Bouquet

At the end of every winter, Reyna’s hair, black as soil, fell out in clumps.

At the start of every spring, her bald head sprouted flowers instead. And every summer, her mother used a pair of garden shears to cut the flowers from her scalp, selling the bouquets for exorbitant amounts of money. By the time autumn came back around, the flowers died, and her black hair returned for the winter.

No one knew why or how Reyna’s head sprouted flowers. When it first began, her parents told her to hide the flowers under a scarf, but they soon saw the potential profit in Reyna’s unique predicament. Every year, Reyna sat, silently, her arms wrapped around her knees, as her mother cut the flowers from her head. She endured, silently, as the stem stumps scabbed over and fell off. Her mother sold the bouquets—chrysanthemums, daisies, bundles of black-eyed Susans, until they were so rich, Reyna had lost count.

Each summer, a different flower bloomed from her head. The first ever were a lovely bunch of lilies, pure white. This spring, as Reyna collected clumps of black locks from her pillow, she found a pretty petal of bright yellow, like a fallen teardrop from the setting sun.

This summer, her head would grow marigolds.

Reyna was eighteen now, and moved out as soon as her birthday arrived—a decision her family was against—but Reyna had had enough. Last summer, before her family could interfere, Reyna had cut her own flowers, leaving a mess of sap everywhere, and sold the blooms for enough money to find a new home for herself. She had done such a good job in razing her scalp that she thought—hoped, prayed—that this would be the last summer her head would grow flowers at all. But when she saw that sun-drop petal lying on her pillow, she sighed, and went in search of her garden shears.

She had taken the old shears from her family, which were rusted with the blood of previous blooms. Reyna’s crown itched at the sight of them. She couldn’t bear using them again this year. So when her marigolds had matured enough to be harvested, she wrapped a scarf over her flowers and set out to purchase a new pair.

The selection of shears available at the hardware store was overwhelming. Reyna stood there, floundering long enough to draw the attention of an attendant, who obligingly asked if she needed any help.

“I’m looking for shears,” she said, near tears. She almost considered using the old rusted ones again to avoid the discomfort of her overwhelm.

“Yes, I assumed,” the attendant said. “What do you need to shear?”

Reyna was so mortified that she couldn’t bear looking the man in the eye. Instead, she looked at the strange gloves he wore. As she was thinking of something to say, the sound of a plinking pebble interrupted her thoughts. If Reyna had not already been looking at his hands, she probably wouldn’t have noticed the movement of the small rock, slipping out from his glove and landing between them.

The man noticed it, too. When Reyna bent to pick it up, the man said, “No, wait—”

But it was too late. Reyna plucked the pebble from the ground before the man could reach it.

“Give it back,” the man said immediately, panicked. He held out his gloved hand, insistent on reclaiming the pebble.

Intrigued, Reyna did not immediately return it, but paused to inspect her unexpected prize. The rock was about the size of a quail’s egg, rough and grey, almost round. Uninteresting overall.

“Give it back,” the man said again, through clenched teeth. “Please.”

Reyna obeyed, not one to cause a fuss, and carefully placed the stone in the center of his palm. He exhaled as his fingers folded around it.

Strange, Reyna thought, but she was the last one to call anyone strange—she had marigolds growing out of her head, after all.

As she went to stand, the end of her scarf snagged on a display hook, pulling the fabric from her head before she could save it. When she finally noticed, it was too late—the marigolds were exposed. A single flower, rich yellow, gently drifted to the ground between their feet, mocking her.

“Oh,” said the man, staring blankly at the wild bouquet atop her head. Then he glanced at the wall of garden shears beside them. Understanding swept across his features. “Oh,” he said again, this time with a hint of sadness.

Reyna scrambled to cover her flowers. Embarrassment and shame set like a sunset across her skin. She wanted to run, overcome with a need to protect herself, but she still hadn’t picked any shears, and there was no way she was leaving here without them.

“Now you know what I need,” she said.

The man—his name tag read, “Hello, I’m Evan”—nodded. Without further explanation, Evan selected a small pair of shears, but before handing them to her, he waited until she looked up.

“It’s none of my business,” Evan said. He looked to be fighting himself, biting at the inside of his cheek. “And I am not in the habit of telling others what to do, but...have you considered just letting them grow?”

Reyna took the shears from him, holding them close to her chest. “Thank you for your help, Evan,” she said as she turned to go.

“Wait, just a moment,” he said. Despite her irritation, Reyna was curious, so she stayed and watched as Evan bent down to pick up the fallen flower. Then he extended his other hand, palms up, and offered both gloved hands toward her. One held the flower, one held the pebble.

“Trade?” he said simply.

Reyna almost smiled. Before he could change his mind, Reyna accepted the trade, taking the pebble and putting it in her pocket.

Evan smiled, a small quirk of his lips, but it quickly faded. “Don’t try to sell it, though,” he said, as he turned to go. “If you do, you’ll have bad luck.”

