Chapter 2

2
Oliver was kept busy sweeping the area outside of the store. It was about closing time, and business had finally slowed down for the day. The sun could just be seen over the tops of the faraway mountains and its rays crept through the thick, crisp air. He let out a sigh as he swept the last of the dirt from the concrete. A slight smile stretched across his face. Putting the broom aside, Oliver got to work with the outside displays. He made sure to put covers over all of his flowers and fasten them down with the same blue rope. With ease, he threw them over. He had done it thousands of times before. Oliver switched the 'open' sign off and stepped inside.
"Done," he let out. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Oliver thought about all of the extra work he had done after closing time. He was not getting paid for it, but after the fact, it put a smile on his face. Oliver leaned against the wall of the store and scanned the streets. He felt exhausted.
He looked over the counter and down the two aisles of the small flower shop on the corner of Maple Avenue. Oliver was content. His hand gently glided across the wood, lacquered countertop like he was checking for dust. He glanced about to see that everything was in order, and made his way down the first aisle. At the end, there was a metal door. It was painted a sea foam green color, but it was worn away to an old, rusty copper. He gripped the handle and gave it a slight twist. The door would not budge. After a few more attempts, and rattling the door a bit, it gave in and opened to a quaint, yet solemn bedroom.
The room was the length of the twin bed that was slammed up against the wall to the left. Next to it, on the back wall, was a table that stretched across the remainder of the room. It held a few small hand shovels, various pairs of gloves, some packs of seed, and a plastic bottle of fertilizer. Dirt was scattered around the surface as well. In the right corner of the room, leaning up against the wall, were eroded, rusty gardening tools. Continuing around the room was a small box TV, and a single rack, piled with all of the clothes he owned.
Oliver struggled out of his shirt, crumpled it up, and buried his face inside to wipe all of the sweat off of it. He went from his room to an even smaller side room right next to it. Snatching up a silver pail, he set it under the spigot fixed on the wall close to the floor. He turned it to the left and lukewarm water gushed out of the spigot. Oliver reached for a sponge that was off to the side, but heard a sudden knock on the door. Pulling a new shirt over his head, he stepped over the threshold to his own room and began towards the front door of the shop.
Squinting his eyes, he cupped his hands and put them up to the window in an attempt to see through the shade. Through the foggy glass and the small amount of light outside, Oliver could make out a pale girl with glasses waving to him from the other side.
"Oh," Oliver snickered, "Hey, Celia. What're you doing here?"
"I was on my way home and wanted to see if you'd like to come eat with me. I know you're not eating well. Looks like you need a shower too."
"I'm doing fine on my own. Don't worry about me. I really don't want to intrude. Besides, I-"
Celia cut him off. "It would be my pleasure to have you over. C'mon!" She motioned towards him to step outside. Oliver rolled his eyes.
He snatched his keys from the hanger next to the counter and locked the door. Oliver took a few steps onto the narrow, winding street and groaned, "Is that how you got here?"
A small giggle slipped between the girl's lips as she nodded her head. She mounted the seat and turned towards the handle bars. Oliver headed towards the big-wheeled cruiser bike, hopped onto the handlebars, and held the square frame of the bike. Giving a nod, Celia began to peddle down the street. She did not live far away. The sun had just set and the street lights were buzzing, eventually flickering on. The cool breeze from the ride refreshed Oliver after his day of work. Celia began to turn a corner and the bike started to wobble.
"Ahh!" Oliver shouted as he jumped, still holding on to the frame of the bike. The shake jolted his whole body. "Be more careful," he yelled. Celia let out another giggle.
Her feet skidded to a halt near the left side of the street. They had arrived. Oliver stepped over the front wheel of the bike and joined Celia to her front door. The door creaked open and the cold air hit them like a wall. They each let out a huge sigh of relief. Starting towards the couch, Oliver halted in his path once he heard a girl's voice behind him.
"Hey, I invited you over to eat. Not to sleep. Let's get in the kitchen."
With a sullen look of agreement, he turned around and made his way to the dining room. He could feel the heat from the kitchen where Celia had been cooking. It smelled delicious. There was a savory aroma in the air that made his mouth water. Oliver had not eaten well in weeks. His daily meals consisted of sandwiches bought from corner stores, cookies, and cereal. It was not the most nutritious diet. But he was about to be served a hot, tasty meal. Oliver heard the clinking of plates and silverware being pulled from their cabinets. His head was full of delicious memories of the meals from before, and all of the sudden, there was a knock on the door.
Ugh, Oliver thought. "I got it," he moaned. He walked to the door and opened it to another girl standing in the doorway. "Hey... Uhh, who are you?" he asked, somewhat confused.
The girl blushed. "Hi, my name's Abigail. Is Celia home?"
Oliver paused. He nodded, still with a perplexed look on his face.
"Celia!" the girl yelled as she ran through the house. She shoved Oliver out of the way and stormed through the living room, screaming things that he could not make out. Shell shocked from the girl's bizarre behavior, Oliver slowly stood up straight and began to follow her. He entered the kitchen and the steamy air clung to his skin. It looked as if the girl was about to get on her knees to beg Cel for some food.
