Dying Marigolds

Thomas Bradford was a sweet boy who liked to go by Tommy. He was also a small boy. He enjoyed the simple things in life like red cardinal birds and the way grass felt beneath his feet when he would go outside sans shoes. When he was wearing shoes, they were usually sandals so he could still feel the air of the world breathe against his feet. Always messy hair that was short on the sides and developed into a mullet cut in the back. Today he was wearing his favorite corduroy overalls with a yellow, sleeveless shirt that said “feminist” across the front with a few daisies surrounding the word.

On this specific day, the last Wednesday of July, Tommy was spending time in a floral shop with his boyfriend, Daniel Flemings. Among the naked lady lilies and perennial hibiscus flowers, Daniel found himself to be more of a serious man at the age of 21, Tommy at 19. Today he was wearing a loose sweater with shorts to balance out the heat and the coolness of the day. His hair was carefully sculpted over with dubious amounts of hairspray. He liked simple things too, but he was not one to get his feet into the dirt like Tommy. And he most certainly didn’t care too much for the flowers they were observing, but he found that there were many things he did for Tommy that weren’t quite his style. He was starting to wonder if Tommy was his style, too.

“Oh, my goodness, look at these!” Tommy exclaimed. He picked up a small bush of yellow African marigolds. They were the epitome of summer happiness, perked up and fully bloomed asking, begging the world to look at them and relax. Naturally, Tommy had to have them.

Daniel did not feel relaxed looking at the marigolds, he did not think that the soft petals reminded him of cool pillows the way they did for Tommy. Tommy brought the flowers up to the cash register. He bought the flowers and as he turned around Daniel finally said it:

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” his gaze was stone cold, there was no good timing for a moment like this.

“I’m sorry?” Tommy said with sudden sadness, still holding onto the annuals he had just purchased.

“Tommy, I’m breaking up w-,”

“You don’t get to call me Tommy if that’s what’s happening,” Tommy interjected, returning the cold, “Will you at least give me a ride home?”

“I’m not sure that would be a great idea, don’t you have someone you can call?”

Tommy stood in disbelief of his now ex-boyfriend.

“Are you serious?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah, I just don’t think I can do it, I’m sorry.”

“Then I suppose you should give me a reason why before I smash this pot of very beautifully tended to marigolds upon your head,” Tommy was shaking.

“You’re just so frilly,” Daniel replied, “and you’re just not serious enough about life, I mean why are we wasting our time buying flowers when we could be saving up for our future together or…something.”

“Because,” Tommy sat the flowers down at the register’s counter, “because flowers make me happy. Like how you used to,” the tears began to fall, “I had a whole savings account I was building up to be with you.”

“Then be with yourself, I’m sorry” Daniel began to leave the flower shop.

“Can you hold these here for me while I go use the restroom?” Tommy asked the lady at the register who obliged, “Thank you.”

In the restroom, Tommy took a long look at himself in the mirror. His eyes were red and puffy, filled with tears. He didn’t want to cry, not yet. The tears were falling anyway. His eyes burned from tragedy and despair. He pulled out his phone and called his friend, Eve Taylor, in hopes that she would rescue him from this floral shop hell. She was on her way immediately. Within 10 minutes, Eve had pulled up in her used pickup truck and Tommy jumped in with his marigolds.

“The flowers are at least pretty, right?” Tommy asked, his voice trembling. He started to breakdown. The release of sobs was immense.

“Here,” Eve offered him a towel from the backseat which made Tommy laugh through his tears, “Now tell me what happened,” he did tell her the whole story, from the marigolds to the register, “Now what the hell was he thinking doing that then? I’m so sorry Tommy, I’m so sorry a dumb ass man would treat you in such a dumb ass way.”

“Thank you,” Tommy said, sniffling, “I really like the flowers.”

“I like the flowers too; you should definitely hang onto those.”

“They match your top,” and they did, Eve was wearing a yellow top that matched beautifully with her jean shorts and dark skin. Her hair was a gorgeous afro that she tended to like a crown.

“Well thank you baby,” she said as she was pulling into her driveway. They became roommates in college, both studying performative arts. They both enjoyed the flower shop equally and would take multiple trips a week together just to see what was in stock, “Now tell me why this boy even took you to the flower shop to begin with, I thought that was our thing,” but she wasn’t angry.

“He told me that he knew it was something I enjoyed so he wanted to see me happy,” he started crying harder, “and he-he said that about everything we did together,” he wiped his eyes with the towel, “We used to argue about the fact that he wouldn’t do things that he enjoyed and I told him-,” he choked on his words, “…I told him I was fine doing anything as long as I was with him. But he still said we had to do things my way,” and the tears fell harder.

“Well, baby, that’s called gaslighting,” they were walking into their apartment now, “I mean did you ever tell him you had to do things a certain way?”

“NO! I always wanted to figure out what he was into. Five months and I never figured him out,” he placed the marigolds on the windowsill that got the most sun and started inspecting the flowers, “Some of these are dying.”

“And you know what about marigolds?” Eve handed him his small garden shears.

“You cut the dead parts off,” he said as he began tending to the plant.

“Just like life Tommy, you have to thrive without the dead parts, like a stupid ass man,” they smiled at each other, “Look at how beautiful you made these flowers look,” she said after he was done tending to the flowers.

Tommy sighed, “Things will get better.”

“Yes, they will.”

“I have to take care of myself and these flowers first.”

“Yes, you do.”

Tommy sighed again. It was finally over, and he was now just tired from the day. He snapped his overalls, so they hung at his waist and went to his room to get some rest. The marigolds lay in the sunlight, soaking up the final hours of the day.