Crocus

by Pippin O'Leary

I shiver, wincing at the wind rushing through me. It’s a balmy fifty degrees, better temperatures than I’ve felt for a while. Yet standing here is akin to having someone “walk over my grave”, as my grandmother would say. The crocuses wave in the wind, gently showing that spring has come. I stand at the old stone, and remember you. My oldest, most precious friend. It had always been our spot, when the two of us were children. It was our safety, remember? From the world. You would always say that you’d build a house out here, hidden from all but each other. I’d watch you crow, king of the wood, as you’d pull me up and drag me along. You’d start plans for a fort, a castle, a shack. As long as it was ours, you’d say. But you can’t tell me about that house now, can you?

When did this stone, this place become so special? It’s a spot in the woods. Sunny, in a nice clearing; surrounded by birdsong, but still only a place. It’s an old stone, a part of a rock wall long abandoned, all other stones stolen by farmers to keep their precious property lines. Remember the day you saw the quartz in it? You said it glittered like stars in the sun. I laughed at that, pointing out the fact that stars were for the night, the sun was the day. You pouted at me, sticking out your swollen lip. I remember accepting the point, suggesting we build an alter. And what did you do? You came the next day with red berries, the kind that come from the prickly plant. Holly? You would know. You grinned at me from behind a black eye, and placed the ‘offerings’ on a smaller rock beside it. That was the day it became ours, I think.

She couldn’t get me there. Only you could. No one else, no one. Just you knew about it. Just you could find me. I felt safe, with you. Did I ever tell you that? I don’t think so. But it was true. It will always be true. You sacrificed so much, for me. You would go back there when I was too scared, let her beat you until it was safe for me to come back. Until she drunk herself to sleep, left the house, or snapped out of her moods. I don’t think it was fair. While I watched you sob upon our rock, I never could touch you. I wanted to. I wanted to hug you, tell you how much you were, how much you meant. But I couldn’t touch you. Not then. Not now. I screwed up, my friend. After I went to our place alone, I couldn’t do much of anything.

But you never forgot me. You still lay those holly berries here. I see them. The chipmunks leave them alone. I guess they know what happened here. Or may the berries are poison. Ironic, that would be. Even if the chipmunks know, you don’t. I wish I could tell you. But then again, maybe it wouldn’t help anything. Yet you still come, every year. You still talk to me, even if you don’t know I’m here. It doesn’t matter what other people may say, as long as I still have you. Do you remember when you won that award? In school? Something about good grades, or perfect attendance. Everyone clapped, all happy, and you looked stunned. When she ripped it up, you didn’t even mourn it. You were laughing in her face, and ran to me, danced with me around the dandelions.

We took the fuzzy white dandelions, and blew the seeds everywhere. Everywhere but our rock. You said it was holy, not a place for the common weed-flower. There, you planted some bulbs, I think. It took you every penny filched away, just to buy them. But it was worth it. The purple flowers are still here, and they bloom every year. You should have seen them last year. They almost covered the red in the grass. It was so pretty, the purple and the red and the green and the rain with the sun shining through. I wish you could have seen it when it was pretty, before the rain washed it away. I know, I know you were away. May it was for the best. Even so, I wish she really couldn’t find our spot. She knew, the whole time. I wish you saw the way she cried, after she realized what she had done. She never had control over her sickness. I wish you knew she had a heart, even if it was hidden so often. She staggered away, after hiding me, still crying. I wish you knew what she did. The evidence was long gone by the time you came back. I wish you knew I forgive her.

But I’m still here, I promise. I tend to wander around our old spots. I still visit our rock. I don’t know if you feel me. I don’t think she remembers what happened. I don’t think anyone besides you looked for me. The crocuses, the purple flowers are blooming. I remember your face when they first flowered. The way you glowed, and your green thumb showed itself, and we stayed out until late celebrating. I want to celebrate with you, one more time. But no matter where I go, you can’t see me. I miss you, but only you miss me. Someday, someone will find my body, I promise. I don’t want it to be you. I want you to think I ran away. And after the crocuses bloom again, you’ll have forgotten me too.
 

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