Dépaysement (h.s)

49

Delilah Lavigne

When I was little, I used to dream about being a flower. Flowers are beautiful and fragile, they need to be handled with care and anyone who crosses them admires the way they look.

My favorite flower growing up was Irises. I would sit on my desk by my window and look at the field of flowers from my mothers garden. There were so many to look at. But the ones that caught my eye, were Irises.

There are so many colors to choose from. My favorite were the purple and blue ones. Their pedals droop, which resonated with me. They are so beautiful on the outside but they had scars within. That's not the actual meaning for the flowers, but it was mine.

They actually signify courage and admiration. Maybe I gravitated towards them because that's what I always wanted—Courage.

It takes its name from the Greek word for a rainbow, which is also the name for the Greek goddess of the rainbow, Iris.

As I was growing up, I promised myself that I would grow Irises in my garden like my mother. I said I would sit on my deck with a coffee in hand and admire my work. Just like my mother.

She actually gave me the nickname Iris, because I would always draw them and hang them around my room. She knew my love for them was strong so she went as far as to grow them, plant them into a pot and gift it to me to keep on my 8th birthday. I took care of it like it was a pet. When they died, which didn't take a while considering they die fast, I felt guilty for letting such a beautiful thing perish. But then they grew again.

When I die, I want to come back as Irises.

I open my eyes. The brightness of the room I'm in causes me to squint as I scan the unfamiliar ceiling.

A beeping noise comes from beside me, I turn my head slowly to see a monitor. I'm in a hospital.

My hand reaches up to my face and I feel a tube around it—fitting inside my nose.

I look down at my arm and see a bandage around my wrist.

"Hey, you're awake." Harry's deep voice speaks. He sounds like he just woke up. He's leaning onto the bed I'm in by his elbows as he's sat in a chair.

My eyes find his, he has bags under them, "How are you feeling?" He questions with concern.

"I-I feel fine." My voice comes out groggy and scratchy like I haven't spoken in days.

The corners of his lips lift up like he's trying to smile but it's not real, "Good." He nods with his hand on my head—his thumb rubs it like he's trying to comfort me.

"How long have w—" He cuts me off, "Just throughout the night. It's almost 11:00am."

I nod and he stands up, "I'll go get the doctor, let her know you're awake."

My arm reaches up to his to stop him, "Wait," He turns around looking down at me with worry, "Harry, I'm so sorry." My eyes stare up at his green irises and he closes them for a couple seconds before opening them again, "Don't be sorry, baby. It's not your fault."

I drop my arm back by my side and he walks out of the room quietly.

My head drops to the pillow as I stare up at the tiled ceiling, "Ms. Lavigne! I'm glad you're awake." A middle aged woman enters the room in front of Harry with a clipboard in her hand, "I'm Dr. Robinson." She introduces herself.

I smile with my lips in a line as an answer, "You have lost a lot of blood but Mr. Styles stopped the bleeding enough before it got worse. We gave you a first aid antibiotic to prevent infection and bandaged it up but you should expect some grogginess and may feel light headed for the next few hours."