then stopped and looked around. Everybody had their heads turned, staring at him. A little girl giggled. His stomach churned and he felt dizzy. Iona wasn't there, and he had been so sure she would be. He was going to run up to her and sweep her off her feet, apologize again andn again, and their story would have a happy ending. to be completed at a later date! (aka when i have the time) okay Roya, you've never met me, but if you have pity on myself and the rest of us poor wiki-ers please finish this. eh? OOOOOOHHHHH!!!!!! Very cool!!!! PLEASE write more. I love it.
Seconded!! Royza, you keep writing!!! Kristina
Roya roya aaaaaack i just reread it and i have to read more and then i have to make it into a movie. dayamn you're good. Ahh! How could you stop there? More more!!! Very good story! -Kathleen I think I will complete it on saturday night, if you don't mind? Joe- 4/25/01 NBTSWikiWiki | Recent Changes Edited 22 times, last edited on May 22, 2001 by ::ffff:24.1.92.20. © 2000 NBTSC Webmasters |
