The Ghost of My Marigold Flowers

I don’t believe in ghosts or messages from the dead. I don’t believe in any of that crazy shit.

But this might change things.

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Grandfather died two months ago.

The morning my parents told me about Grandfather’s brain swelling, I was devastated, but I thought the doctors had it handled. A few weeks later, he was dead.

I was ruined. I was angry at the doctors.

I was angry at myself, but I didn’t know why.

It felt like my insides were being ripped out.

I wished that I would silently slip away, so I could be with him.

We understood each other. We told each other everything.

We agreed on a marigold flower.

“Now, Cadence,” Grandfather said, holding up a marigold. “These flowers are very valuable, okay? And this one, is for you.”

We would give each other marigold flowers after an accomplishment. A difficult school test, graduating elementary school, getting a blood test.

Something worth a marigold flower.

I was going to give him one after he beat his new health problem, his brain swelling.

But I didn’t get the chance.

And today, two months later, ‘this’ is still happening.

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A few weeks after Grandfather’s death, I started ‘recovering’ and going back to normal. But things were different.

I started attending school again, but I was failing every class. I started socializing and hanging out with people again, but I soon learnt that I no longer had friends anymore. I was the depressed, lonely girl.

I hated being seen like that.

The morning after Grandfather died, marigolds started appearing. Everywhere.

And not just when someone would bring some flowers over for me and my family, coincidentally having a marigold in their bouquet.

No. I meant everywhere. And no one else seemed to notice.

At his funeral, marigolds filled the cemetery.

Suddenly, every house in my entire neighborhood was growing marigold flowers in their front gardens. The plants around my house mysteriously had marigold flowers squished into their pots with them.

In science class, we started studying plants. Each student received a flower to study and present for the class. I was assigned marigold flowers.

I even started dreaming about them.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

I tried my best to ignore the flowers. But everywhere I went, I would see them in the corner of my eye.

It went on for two months.

Here we are. And still, nothing has changed.

—————————-

“Why are you doing this?” I whisper, even though I know my grandfather probably can’t hear me. These marigolds must be his doing, right?

But a message from the dead? No one would believe me. I’d be not only the lonely and depressed girl, I’d be the crazy girl too.

I know that I am not crazy. I need to find out why all of this is happening.

—————————-

I get out of bed.

I slip on a dress and crocs, and head downstairs.

My mother looks at me funny, tilting her head.

“I know I look goofy, Mom,” I snap, grabbing a banana. I peel it and say, “I couldn't find my sneakers and this is all I had.”

She raises her eyebrows and throws her hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Have a nice time.”

She gives me a weak smile.

“Thanks,” I say.

I race out the door before she can ask me any more questions.

I run down the street, keeping my eyes ahead, trying to avoid seeing the marigolds in all of the front gardens.

I eventually slow down and walk after running for a few minutes. My heart is beating in my ears and my breath is fast. I walk.

And I walk some more.

I turn right. I turn left. I walk forward. In a straight line. In the middle of the road.

I kick a few pebbles around different roads, eventually losing them into the storm drains.

I stop walking. I look up and realize I’m at a cemetery.

My grandfather’s cemetery.

I decide to visit him at his grave, it’s been a while since the last time I did. I march through the sunny heat, feeling my forehead sweat glistening in the sun.

I’m panting by the time I reach the top of the hill. I plop down on the green blades of grass, feeling the soft prickles against the bottoms of my feet.

I turn towards Grandfather's grave, closing my eyes and I whisper, “I don’t know if you can hear me at all, but I love you.”

I open my eyes and see 2 small marigold flowers in the small flower-holder next to the grave.

I feel frustration and disbelief bubble up inside of me.

This has been happening for 2 months!

I grab the marigolds and rip them as much as I can.

I immediately regret it and pick a few from the cemetery to bring home and plant, hoping for forgiveness. I run home, sadness and anger eating away at me.

I storm into the house, flowers in hand. I ignore my mother asking whether or not I’m okay.

I race through the house, into the backyard and I open the door to the garage. I take one of the many unused plant pots and I steal some soil from the garden outside.

I plant the marigolds.

I bring the potted plants into my room and set them down on my desk. I leave my room, slamming the door behind me.

As I’m skipping down the stairs with tears in my eyes, I yell, “Is that good enough for you, Grandfather?!”

Before my parents can ask any questions, I slip on my crocs again and close the door behind me.

I walk around my neighborhood, making sure I keep my head down. I don’t want to see any marigold flowers. I can’t.

After an hour of mindlessly walking, I return home to eat dinner with my parents.

They see my unwelcoming face, knowing there’s no point in trying to ask questions, so they just ask me how my day is going. You know, the basic family questions. The normal ones.

We finish dinner and I end up washing the dishes. I play some music and finish after about half an hour. I head downstairs and watch a few TV show episodes. After a while, my parents eventually demand that I come upstairs and go to bed.

I brush my teeth and get into pyjamas. I get into bed but remember I have to water my plants.

I get up and water every one in my room. The cactus, the aloe vera, the other cactus, and oh, the marigolds.

I water them too. Goodnight Grandfather.

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The next morning, I wake up to see the marigold flowers sitting on my desk, directly in my line of vision. As healthy as they were yesterday.

I treat today like a normal day.

I shower. I get dressed. I pack my lunch for school. I eat breakfast.

Same routine. Like always.

Except today is different.

I don’t notice any significant changes, but the world feels different around me. Almost weird.

I look out the window and I notice something.

The marigolds are gone. The neighborhood gardens are no longer filled with them.

There are only two left. The ones on my desk.

The others are gone.