"Can you please give me something to eat? I promise I'll make it up to you! My parents just couldn't give me any more this month and I'm really-"
Celia let out a laugh. "Of course you can, Abigail! I'm not that bad of a person."
The girl responded with a relieved look on her face. Her shoulders relaxed and she gave Cel a quick, but big hug.
"But I'm still not finished cooking yet!" Celia exclaimed. "Gimme a few more minutes."
Oliver and Abigail looked at each other in agreement and walked towards the living room. He took the couch, while she skipped over to a plush chair across the room. There was a ceiling fan in the center of the furniture, and it was on a very slow setting. Oliver's eyes followed its blades around the lighting fixed in the center. His eyes were glued to it spinning around and around. He really did not care for talking to this girl very much. She seemed a bit odd and quite timid. Still faced towards the ceiling, he cleared his throat, scratched his head, and turned towards the kitchen in hopes that Celia would walk out. He was trying to avoid conversation at all cost.
"Hey, Celia! Dinner almost ready in there?" Oliver yelled.
"I said give me a minute, damnit!"
Oliver slowly turned around in his seat and looked at the floor. The girl sitting across from him giggled. He tucked his head away from her as well.
"So, u-um... Your name is Oliver right?"
She got his attention. He turned back to face her, and responded with a slight nod. "U-uh, yeah. Yeah, my name's Oliver. What's yours?" He asked softly.
She blushed nervously. "A-Abigail."
"Well, nice to meet you." He sighed, trying to avoid any further conversation. Oliver was bad at meeting new people, and rather timid himself. Celia was the only person he had met since he moved to town, and that whole thing was a fluke too.
In turn, Abigail put her hands between her knees and looked down. The pair sat in silence.
"Ready?" Celia prompted with a smile.
They rose from their seats and their faces beamed with joy at the sight of the dining room table. There were three plates. Each one was piled with steaming home cooking. Oliver's mouth began to water at the mere sight of it. He floated over towards the table and plopped himself in the closest chair he could find.
"Let's eat!" He exclaimed.
He immediately started to stuff down bites of bread, meat, and potatoes. His cheeks were full of them, and he had a smile on his face. Celia could barely make out a "thanks for the food," through all of his chewing. She began to snicker and tears came to her eyes. A smile came to her mouth as well.
"Well go on," she motioned towards Abigail.
She nodded in response and began to dig in. Everyone around the table was enjoying the food, it was as if they hadn't eaten in days. There was not much of a dinner topic. It was the usual colloquial talk between good friends that have not had the time to catch up; although, Oliver mostly kept quiet and listened in on the girls' conversation. They spoke of people he did not know and time where he was not around. They were close, it appeared. He did not know that Celia had other friends like that.
Soon enough, Oliver stood up and got a second helping, sat down, and continued eating in silence. He promptly finished his food and leaned back in his seat, turning back to the ceiling. His stomach was full and he was satisfied. He had not felt like that in a long time. Satisfaction is something he did not get very much of. There was not much opportunity for him to receive any as he had never been set up for success, nor desired anything. But tonight, he ate well and felt good. He had learned to enjoy the small things.
"There's a pie on the stove if you'd like some," Cel prodded, "If you still have room."
Oliver smirked. He looked around and noticed everyone else had finished as well. He headed towards the kitchen and saw the top of the pie. It looked golden brown with pieces of apple peaking through the crust. He rustled through one of the nearby drawers and found a pie server along with three small plates. He placed them next to the pie dish and began to serve a portion for each person. He brought the plates back to the table and set them down at their places.
"Oh, wow. Thanks," Celia let out surprised.
"It's the least I could do," Oliver chuckled.
He sat down at his place once again and savored his first bite of apple pie. The crust flaked off in his mouth as the apples melted to mush. The taste was sweet and warm. It was wonderful.
"U-um... Thank you."
Oliver looked up. Abigail's eyes were stuck on the piece of pie he put out in front of her.
"Sure," he whispered in shy acknowledgement.
She ate every last bite. Celia disappeared into the kitchen, and once again, Oliver and Abigail were alone. His eyes danced around the room as she twiddled her thumbs. The room was so quiet, you could hear the fan's rattling from the other side of the wall. Emerging from the kitchen, Celia tossed a towel to Oliver.
"I told ya' to get a proper shower once you were over here, right?"
Oliver nodded and nearly jumped out of his seat. He rushed to the bathroom, eager to feel the hot water.
"Alright," she said. "What's wrong with you?"
"It's the money."
Abigail looked down at the floor as she had all night. Her hands began to tremble uncontrollably, and her eyes jolted up to meet those of Celia. At this point, her mouth started to quiver and she sniffled.
"I don't know what to do anymore," she whimpered. "My parents haven't sent me enough money in months! And God knows what they're having to deal with! I can't eat, I can't sleep! What do I do with-"
Her own choking cut her off. She pushed her hair to the the side of her face and struggled to find a smile. She barely managed.
Thank God I got outta there. I was about to faint from all of the awkwardness. I didn't have a clue what to say. Now, what do I have to do tomorrow? He wondered. The scalding hot water drenched his body as it melted to the flow of the shower.
