Flowers

He was a quiet boy who sang tenor in the church choir.  At school, his classmates labeled him as “teacher’s pet”.  He was teased but most days he was left alone.  He could be found every day eating lunch in the corner seat of the cafeteria.  One of his favorite past times was role playing.  No one was sure what the game was but he played by himself and it was a secret.  He had many secrets.  He liked to torture things.  Sometimes they died; sometimes they lived, mangled and worthless.  Those that died were always buried under a beautiful flower arrangement.  As president of the city’s garden club, his green thumb was envied. 

Her hair hung down the middle of her back and when she tossed it over her shoulder, he could smell the honey-melon shampoo she used.  Every day she wore some kind of flower in her hair.  He would try to smell the flower as he sat behind her in math class, never quite reaching. 

On the Monday following Homecoming, she was missing from class.  Their math teacher later remembered he seemed anxious, checking his watch several times throughout the period.  His weekend homework which usually was meticulously done was hastily finished.  Monday, after school he wasn’t at his usually spot waiting for her to come out the heavy glass doors.  It wasn’t until later that his absence was remembered. 

Several years passed and still she was not found.  Life for some moved on, for others the grief never lessened.  He was last seen headed out of town on the Greyhound stating to the bus driver, “I just wanted to smell the flower”.  At the time, no one understood.

In the center of town there’s a body-sized patch of flowers.  They grow more beautiful every year.  No one remembers who planted them but one day they appeared and they continue to this day.