Wildflowers Ep2

Instructions

Chapter 2: Iris Woof, I think to myself as the door closes. At least I got my trowel back. I head back to my balcony and look down. The bustle and hustle of New York City honks below me. Canary-colored taxis and cars in a variety of hues start and stop to the ticking of crosswalk lights. Glad I didn’t drop my trowel down there. I could have busted somebody’s windshield. I turn my attention back to my plants. My iris flowers are particular little things, always requiring attention. It’ll be worth it in the end, though. Iris flowers are beautiful. Their colors remind me of my eyes sometimes. Dad says he and my mom didn’t know what color my eyes were going to be when they picked out the name, but since they both have blue eyes, it was basically a guarantee. Or so I’ve been told. I’ve never met my mom. Shortly after they had me, Dad caught my mom cheating and filed for a divorce. She moved down to Maryland with her boyfriend when I was one month old. Oh well. I don’t really want to meet her anyway. “Eerie?” Dad calls from inside. He always makes up these stupid little nicknames for me. I’d never admit it, but I like them. “Yeah?” “I’m going to go on a stroll with Peter. I’ll be back in a little bit, ok?” “Ooh, someone's got a date,” I singsong. “Tha-it’s not-” He sighs. “I’ll be back in a bit, ok?” “Ok.” He grabs his keys and bustles out the door. I laugh. It’s so fun to mess with my dad like this, especially because he and Peter really are dating. Actually, they’ve been dating for about one and a half years now, so I’m not really sure why he’s so self conscious about having a boyfriend. I finish up watering my plants, dust myself off, and head inside. After a quick shower, I flop on our couch. Honeydew, our calico cat, hops on my lap. "Merowwwwwwwww" he says. “Merow yourself,” I reply, petting him. I think about that girl I met today. Rosa. I hope I see her again. She seems nice. I grab my notebook and compose a poem. The Gardening Trowel I drop my trowel and peek over my railing hoping I wasn’t the reason of a New Yourker’s death and instead I see you holding it and I’m almost responsible for my death instead. I quite like it. I flip through my notebook, seeing hundreds of poems. I sigh, and shut it. I don’t need to get wrapped up in my feelings today.