Growing Up Is Still Hard To Do Read online

when he realizes that his potential playmate was merely ogling over a flower; girl stuff. As he bounds back to the tire swing to reclaim his place before another child unseats him in his fun, my eyes close entirely for a second time.

  When I awoke what could have only been minutes later based on the position of the sun, I see that the playground was almost entirely empty. The little boy who dismissed the flower-twirler as unexciting was gone, as were most of the other children and their parents who had begun scattering throughout the park. Only the little girl and her paper flower remained. She sat alone occasionally looking up at me while continuing to spin the flower back and forth. As I looked back at her I felt vague memories of childhood drift through my mind, bringing with them flashes of long-forgotten sensations: The smell of the sticky sap on my hands from climbing trees, the taste of cherry popsicles on my tongue, the crunch of sand in my shoes as I ran from the sandbox to the swings; feelings that had once been a part of everyday existence that are now buried beneath the weight of the world. Although dreams of childhood turned my thoughts back sleep, I fought to stay awake with a force that I could not explain. An hour ago going to sleep was exactly what I had in mind. Now, driven by a maddening desire to keep my eyes on the little girl and her flower, I sat frozen.

  The setting sun had begun to pinwheel the colors of her flower off of my bench, first green, then red, and then blue. Hypnotized by the colors dancing to my right, I lost sight of the little girl and of the park surrounding me. Only the sight of a dark shadow that washed over the bench and eradicated the colors of the flower managed to break my gaze. As I looked up I saw that a sliver of the sun still hung in the sky providing what should have been more light. Then, I realized with a start that the shadow’s darkness stemmed not from the lack of light, but because someone was standing over me. As I swung my head around I saw a flash of green, red, and blue as the paper flower shot across the plane of my vision. The little girl now stood a few feet to my left, looking at me softly with eyes that showed no fear. As the air slowly returned to my lungs and my heart jumped back to an even march I spoke:

  “Hey there. You scared me kid. What’cha doing? Where is your mommy?”

  “Over there,” she answered pointing to a young woman strolling in the grass and rocking an infant some thirty yards away. “Why are you sleeping?”

  “Because I’m tired,” I answered.

  “But it’s not night yet, and you’re supposed to sleep in your bed, not the park.”

  With that I smiled a little. “I’m sorry. I’ll remember that next time.” She smiled back and twirled her flower faster and faster. “What’s your name?” I asked her gently.

  “Mommy says I’m not supposed to tell strangers my name,” she replied with a prompt nod to the woman now nursing the infant with her back turned.

  “That’s good advice,” I replied, “But you probably shouldn’t talk to strangers at all then.”

  “I know.”She said looking slightly embarrassed, “But I wanted to give you something.”

  Incredulous, I looked at her in shock. “Me? What could you want to give me?”

  With a smile that was bright but somehow sad with knowledge, she handed me her flower. “For me? Why thank you, but why do you want to give this to me?”

  “Because you can see the flower.”

  “I know I can see it and it’s very pretty. Maybe you should give it to your mommy.” I reached out to return the flower and with that she suddenly withdrew a step back and shook her head once, but emphatically.

  “No. That’s for you. You hold onto it because you’re sad,” she answered.

  “What makes you think I’m sad?”

  Again, she smiled a little. “You’re sleeping. I only take a nap during the day when I’m sad.”

  I laughed out loud and startled myself. I hadn’t heard a real laugh from my own mouth in what felt like an eternity. Its brilliance made the muscles in my face contract. “You’re pretty smart aren’t you?” I asked drawing the flower back to my body. “You sure you don’t want it?”

  “Yes. You keep it. I can make another one. There are a lot of flowers in the world.”

  I looked down and twirled it. She shot me one more brilliant smile before turning and running away. “Bye,” was the only word I heard her call back over her shoulder. The smile that had broken out on my face however, continued to hover.

  “I’ll take good care of it,” I said to no one in particular. The sun set and the remaining people were slowly moving back to their cars. The paper petals of the flower breezed by my face.

  Here I am in my room, a rum stain at my feet, unflushed puke clinging to the toilet, sleeping pills all over the shitty carpet. But somehow, the room looks a little brighter. There is a green, red, and blue light reflecting off of my ceiling from the flower now perched in the empty bottle I polished off earlier. Looking at it, I can’t believe that my head doesn’t hurt. It should be pulsing like a police siren by now, but surprisingly, it feels lighter.

  I look outside and hear traffic wiz by below me. I look outside and see two men arguing over what appears to be a small fender-bender. I look outside and see a child with a skinned knee calling for his mother… I look down in my lap and see my cracked hands, sore from being washed hundreds of times. I look at all of these things, knowing that they are real, but I don’t care. I know that outside, past the traffic, the arguing men, the crying voices, and the silent tears, sits another flower. Maybe I’ll see if I can find it, even if I have to get my hands dirty.

  ###

  About the Author

  Chris Straley lives in Columbus, Ohio with his beautiful wife Aliceson and two dogs Dexter and Drew. His family will soon expand with the arrival of a baby boy in the Spring of 2012.

  He offers his sincerest thanks for reading his story.