An Imperial Affliction

Red and Yellow

Tulips. My mother loves them. No, I stated that wrong. My mother is obsessed with them. One hundred and nine species of tulips and there isn't one that she hasn't planted. I'm dead serious. She spends most of her time out in our garden. Well, her garden I should say. Planting and tending to her precious tulips. I've caught her talking to them a couple times too many. But, I don't mind. She needs those tulips. God knows I won't be here much longer. But, more on that later. Anyways, back to tulips. As I said, she plants them all. But, mostly red and yellow tulips.

Those two colors are the birth of my hate for tulips.

My mother has explained it to me a thousand times.

"In Persia, to give a red tulip was to declare your love. And the black center was to represent the lover's heart, burned to a coal by the passion of love. And to give a yellow tulip was to declare your love hopelessly and utterly. Did you know that? These ones," and she would twirl a perfect red tulip between her bony fingers, "These ones, are for your father. And these ones, " She would take the yellow tulip that was always without fail tucked behind her ear and dancing in her hair into the palm of her hand. Then, after a long pause she would say, "They are for you, Anna."

At first glance there may appear to be nothing wrong with that. But, I will tell you why there is. First of all, my father deserves nothing. Not even a plain, old tulip planted by a woman who just might be a little bit crazy and only has one eye. Yeah, sorry.  I forget to mention that my mother only has one eye. My father was frankly a selfish man who never gave a damn about my mother or me. I'll spare you the details. Besides, he doesn't deserve one more second of my time or yours. And as for the yellow tulips, it's the meaning that kills it for me.

To give a yellow tulip was to declare your love hopelessly and utterly.

Hopelessly and utterly.

Hopelessly.

That meaning would be okay by me if I didn't have cancer. It would be okay by me if I knew that I wasn't going to die. It would actually be quite sweet if it didn't remind me everyday that I'm the side effect. All cancer kids are side effects. We are simply failed experiments making diversity possible for the rest of the human race. Every time I see a yellow tulip, it reminds me that all love I will ever receive or give is hopeless. There is no point to it. But I let my mother love me and I reluctantly love her back because I can see that hiding from her will do more harm than good. I mean, she has to have someone to plant yellow tulips for.

My mother was born with one eye. Apparently it didn't develop right and so now she has a mass of useless tissue behind her left eyelid. It doesn't seem to bother her, but I can see people staring at her whenever they walk by.

The crazy, one-eyed tulip lady.

I suppose that's what going through their shallow minds. But, I wouldn't have her any other way.

"Having one eye makes everything more beautiful," she once said to me. "When you have less of something, it's worth a whole lot more."

She said it as if I didn't understand. As if I needed to be told.

I don't want to die. But it's not the dying that I'm afraid of. It's leaving my mother behind. Sometimes I can see that she is angry. I see her digging around the earth of her tulips with a little too much strain. But those tulips bring her a certain amount of peace. It restores some of the rare tranquility that having a daughter like me does not bring. I know I am the source of that anger that she feels sometimes. Or maybe all the time, but she hides it for me. Maybe she buries it while she plants; off in the far corner of her garden, where nothing seems to grow.

And it is for that reason that I will never express my hatred for tulips to my mother. For now, my one-eyed, broken hearted, angry mother gets to plant her tulips in peace.