In My Eyes

(I'[M)E]

The shabby house sat crooked on the street corner. Shingles were slowly breaking off, piece by piece. Windows had been covered in layers dust and filth. However, in the midst of it all, there was myself, and my garden.

     I always tended gingerly to the delicate, bright yellow flowers that made up my garden. They were Marigolds.

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     My real story began when my mother died--10 years prior to now--her death only granting me heartbreak, no closure to be found. Soon, before I'd even realized it, I'd grown into a devastatingly cold person, icy to the core, and ready to destroy anything that crossed my path.

     I've recovered from that part of myself by now, a least I'd like to think I have. I was pushed to new levels of strength, and I'm proud of it. My son, John Burke, is who I have to that for that final push. He gave me this strength, and I will be eternally grateful for that.

     Working in my garden is a large part of who I am, and I, am glad for that.

     This garden is the place where my mother still lives on in.

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     I have lived in this grungy town all throughout my adulthood life. It hasn't been too terrible; even though young children and adolescents find it fun to bother me, taunt me. Generally I am fine though, as self-control was something that had been drilled into my head when I was a younger child.

     That self control and my patience had been dwindling, however- especially as I had so little motivation to keep it- and soon it would be as thin and as brittle as a toothpick. It would be far to little, and much too easy to break.

     Though I still held out, as I knew that I would need it for that, Lizabeth girl. She would need someone; someone to show her how to be a woman, as I had noticed no one had tried to guide her through that transition yet. She still had had the mindset of an adolescent child, and I felt that if I weren't there to guide her away from that state of mind, she would never go through the adult transition mentally.

     Sure enough, I had just seen the girl start stalking over to my home, and she looked furious. I didn't know why, but that didn't matter; I knew I had to exit my home. So, I had quietly opened my front door, and stepped down onto the porch.

     She was with her brother- tears streaming down her red face that was flushed with anger- while at the same time ripping my precious Marigolds out of the tender ground. The young teen wouldn't stop until the younger child, her brother, exclaimed with desperation,

     "Lizabeth stop, please stop!" As she heard those words, she ceased her actions, though continued sobbing. The boy, Joey, had a scared expression painted on his face, and his eyes held wairiness. It was odd- peculiar to see him this way. On any normal occasion, he was always to be the child who did practical jokes, or played immature games. Though in that moment, his character had switched completely.

     My eyes had refocused on Lizabeth, but I still had seen Joey point in my direction and heard him quietly say, "Lizabeth, look."

     After a few long moments, she finally did so. When the girl noticed me standing there across from her, her eyes filled with guilt. Lizabeth looked down at her dirt-covered hands in shame, but when she looked back up at me, realization and respect had replaced the previous emotions.

     However, the thing that I had noticed the most was that her eyes held so much understanding, and dare I say, compassion. She realized that with those Marigolds, I was bringing a small piece of light back into my life; creating my own personal candle to guide me through the darkness- and it was written all over her face that she knew she had blown it out.

     Still, I was not angry, or upset. I was simply proud. Proud that she had understood at last, that this was the end of her adolescent years but the very being of her adulthood ones.

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     Years have passed since that day. I have spoken to Lizabeth constantly; she became somewhat of a daughter to me. I felt as though I needed to give her some of my wisdom, knowledge, and so I have. Today we are meeting up for coffee, just to speak about how we've been in the past week.

     Lizabeth is no longer 15 years old; she is 32 years old with 3 children. They are May, Lucas, and Renee. Each child is exceptionally smart, and each of them has their own, different talents to say the least. They are also well behaved and quite tame.

     "How have the kids been?' I questioned, adjusting my sitting position on the hard, wooden bench in the cafe.

     "They've been good, I suppose; but apparently Lucas has been quite rowdy with the other students." Liz glanced out the window, and appeared to be lost in thought.

     "So he is much like yourself I presume?" We both chuckled, but hers seemed slightly forced.

     "You could say that. At least he spends time with children his own age, instead of the younger ones as I did. That would have made this whole situation much, much more difficult to deal with. I'm not sure how to tell Lucas to calm down in school; I'm just not sure. Whenever I try to speak to him about it, he tunes me out. It's almost as if I'm speaking to a brick wall, Lottie."

     I pondered a moment at her words. The way she described Lucas made me think of my own child, John. When I speak to him, he is unresponsive. I am never sure if he actually listens; or if he hears me in one ear, all the while it goes out the other.

     "Liz, that is something that I have yet to figure out myself. John still won't speak, with the exception of the occasional mumble, or murmur. It's very laborious to get him to communicate. If I could have one wish from a star, it would be to have a conversation with him, my boy," I felt myself start to break down, something that generally happens when I think of him. Still, I continued, "but anyways, you could possibly speak to Joey. He is a man now, though he was at one point a boy. By a slim chance, he may be able to get through to Lucas."

     "Maybe," was all that she replied. "Maybe."

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     Today is my final day, of the many I have had. I am on my deathbed, just waiting for the afterlife to carry me away. My wishes have all come true. John has spoken to me, really spoken to me. The Marigolds I have re-planted with Lizabeth are as beautiful and lively as ever. Everything has fallen into place. I am finally happy, and I know I will see Lizabeth later in down the line, as this chapter to my life has now closed, while the next has just opened. My vision slowly faded down into the darkness, but my soul and mind rose up to the light.