A Bed of Molten Flowers

The foyer was empty. I glanced right, then left, scanning the separate rooms in the old funeral home. The two-story, white mansion had been the final gathering place for most who had lived in our small town. I didn’t see anyone but could hear faint voices deeper in the house.

I passed the staircase and headed down the narrow hallway. My brother, Collin, stepped out of one of the rooms, left hand clasped to the back of his neck. His face was red, cheeks stained with tears. He didn’t notice me. I slowed, reluctant to interrupt his struggle to regain his composure. He pulled in an audible breath and stood straight.

Our eyes met. His face crumpled and he began to sob again. I hurried to him. We embraced and cried together, holding each other until we could bear to separate. It had been years since he’d hugged me that way.

After we gathered ourselves and stepped a part, the smell hit me. Not an odor of death or decay, but the overwhelming, heady scent of flowers. I stifled a cough as I looked around the small viewing room. Beside the casket, every shade of yellow from soft and pale to sunshine bright lined the room in various bouquets sent to honor our father. From one end to the other the walls were lined with lilies and pots of marigolds, sunflowers and even a few bouquets of wildflowers made of purple asters and goldenrod. Absolutely beautiful. Absolutely abhorrent to the nose. The scents clashed like ammonia and bleach. My nose burned. My eyes began to water. I sneezed, then coughed. I covered my face and sneezed again.

I could only imagine what Dad would’ve said if he was standing next to me.

“What the fuck?” he would’ve said. “I can’t breathe, this place smells awful.”

I tried not to chuckle at the thought. Even more, he hated yellow. Did someone put it in the obituary? ‘Make sure your flowers are stinky and a shade of yellow.’

I sneezed. A golden cluster of potted marigolds sat near my feet. I glared down at them. The sight made me sneeze repetitively—ridiculously, over and over. When I recovered, I rubbed my eyes and spotted Mom at the end of the main aisle. Based on the pained look on her face, I knew she was fighting the urge to sneeze. I pushed my fist to my nose and join her near the casket.

“Mom…it seriously stinks in here.”

She nodded, then erupted in laughter. I jumped, her outburst terrifying the shit out of me. She sounded crazy—she looked a little crazy. My brother and I glanced at each other. His eyes widened. I widened mine back like, I don’t have a clue of what to do with her.

“What the hell do we do now?” Mom blurted out. Luckily, it was just the three of us, standing there.

“The room is too small for all these bouquets,” I said. “The smell isn’t helping.”

“I’m touched by everyone’s thoughtfulness, but this is a bit much. I’ve never seen so many flowers.” She looked around, shaking her head.

“Did someone send out a PSA about the color yellow?” I said with an onery grin.

Mom covered her face, stifling a burst of laughter. “Stop it. It’s late in the year.”

“Dad hated yellow,” Collin murmured.

“He’d be mortified. I’m not sure what happened.” Mom rolled her eyes, scanning the room again. “I guess, Cubby blue isn’t a color you find in flowers.” She waved a hand of dismissal. “People will be here soon. Behave. You’re in your twenties,” Mom gave us her ‘I mean it,’ eye, finishing with, “Act like it.”

I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, leading her away from the casket and the overpowering pollen. Collin fell into step on the other side of her.

Still fighting the burning sensation in the upper half of my face, I stifled a sneeze with my index finger. At the same time, people started to arrive in pairs. Some were alone, others were in small groups. When the clock hit two, we sat down together as a family in the front row, trying like hell to ignore the overpowering scent of clashing aromas.

As the minister spoke, I began to sneeze again. I tried to do it quietly as possible but after five times, there was no hiding my burst of allergies. Behind me, another person sneezed, then someone next to them. Several seconds of quiet coughing passed as we listened to the sermon, but then two more people started sneezing at the same time.

I couldn’t help it, I had to giggle. Collin elbowed me. I glanced up at him, pressing my fist to my lips in an attempt to stop.

