The Flowers for Alex

The three-day indent.

That’s what I called the spot where I laid in my bed, three days in row, after my mom passed away. There was a long, odd shaped blob in the center of my mattress and sheets - the shape of me - caused by depression and pain, which is why I didn’t leave my bed nor my room for three days straight.

My friends and extended family were worried about me for that span of time. It’s not that I couldn’t leave my bed or eat or function like a normal adult, I just didn’t want to, and I didn’t have to. Sara, my best friend, had a key to my place. She used it when she brought me dinner. I had tupperwares full of soup that could last me for days. She was really the only one to see me in person during that time.

Everyone else texted me at least once a day, moreso if I had the energy to respond.

Hey Alex, how are you?

I’m so sorry about your mom.

Let me know if there’s anything I can do, and I mean anything.

Basically the same messages over and over, as if I needed another reminder that my mom died. As if watching her die wasn’t enough for me.

Lung cancer took her. She’s smoked since I was a kid, but she went from three packs a day to one in a few years, and then tried e-cigarettes. She hated those. They taste like cough medicine, she’d say to me. How are they any worse than regular cigarettes? I would ask. At least the flavor of Marlboros are consistent. That was basically her answer every time. I always wondered if she’d ever quit. She got her chance when she started chemo. When she literally wasn’t allowed to smoke.

On the fourth day since her passing, I finally pushed myself out of bed. Despite my misery, I had things to do, people to talk to, and work to attend. My job would’ve let me have more days off if I had asked, but I needed something, anything, to get me away from my bed.

But that spot, that three-day indent, is still in my bed. Only because I can’t sleep, and it isn’t because of my mom’s passing. In fact, I think I might have a stalker. I only came to this conclusion recently. You’ll understand why.

Mom had this weird looking flower pot outside of the house. It was an ugly brown color, with some weird loops and curls on it, and handles on the sides to move it easier. It was a decent size, and it did the job just fine, but it definitely stood out against the rest of her garden. One thing she’d always do is toss her cigarette butts in it. I always thought it was disgusting and trashy looking. Mom, we have a trashcan right inside that door, I’d complain to her. No one can see the damn butts in there, Alex. I’m just recycling, she’d joke back.

Since she died, I hadn’t cleaned it out or replaced the flowers there. The petunias inside of it were wilted and devoid of life - basically, the floral copy of me. That’s how her entire garden looked at the moment. I knew she would be so pissed if she saw how poorly taken care of her garden was at the moment. I’ll add that to my to-do list today, watering the garden, I thought to myself. Maybe it’ll bring some of it back.

After taking a glimpse at the garden and her weird little ashtray of a flower pot, I headed off to work. I was sure that my coworkers and my manager were a little surprised to see me, especially since I kind of ghosted some of them while withering away at home. I doubt they blamed me, though. Everyone seemed sympathetic to me at work. There was even a bundle of roses in a vase on my desk for when I came back with a little note - “Alex, we hope you’re feeling better. Take it easy on yourself.”

I wondered how long these were on my desk, considering I didn’t tell my manager when I was coming back, but it couldn’t have been too long since they were still pretty and healthy. For the first time in a few days, I actually cracked a smile, and decided that maybe doing some work won’t be too bad after all.

______

After giving the garden a little shower when I arrived home from work, everything seemed to perk up a little, thank God. As much as I hate yard work, the garden was like a piece of my mom that I didn’t want to give up. Maybe I’ll hire someone to take care of it for me, just until I learn how to properly garden since I never really let my mom teach me.

The vase of roses sat on the kitchen countertop as I stared at them. Can roses be planted in a flower pot? I wondered to myself. I guess Google would know the answer, and I guess they can. I unwrapped the little piece of twine connecting the roses and the notecard, sat the card on the counter, and headed back out to the forgotten flower pot.

It took a few to get rid of the cigarette butt soil and nasty bugs, but after I cleaned it out and replaced the soil, they actually looked pretty good. I think my mom would’ve been proud of me, too. I had to make sure to thank my manager for them tomorrow, since I assumed he was the one to pay for them.

6:30 was a good time to decide that I had done enough gardening, and that it was time to tuck in for the evening. I considered making myself some pasta for dinner until I remembered all of the soup that Sara brought me. Oh shit, I need to text her.

