It had been a long day for Mara at her accountant job where she was in charge of filing tax reports for a famous florist shop. Eternal Blossoms was the talk of the town as they provided customised flower arrangements with a quick delivery service for any kind of event, be it a baby shower, a wedding or even for labour day. Eternal blossoms was the company that provided the casket garlands for her father’s funeral at subsidised rates. She had a special request and Eternal blossoms was willing to oblige. She had hardly made any demands and was a loyal employee from its inception. She wanted him to be buried in dried flowers.
Most people didn’t understand Mara who preferred to work in the dingy basement, covered in cobwebs rather than the posh office on the first floor. She never showed any interest in attending their weekly tea parties, where the middle-aged women discussed babysitting rates and projected new flower arrangement designs. Mara was not interested in pointless conversations and preferred not to think. The cobwebs in her mind were way more in need of dusting than the ones in her office. They had tried reaching out to her and chatting up a conversation but Mara would give them a weak smile, adjust her horn-rimmed glasses and resume typing. They offered to clear out her table with vases of old flaky flowers, and she snarled at them instead. They couldn’t take her dried flowers.
Mara always did overtime because she preferred to stay occupied rather than go back home to her alcoholic husband who made love to her before smashing a bottle in her face. She had tiny scars all over the curve of her lips and bruises under her left eyebrows. She didn’t raise her arms against him even though every cell in her body wanted to rage against the abuser. The only thing that kept her from pushing a shard of glass into his wicked heart was the thought of dried flowers. She reached into the pocket of her high waist jeans and pulled out a miniature ziplock bag and held it to her chest. It reminded her of him and she would be strong for him. The man who gave her the blue orchid.
She served the man who seized her by the wrists and planted a rough kiss, a bowl of cabbage soup after he was done with whatever he needed. The only time she had relief was when he passed out on the couch after his 9th glass of whiskey on the rocks. This was the time she could pull away from the chaotic world and head to her desk and let the tears out. This was the only time in the day that she let herself feel the pain. It had to be around the bouquets of dried flowers that reminded her of the only man in her life who truly loved her. The memories came swarming in uninvited and she let it wash over her.
It hurt to remember how she was a completely different person on the day of her wedding. She had purchased a fit and flare lace gown that hung beautifully at her hips and she had never felt so beautiful. She remembered the longing look in Marcus’s eyes as she approached the aisle. She felt like the only beautiful woman in the entire world. This was before he lost all his savings in a business venture and decided to take to drinking with a vengeance. Now his eyes were always bloodshot and unfocused.
Then she thought about him. The man who raised her single-handedly and worked hard to make sure she had everything she ever needed. She called him Papa and he was right with her on her wedding day. Her father clutched her fingers with all his might as if it was the last time he would ever hold his daughter’s hand. His knobbly fingers shook as he wiped away a wisp of stray hair from her forehead and placed a soft kiss at the entrance of the aisle. He was a man who did things way ahead of time and had handpicked a blue orchid flower a little too early. And when he handed it to Mara, it had withered a bit. She laughed at his sentimentality and hugged him tight. The last words he had said, before he handed her over to Marcus was, “It doesn’t matter whoever takes you home, you will always be mine, my little orchid”.
Mara wiped the tears that began to hit her diary like pregnant hailstones and flipped through its leaves hastily. She missed her dad so much and knew that the world was a better place with him. He always protected her against any danger like a bird caring for it’s young. She remembered how for every time she fell or had a bruise, he would buy her flowers. For the stitches she got on her knee after she fell off a horse during riding classes, he brought her a red rose. He reminded her that she might be delicate like rose petals but was tough as thorns. As she flipped the page she got a glimpse of a dried yellow tulip flower, that he had purchased for her when her first tooth fell out. He had joked, “You are my little sunshine even with a crooked smile”.
The last page of the book really choked her up. At that time, her father was diagnosed with fourth stage colon cancer and she didn’t want to burden him with her problems. But her father grabbed her hands feebly and asked about the mark on her cheekbone. She couldn’t lie to him and sobbed into his lap as she told him about the abuse she had been going through. He held her tightly until she cried to her heart’s content. She looked up to find a nurse bringing her a white lily, that had a tag that read, “Love, Papa”. He whispered into her hair fiercely, “Even if someone has deflowered you, in my eyes you will always be my innocent flower. I love you.”
In a matter of two weeks, Mara found herself walking down another aisle only to bid adieu to the love of her life. Her father had succumbed to the parasitic disease and had been laid in a marble coffin, surrounded by his favourite dried flowers. He had passed on but even in death she saw beauty just like in the dried flowers he always gave her. When everyone had cleared out after the funeral service and she was finally alone with him, she walked up to him, held his lifeless hand and wailed, “Why did you leave me so quickly? Who will comfort me now, Papa?”.
He didn’t wake up but when she unclasped her hand from his, it felt slightly heavy. He was holding a dried blue orchid.
Picture credits: Pexels
The Creative Ninja speaks 