Delicate Flower

You are always late, Mary.' The girl in pink dress pouted the lips and pushed her chin out. The rehearsal has started fifteen minutes before, and her group could not commence their act because Mary walked in late, indifferent to failing to honour the schedule. Besides, she was wearing a snow-white charmeuse dress which brought her groupmate to tears as she ran across the room in the outpour of protest to the teacher:

'Miss Jacinda, Mary was late, and she is not wearing pink. She is the only one in the 'pink' group that does not have a pink outfit.'

Mary made a turn on the right heel of her shoe while admiring the flow of her dress skirt making a full circle from the waist to the knees. She paid no heed to the screech of the girl in the pink or scrutinizing look of the teacher. However, Miss Jacinda was now walking towards Mary. The other girl was trotting and panting behind. Mary continued to turn round and round on her heel and admire the satin glitter flow.

‘Mary, I want you to stop this at once,’ ordered Miss Jacinda. ‘Can you explain yourself?’ The lots of pink, blue and mauve dresses rushed to the corner of the room where Mary was swivelling on her heels and ignored the teacher and her commands altogether. Her groupmates stared at her defiant peer in complete disbelief. The girls were silent, and except for subdued giggle and occasional sneer focused all their attention on the developing crisis.

Mary was spinning in her wonderful white dress. Pleated charmeuse that waved in perfect circle resembled the delicate whorl of the moonflower, one that Miss Jacinda’s grandmother used to keep in a special place in her garden and show off with pride to her friends. She told many stories of the flowers and plants on Sunday afternoons when Jacinda stayed in her house. She would brush her hair and sometimes plait some of the most fragrant flowers into her hair. Jacinda missed her grandmother, the gentle touch of her hands and stories on Sunday afternoons.

While she stared at Mary’s spinning dress skirt, all this came back in a flash and Jacinda was standing in the middle of the crowd of girls, enveloped in memories and silence until she was taken back into the present moment by the shrill cry of the girl who confronted Mary about meandering. Alice was standing at a distance from the group of schoolmates enchanted by the event and cried inconsolably. Only a few minutes ago she was trying to right the wrong and expected to be encouraged to go through with this and rewarded for her act.

Yet her good intentions were pushed aside and completely ignored. Moreover, Mary, who deserved rebuke and punishment, was suddenly the focus of attention. Everyone admired what she was doing, even though she was wrong. Her dress was the wrong colour, and no one seemed to mind. The rehearsal for the performance that was only a day away, was delayed and ruined. The hardest blow to Alice came from Miss Jacinda who seemed entertained by Mary's foolishness and not at least dismayed. Even worse, she stood there under the evil spell of a white dress and did nothing to stop the charade.

The disaster happened just a few minutes later. Alice, after she drenched her face in tears, stormed towards the girls with clenched fists, the anger of a raging bull and endless brazenness. Before anyone could lift a finger, she pushed a few blue and lilac figures asunder and grabbed the skirt of Mary’s dress.

'You are like a delicate flower’, grandmother used to say to Jacinda, combing through her hair, ‘the most delicate flower of all. The moonflower.’ The dearest of all faces dispersed into screams from all over the room. Everyone was running away from the spot where Mary was spinning until a minute ago. Before she became fully aware, Alice was tearing with both hands the satin of the white dress and she acted too late to save it. She grabbed Alice by her elbow and pulled her away, to the entrance of the room and yelled:

‘What got into you, Alice?’

‘Why did you ruin her dress?’

‘Don’t you know….don’t you know?’, Miss Jacinda paused and looked for the right words. Mary was on the spectrum, but she had never been prone to extreme behaviour before. Today was the first time. Miss Jacinda could not offer this explanation to Alice and the rest of the performers in the room. She stared at her red face washed in tears. She glanced at Mary who, taken off guard was assessing the damage to her dress, stroke the torn fabric, and smiled. Not even a shadow of anger darkened her face. Miss Jacinda whispered to Alice while squeezing her elbow:

‘Don’t you know, Alice? Mary is a moonflower.’