Alex: hey sara

Sara: hey, how’re you holding up?

Alex: i actually went to work today and got some stuff done, so im doing better

Sara: wow, already back at the office?

Alex: well i had to get out of bed somehow. the indent has only grown bigger

Sara: well good to hear, get some rest and go to bed for me ok? i’ll talk to you tomorrow

Rest. I haven’t had a good day of rest for a while. Maybe that’s what I needed for the last few hours of the night, to rest. I can rest on the couch while eating some of Sara’s tomato soup with homemade croutons while watching Ink Master. I think that’s a perfect night of rest for me.

And that’s exactly what I did. I rested until my body just entered sleep mode at about 8, and I passed out on the couch, but only until I heard something moving outside the front door. I checked the time on my phone. 10:34 PM. Who the hell would be outside my front door this late? It wouldn’t be Sara. She always falls asleep before 9, and even if she was here, she would’ve come in with her key by now. But she didn’t. In fact, there wasn’t even a knock or a voice, just the sound of someone shuffling on the steps, followed by a slight thud.

Looking back on it, I know I made the dumbest choice out of the choices I had, but I was still half asleep and my will to live was already diminished, so I went to the front door and opened it. I didn’t see anyone outside, and there was nothing on the steps, so I just shrugged it off as an animal and plopped right back on the couch, ready to get the rest of my sleep for the next day.

____

By the fifth day, I had a bit more pep in my step. Of course, the depression didn’t just vanish in one night, but I didn’t feel nearly as down or devoid of life as I did when I was indenting my bed for three days. Maybe the sunlight and activity really did give me some energy. That, and I had finally eaten something other than a Rice Krispy Treat.

8:24 AM. I was ready to head out the door and tackle whatever dumb task I had to do at work, along with thanking my manager for the roses. I grabbed my purse from its hook on the wall, locked up the door, and had a slight fall right at the corner of the sidewalk. Shit, that fucking hurt!

It took me a second to get myself off of my walkway and back on my feet. Oddly enough, I was comfortable where I was laying, until I heard someone walking past my house. I couldn’t let anyone see me just laying on my back in my yard - how embarrassing.

My knee kind of hurt since it was the first thing to come in contact with the pavement, but other than that, I was alright. My purse and its contents were scattered through the grass just a foot away, and my phone was luckily still in my back pocket. But what the fuck did I trip on?

After gathering what belonged in my purse, I checked out what I had tripped on. It was a small, plastic flower pot with a colorful arrangement of petunias inside. The flowers were slightly messed up due to my foot kicking them, but besides that, they were actually really pretty and in decent shape. Tied carefully around the flowers was a piece of twine and a little note card with someone’s writing on it.

I picked up the flowers and pulled the note card so I could see what was written on it.

Alex - I’m so sorry about Patricia. Sending my warmest condolences.

No one called my mom Patricia. Any close friends she knew had their own nicknames for her, as did I, so the fact that this card included her full first name was more than bizarre. What was even more strange was the anonymity. If someone knew my mom well enough to call her Patricia, there would be no reason to not sign off on the card. At first, I wanted to write it off as a neighbor being sweet and not wanting to intrude, but after a while, I couldn’t justify that. That was the first bundle of flowers I received. The next were daisies, then the roses, and most recently were the poppies, all with a note card that grew exceedingly creepier.

Alex - Patty would’ve loved how you took care of her garden, as do I. Maybe one day I can help you with your yard work.

Yes, I noticed the change from Patricia to Patty. But of course, it had to get weirder as the days went by, like I needed something else to pile on top of what I have going on.

Alex - I’ve noticed you outside a lot more. The new blonde look really works for you.

Alex - We’ve never talked before, just a one-sided conversation from my cards. Maybe we should change that. Dinner sometime?

The last note was from yesterday, and I’m worried I’ll get another one tonight. I’ve tried to figure out who it’s from by handwriting, and I know what you’re probably thinking - it doesn’t match with my manager’s. I’ve already compared the two, and other than him, there is no one else that has given me flowers before. I don’t really know who to contact, since there’s technically no threats implied in the notes, but the fact that this person knows where I live, my mom’s name… I don’t really know how to proceed. Now I just have multiple vases of flowers in my living room, slowly wilting away, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I found another tomorrow.