His eyes watered, and he let out an—“Atchew! Atchew! Atchew!”

I lost it, folding forward, covering my face as quiet giggles billowed out.

The pastor cleared his throat. I sat straight, pressing my lips tightly. The pastor held up a palm, his eyes squishing together, and he let out one sneeze after another. Finally, his palm lowered, and he cleared his throat again. “I do apologize.”

At the same time, several others began to sneeze near the back of the room.

I turned in my seat, looking over the crowd. What the hell was going on?

Mom turned with me. I held my breath. I could feel how irritated she was. I waited. Then she let out a sneeze, then another and another, it seemed like she couldn’t stop. After six eruptions, I began to roll with laughter.

If Dad was here, he would’ve been cracking up with me.

Out of nowhere, Mom stood up. She looked at the pastor and back at the crowd of familiar sneezing faces.

“This is fucking crazy,” she said. I gasped. Mom wasn’t one to draw attention, let alone say, ‘fucking’ in front of a crowd. Mom spun and found the funeral director with her laser beam eyes. Any form of humor I’d been feeling died with her expression. As a kid, I would’ve pissed my pants had she looked at me like that. She pointed at the puny, pale-faced funeral-dude and said, “My husband didn’t want us to suffer through his farewell. Can someone please deal with these awful flowers?”

The room filled with applause and laughter. Midway through their ovation, several more random sneezes reiterated Mom’s point.

The funeral director nodded back at her. This ticket wasn’t one he wanted to lose in some lawsuit. Immediately, he snapped his fingers. Three assistants stepped out of the crowd, a young woman and two men. They didn’t hesitate at the silent command and started carrying the bounty of bouquets out of the room. Some of the people who came to show their respects helped gather and remove the beautiful but torturous flowers.

Mom sat back down and buried her face in her palms. I knew she was mortified. I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. She broke down, letting the tears fall.

Liam and Laura. One wasn't complete without the other.

“Those marigolds…,”—she sniffled—“they…” I squeezed her tighter. “The night we met, we tripped and fell into a flower bed.” She swallowed, taking a moment before she continued. “He kissed me for the first time in a bed of molten marigolds. That scent…”

She looked at me, like really looked at me. Her eyes were so full of pain and love, all at the same time. “Oh Finley, I loved him so much.”

“He loved you, Mom. If anything in this life is truth, Dad loved you with everything he had.” I felt a little sad at those words. We all knew he could’ve done more. “I’m sorry he fell short in the end. It wasn’t about you.”

A look crossed her face that said, ‘If you only knew…”

I cringed, unsure if I’d pissed her off. Then she sat straighter, and closed her eyes, but only for a brief moment. I waited for her to look at me again. She nodded once.

“Yes. He did love me. And he loved you very much too.”

We stared at each other for a long, loving moment, and I knew she would be okay.

The rest of the day was beautiful, perfectly executed after Mom’s interruption to give everyone some oxygen to breathe during the eulogy. We honored Dad in every way he deserved—an American flag was laid over his casket, Taps was played in the distance at the graveyard, a twenty-one-gun salute was the final respect to see him off. I couldn’t have been prouder of the man he’d been. No matter what had happened between him and Mom, I loved my father, and he was the best man I’d ever known.

After a long day, and everyone but Mom and my brother had left the cemetery, I went to my car to retrieve one of the pots of yellow marigolds. Together, the three of us walked to the grave in the peace and solace of the deep pastel twilight, remembering the man we all loved so much. I turned to Mom and handed her the pot to place at the front of the barren grave. Collin and I stepped away to give her some privacy. We didn’t go far.

She fell to her knees, folded her body over, and pressed her cheek to the raw, black soil.

“I love you enough,” was all we heard, “I love you enough.”

The End.

Thank you for reading my short stories! If you enjoyed this, please hit the heart button. It means a lot to me that you took the time to read my work!

Follow me at:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ajmarkstahler

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Ajmarkstahler