WILDFLOWERS

new Draft 201406

WILDFLOWERS


I put on my coat, pick up the envelopes from the desktop, thrust them into my pocket and walk out the door. Another cold, overcast April morning. The streets were wet from the light Portland rain that just blows in the air.
I walk across the church parking lot avoiding the puddles and head down the street, past the graveyard that is across the street.


It was that time of the month, again. I need to go pay some bills. I just got paid and I was feeling like the middleman. They have to give it to me, then I have to give it to them. Why can't my job just, pay my bills and let me have what is left. I though to myself, walking down the street to the post office, as a light fog roll through the trees. When I notice, a little girl across the street.

She was alone on the inside of the graveyard fence. She was about five or six years old, long blond hair and wearing a powder blue dress. She moved slowly picking the wildflowers, along the black iron rails of the graveyard fence. I slowed down my walk. Pacing myself with the little girl, watching her from across the street. She moved like water as she skips across the grass, between the patches of wildflowers. Then she stops to pick more flowers. I was completely transfixed watching her, that I did not realize. I had stepped off the sidewalk and was now walking in the street, into the oncoming traffic.

Suddenly a red pick-up truck blares its horn at me as it swerves around me. All I saw was a red blur and the voice of a little girl screaming loudly in my ears. “Look out!” Everything moved in slow motion and it felt as if someone pulled me, then my feet land on the sidewalk.

I could hear the driver of the pickup truck cussing at me as he continued on his merry way. I watch him drive away down the street, standing there stunned at what happen and thinking I could have died, my heart was pounding. When I look back at the graveyard the little girl was gone. I continue to walk down the street minding my steps and every so often, looking back at the graveyard to see if she was there. I kept hearing that voice yelling “Look out!” in my head. Was it her voice that I heard yelling at me?

I wait in line, replaying what happen in my mind, trying to remember when did I step into the street? When the postman waves me over. I hand him the envelopes, pay the postage and sent my bills off with a, “You bastards.” They're going to be late, but they're still getting paid.

I start the walk back home. A light rain begins to fall as I crossed the street to walk past the graveyard. I look over the iron fence, trying to find the little girl again. I look in vain down the rolling hills of the cemetery, seeing no one, in the sea of headstones. I kept walking slowly, when I saw it. I was just past the halfway point of the graveyard. It was right there along the fence, in the first row facing the street. A big pile of freshly picked wildflowers laying in front of an old worn gravestone.
I looked at the headstone, it read,
Isabel 1806 1813 May you always run among the wildflowers.

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first draft 201405
WILDFLOWERS

It was a cold April morning, cloudy and a little foggy. The streets were wet from the rain last night and the day before. I walked across the church parking lot avoiding the puddles and head down the street.
It was that time of the month, again. I had to go pay some bills. I just got my paycheck and I was feeling like the middleman. They have to give it to me, so I could give it to them. Why can't my job just pay my bills and let me have what is left. I was thinking to myself as I walk down the street to the post office. A cold wind starts to blow. When I notice, there was a little girl across the street. She was walking alone on the inside of the graveyard fence. She was about five or six years old, long blond hair and wearing a powder blue dress. She was moving slowly picking the wildflowers, along the black iron rails of the graveyard fence. I slow down my walk, pacing myself with the little girl, watching her from across the street. She moved like water as she skips across the grass, between the patches of wildflowers. Then she stops to pick more flowers. I was so transfixed watching her, that I was unaware I had stepped off the sidewalk and was now walking in the street, into the oncoming traffic.
Suddenly a red pick-up truck blares its horn at me as it swerved around me. All I saw was the red burr of the truck and the voice of a little girl screaming loudly in my ears. “Look out!” Everything was moving in slow motion It felt like someone pushed me as my feet land onto the sidewalk but there was no one there.
I could hear the driver of the pickup truck cussing at me as he continued on his merry way. I watch him drive away down the street thinking I could have been killed my heart was pounding. When I look back at the graveyard the little girl was gone. I continue to walk down the street minding my steps and thinking how did I get in the street, I don't remember stepping off the curb. Every so often. I would look back at the graveyard to see if she was there, picking the wildflowers. I kept hearing that voice yelling “Look out!” in my head, was it her voice that I heard yelling at me.
I arrive at the post office to buy some stamps and mail the payment of my bills, then start the walk back home. A light rain begins to fall. I cross the street so I could walk past the graveyard, to see if I could find the little girl again. I look in vain down the rolling hills of the cemetery, seeing no one, in the sea of headstones. I kept walking, then I saw it. I was just past the halfway point of the graveyard. It was right there along the fence, in the first row facing the street. A big pile of freshly picked wildflowers laying in front of a grave.
I look at the headstone, it reads,
Isabel 1806 1813 May you always run among the wildflowers.