Amaranth

4

        "Why are you here?" He spoke loudly enough for her to hear. For days, every single time he came here, she had lingered in the distance. Like a gnat hovering annoyingly in his face. A little out of reach so that he could never dispose of it, but still there nevertheless.

        She approached him on tip toes.

        "Why are you here?" He squinted into the sun that was hidden behind an obscure cloud.

        "I don't know."

        "You don't know? Who are you here for?"

        She shrugged.

        “Are you lost?”

        “No.”

        "Nobody in your family died? Your sister, dad, brother, aunt, uncle, friend? Anyone at all?"

        She shook her head.

        "Then why are you here?" he asked once again.

        "I told you. I don't know."

        He sighed. She was obviously not going to tell him anything or go away anytime soon. How he wished she'd go away. Then and only then could he mourn in peace.

        Her knees sank in the grass next to his. At least she had the courtesy to avoid his dead mother.  

        "What's her favorite flower?"

        He peered at her from underneath overgrown bangs hanging over his eyes. He'd never cared much for haircuts. Why should he when life would consume him in the end? Nothing mattered anymore.

        "Chrysanthemums," he said at last.

        "That's lovely. What's your favorite flower?"

        He scoffed. "What? You planning on bringing me flowers when I’m dead?" he all but sneered in her face.

        She shrugged. "It would be nice to know. You should at least tell someone. It doesn't have to be me. Just anyone you trust."

        "She's dead. I don't think it’ll work out much,” he stated flatly.

        "Oh." She looked at the grave like she just noticed its permanent fixture in the earth for the first time. As long as the earth spun, that tombstone would always remain, taking one final stake on the world. It seemed like everyone was trying to claim the world in one way or another. "You should tell her anyways."

        "Like that will help," he mumbled under his breath. How he wished she’d going away.

        "My name's—"

        "Amaranth. I know," he finished for her.

        "It's a flower." He let out a dry bark. A girl named after a flower who went around graveyards like it was her backyard asking people what their favorite flowers were. "What's your name?"

        "David," he said at last. He didn't understand why she wanted to know. It wouldn't make a difference. It wouldn't change anything. She was already dead.

        "Hi, David. It's nice to meet you."

        He looked over at her. She was dead serious.

        "Uh huh."

        "So, why are you here?"

        Was she joking? He was visiting his dead mother.

        He gestured to the grave.

        "If you'll excuse me." His uninviting tone had made a full circle at last and demanded to be heard.

        "Oh, right." She stood up. "If you want to talk, I'll be—"

        "Over by the tree. I know."

_________

November 8, 2014