Probably going to wake up early... I'll definitely open the shop. Run the counter, sweep the floors. The same stuff he makes me do every day. He let out a sigh. It gets me by. I just come second.
The soap oozed out of its container and onto his hands. Oliver put it through his hair and lathered it into his scalp, producing a thin layer of foam. Thoughts of the following day filled his head. Water and suds trickled down the front of his face as he kept his eyes shut. Washing the remaining residue from his hair and body, Oliver grabbed a towel from the floating shelf and ran it over himself. Quickly, he dried off and threw his clothes on. After hanging the towel up, he stepped outside into the hall that lead to the living room.
"But don't worry about me," she croaked nervously. "It's okay."
Abigail looked up to Oliver's figure standing in the doorway to the living room and stopped abruptly. She stood up.
"I- I should get going."
"Oh, well Oliver will walk you home!" Sounding optimistic, Celia turned to face Oliver with a "you better walk her home" look on her face.
"Yeah, sure." Oliver trembled. It seemed that Celia was rushing everything. It was quite odd for her to rush anything, especially kicking her friends out.
Abigail quickly resisted and began towards the door. Celia insisted again, this time with the forced support of Oliver. She dropped her gaze in defeat and Oliver pushed open the door for her. Her stare sent a shiver down his spine.
"Thanks a lot, Celia. What would I do without you?" Oliver laughed. "Come by tomorrow for some flowers!"
"Alright," she laughed. "Don't stress about that too much. It was my pleasure."
Abigail nodded in Celia's direction in acknowledgement. Celia did the same. Giving a wave to them both, she got up from her chair and closed the door behind them.
The sky had grown even darker than before dinner, but the stars were more brilliant. They were sprinkled about like pepper in a soup of black and blue. The air had cooled. A slight breeze wisped through their clothes as Oliver and Abigail made their way down the street. There were no cars, and the stoplights were all flashing yellow. They walked in the middle of the road. This time, Oliver had to say something.
"So," he began, "Do you like Asters?" He turned to face her as they walked.
She looked at him strangely. "Asters?" She questioned.
Oliver grinned. "Ya' know, the flower."
Abigail shook her head. "I've never heard of them."
He was in shock. "I guess I'll have to get you one then. They were my mother's favorite."
She nodded slightly in agreement and faced further down the street. He had tried to make some sort of conversation, although it was not very long. A bit disappointed, he turned away as well. With his hands in his pockets, he tilted his head up to look at the sky. He kept it there. Most nights were not this clear.
"So why are you so interested in flowers?"
Oliver faced her again. "Oh, well I suppose I was around them a lot when I was little. That's all. I work at the shop down the street."
"Oh, so that's it." She giggled.
Oliver smiled. Flowers reminded him of his mother and of his childhood. They did not grow up in the city, but raised him in a small town off of the countryside. His mother always cared for the flowers around the house, and taught Oliver everything he knew about them. He tried to care for things just as she had.
Turning the corner, the striped canvas cover could be seen hanging over the displays a few blocks down the street. The sidewalk was rough on Maple Avenue. Since the city didn't like to spend much money on its roads, all of the gaps and crevices had been filled in with a black substance. It appeared rather unkempt. The corner store for closer and closer.
He lifted up the blue tarp just enough to pluck a small, purple flower from its pot. An Aster. Steadily, he handed it to Abigail.
"For you," he said. It had become a bit easier to talk with her.
She simply smiled with her eyes. "It's beautiful," they seemed to say, and carried on down the street. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly as she inhaled its sweet aroma.
The rest of the trek to her house seemed to go on for miles. They walked through countless intersections and turned too many corners to keep track of. This part of the city where the students lived was like a maze. Police were always seen whenever new applicants moved into an apartment. They always got lost. Even after being there for a year, Oliver did not know his way around. All of the sudden, she took a sharp turn to the left and up to a doorway.
"Thanks," Abigail nodded. "This is my place."
"Don't mention it." Oliver started in the other direction, waving over his head.
"Hey, where are you going?" She asked.
"Back to my house."
"Why didn't you speak up when we were close? I could have walked here by myself, you know. Where do you live?"
Oliver paused. She continued with her interrogative stare.
"The flower shop on Maple."
Abigail disappeared into her house. Sounds of rummaging through things shook through the door. A nervous look grew on Oliver's face, and he started to back away. All at once, the noise came to a stop and she emerged with a bike in hand.
"Just don't wreck it, alright?"
"Oh, I can't accept-"
The door was slammed in his face.
"Goodnight!" He heard from the other side.
How am I going to find my way home, Oliver thought.
Trying his best to backtrack their journey, he finally turned the corner to Maple Avenue. A sigh of relief flew from his mouth as he saw the small, corner flower shop. He was home. Using his key, he smoothly unlocked the door to the store and made his way to the back room. The store was just the same as he had left it- nice and tidy. There, he removed his clothes once more and slipped underneath the covers. The bed creaked as he rolled over, trying to find the warm dent on the left side of it. Oliver's head sunk into his feather pillow as his body found its place. He slowly closed his eyes.
"Oliver! Get the hell out of bed!"