Without another word, Evan left, leaving Reyna to wonder what he meant.

#

Back at home, new shears in hand, Reyna considered her reflection. She was ready to clip, but something made her pause. The deep golden yellow marigold, the inner petals orange, was full enough to take a bite. It was alarmingly beautiful. The sight of it—the sight of her—covered in glorious, impossible flowers, made her weep.

She had never told anyone this, but cutting the flowers hurt. Not the violent act of snipping itself, but for days after, Reyna suffered from migraines that lasted as long as it took for the new flowers to grow in. But she had borne the pain silently, knowing how much it meant to her family to be so prosperous.

Her family had enough money now, and Reyna didn’t need anymore. When the tears finally stopped, she put the shears down, not a single flower cut. Instead, she sat on the cold tile and pulled out the pebble that was still in her pocket.

She rolled the stone in her palm—it was unassuming in every way. Not perfectly round, but oblong with bumps; a sort of grey that one is likely to overlook. But as she inspected it further, a small crack appeared, splitting the rock clean in half.

A spectacular shimmer erupted from within. Pure white, glimmering crystals appeared, growing right before her eyes until they overtook the dull rock casing.

Amazed, but not surprised, Reyna rushed back to the hardware store, holding the two halves in either hand. She scanned the aisles until she found Evan, standing in front of some hammers.

“Hey!” he said when she approached, surprised to see her again so soon. His smile grew, and Reyna realized that in her excitement, she had forgotten her scarf. Embarrassed, but too excited to care, she smiled back and held out the crystals to him. His expression immediately dimmed.

“This is amazing!” she said, dismayed by his reaction.

Evan turned away from her, lips sour. “Yes, amazing.”

Reyna paused, confused. In the silence, Evan sighed, then painstakingly removed his gloves, gently tugging at each finger while gritting his teeth. When they were off, he held out his hands, palms up, for Reyna to inspect.

His hands were made of stone. Rough and grey.

Meeting her eye, Evan held out his gloves and tipped them upside down. A dozen pebbles tumbled out from within. Evan grabbed a hammer from beside him and smashed one of the pebbles open. Each shard sprouted iridescent crystals. They were the color of the bluest blue.

“Like I said,” Evan said plainly, resigned. “If you try to sell one of these, it’ll bring you bad luck. My dad tried, and for each one he sold, he lost a tooth. Now he has none left. These rocks are worth less than nothing.”

“That is certainly not true,” Reyna said, admiring the newly formed crystals. They were beautiful, but she understood his resentment. Smiling, she held out her hand for Evan to shake. “I’m Reyna.”

Evan frowned. “Yes, I know. You’re famous.”

A small group of people had congregated at either end of the aisle to get a better look at her exposed flowers. Reyna ignored them. When she kept her hand out, waiting, Evan smiled a small quirk of his lips and shook her hand, officially making their acquaintance.

When Evan pulled back, a small patch of grey rock at the center of his palm cracked open and flaked away, exposing a clear shimmering crystal.

“Well,” he said, staring at his own hand as if it was suddenly sprouting flowers. “That’s new.”

No, Reyna thought to herself, That's magic.

From then on, Reyna and Evan were a bonded pair. Reyna set up shop and sold her flowers. She only picked one at a time, more valuable now for being so rare. When the thriving flowers on her head attracted honeybees, Evan built them a hive. He kept his gloves on most of the time, but on occasion, he removed one and allowed Reyna to hold his hand, permanently transforming a patch of rock into crystal. Together, they were happy.

One day, in the summer of the hibiscus, Reyna’s mother came to see her. Reyna was glad, for it had been years, but the visit was soon spoiled.

“We need some flowers,” Reyna’s mother explained. “Your father made a bad investment, and we need help.”

Having compassion, Reyna went to retrieve her family’s old garden shears that she kept in a container on her windowsill. Delicately, she used the old shears to clip a single flower from her head. Before she could hand it to her mother, Evan interfered, extending his hand.

“Allow me,” he said gently.

Reyna gave him the flower and the old shears. At his touch, the bloom immediately crystalized. The petals became blown glass, too heavy to stay upright, so they broke off and shattered on the ground. The stem and bulb, however, turned to stone. Evan, unfazed, handed the fossilized remains and the old shears to Reyna’s mother.

Reyna’s mother accepted the stem, determined to get something out of nothing. But as soon as she touched it, a tooth fell out of her mouth.

“If you try to sell that,” Evan said plainly, “it will bring you bad luck.”

Reyna stood beside Evan, holding his hand as she faced her mother. Still, she had compassion. “But, if you plant the seed instead, you will always have a garden to tend.”

Reyna’s mother left, her teeth falling out one-by-one as she left the shop.

Reyna collected her mother's teeth and planted them in her garden of marigolds, hibiscus, and every other flower she would sprout for years to come. Together, through winter, spring, summer and fall, Reyna and Evan lived.

They thrived on happiness, ever after.