Anything But Flowers

She said her name was So-Chee. That's not how she spelled it though. "X-O-C-H-I-T-L, it means flower," she said. Honestly, I didn't think it did her justice. I mean, flowers are pretty... sure, but she...she was stunning, enchanting, ravishing, breathtaking, perfection.

She had beautiful, long dark hair, caramel skin and rosy red cheeks. She smelled like heaven, yet when I looked at her my thoughts were anything but heavenly. She was the new hostess at the restaurant where I worked. I didn't know much about her, but suddenly she was all I wanted to know.

Xochitl walked an older Hispanic couple over and sat them in my section across from the bar. She was speaking to them in Spanish. Suddenly I was kicking myself for all the times I skipped Spanish class in high school. I wished I could just walk over and say some hella romantic Spanish line, but in reality unless I was looking for the "biblioteca" or in the market to buy a pair of "pantalones," I had better stick to English.

She had a yellow flower in her hair. Fitting I suppose for her name, and her dark hair and bronze skin made that flower glow brighter than mother nature herself could have ever achieved. I guess I never really liked flowers. First of all, they always brought bees and I had been stung quite a few times in my life, which was never a pleasurable experience. Also, when I was little I had a crush on a girl in my class at school, so I wrote her a poem and gave it to her with a rose. We were just little kids, but I had already seen enough romantic movies and I guess I was convinced that I too would be some kind of Don Juan. Clearly, I wasn't, since the girl crumbled up my love note, threw it and the flower on the ground and ran away. I cried and my school teacher tried to cheer me up. She told me that what I had done was really sweet and she read my poem and told me someday I would make some girl really happy. But being rejected hurt, so I wasn't going to be writing anymore poetry any time soon.

To make it even more embarrassing, my teacher told my parents what I had done. My mother echoed my teacher's kind words. My father had offered me a much different response. He said, "Son, let me give you a little advice, man to man. Never buy a woman flowers. Just don't do it. You can buy them anything in the world; jewelry, candy, a car, a house, anything... but never ever buy them flowers. It's just a waste of money. Those flowers will stay looking beautiful and alive for months inside that flower shop, but the second you swipe your credit card in that little machine, they start dying."

I really didn't understand. I honestly still am not sure if that was supposed to be some kind of metaphor or something, like the dying flowers symbolize a dying relationship. I don't know, maybe he was just cheap.

"Ok dad, I won't," I replied, and I never did.

Over the next few weeks at the restaurant, I was always looking for an excuse to walk up front to the hostess stand just to be able to talk to Xochitl. I was completely smitten. I asked her "how do you say...in Spanish?" for literally everything I could think of. I just wanted to hear how she said it. It gave me goosebumps.

She and I talked about a lot of things; music, school, family, etc. I found out that she went to the same community college as I did, though I had never seen her on campus. She told me how she recently broke up with her boyfriend. She said he wasn't very sweet or romantic and it bothered her. I took this with a grain of salt, as from my experience with women, they rarely liked romantic guys, even when they said they did. They always went for the bad boys instead. So, I had no intention to act romantic around her, and I kept up my tough, bad boy image the best I could. I actually defended the guy and acted like I thought the romantic stuff was pretty lame. I even openly shared my opinion on buying flowers.

"Yeah, I'd never ever buy a girl flowers," I said.

"What? Why not?" she asked.

"I'll buy a girl anything she wants; movie tickets, a fancy dinner, anything but flowers! You know they stay all pretty and alive forever inside the flower shop, but the second you pay for them, they start dying!"

"Oh my god," she replied, laughing and blushing. "You're crazy."

After work one day, I offered to walk her back to her car, just in case someone came along and she needed my protection. As we walked back, we were talking about music and I asked her what her favorite band was. She told me they were called Maná, with her cute little Spanish accent. When we got over to her car, she played one of their songs. I liked the music, but I had no idea what they were saying. She said she always wanted to see them live, but never had the chance.

That very same night, I literally downloaded all of Maná's songs. I listened to them over and over, with a Spanish/English dictionary I had bought to teach myself. I realized they had a lot of songs about love and romantic stuff. Maybe she really was into romantic guys after all, but I wasn't trying to get myself friend-zoned on this one.

The following day at the restaurant, we talked the whole day and finally I worked up the nerve to ask for her number. She gave it to me, but I waited for several days, reminding myself at every temptation not to text her, as I knew girls didn't like when guys appeared like they actually liked them. You have to pretend you don't like them so they think you are harder to get. I really always thought it was kind of silly, but its the whole bad boy thing I guess.

After a week or so, I finally starting texting her, but I kept it really cool. I only asked random questions and kept everything super short and distant. Sure as expected, over time she started texting more frequently and our conversations grew longer and more flirtatious. Eventually I asked her out, but I suppose I jumped the gun, because she made an excuse to decline.

Time went on and we continued talking frequently, though I never again made an attempt to ask her out. One day, she told me that Maná was having a concert in town. I joked and said we should go. She laughed, as she knew I didn't know who they were and didn't understand their lyrics. I started singing one of their songs, with my absolutely dreadful attempt at Spanish. She smiled and seemed shocked that I knew one of their songs. I subsequently decided to educate her on my extensive knowledge of all things Maná. She was thoroughly impressed.

Eventually, I worked up the nerve once more to ask her out. I was a bit more forward this time, showing some actual interest. Once again, she rejected my offer. She made an excuse that her family was very traditional and wouldn't be so keen on her dating a white boy. Somehow, I didn't believe her. Over the following weekend, I replayed that moment over and over in my head. I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong. I was so disappointed. Then suddenly, I remembered all of the times she talked about how her ex-boyfriend was never romantic. I remember her telling me her favorite flower was the Marigold, and how they often used them in the traditional Día de los Muertos festivals. What if she had secretly been giving me subtle hints and I was just too thick headed to realize? Perhaps I had been going about this all wrong.

By this point, I had known her entire class schedule due to our frequent texting, though I still had never seen her on campus. Our classes were not even in the same areas or buildings, as I was studying business and she was studying nursing. She told me she wanted to eventually be a cardiologist. Guess she was off to a good start already, because she already had my heart beating like crazy! In my frantic, lover-boy frenzy, following my weekend of utter rejection, I did the unthinkable. I got dressed up in a nice outfit and even put on a tie, and I stopped by the flower shop on the way to school.

I ditched class and practiced over what I would say. This was it, all or nothing! I waited outside her class, and as the students started filing out of the room, I looked anxiously for her. Finally, she emerged and I greeted her with a big goofy smile and a beautiful bouquet of flowers; white lilies and marigolds among others that the florist had helped me choose. I told the florist that I never really bought flowers for a girl before and how I vowed never to do so. "It must be love," she said.

When Xochitl saw me, her already rosy cheeks grew redder than I had ever seen. I approached her with the flowers and poorly quoted a few Spanish lines I had attempted to memorize. She laughed, almost to the point of tears. Then I presented her with two tickets to the Maná concert and asked her to go with me. I told her I would be happy to come meet her family first if she wanted, and I'd even cook dinner for them; anything to show that I wasn't just some uncultured white boy and deserving of a chance. Xochitl didn't respond right away, and she kind of dodged the question by asking other random questions the entire walk back to the parking lot. Finally when we arrived at her car, she kissed me and said, "Si," which I now know is Spanish for HELL YEAH!

Flowers really are amazing, aren't they?!

If you like my articles, stories and content, please feel free to like, subscribe or leave a tip. Your support is much appreciated! Thanks.