All Maya knew about flowers was how her mother liked to smell them. They could be taking walks around the estate and she would suddenly stop, cross to the other side of the road, to pluck something that much like herself had also grown wild. She would try to find it’s fragrance beneath the dust and whatever else.
“One of these days you’re going to smell pee, you know.”, Maya would tell her mother, who only smiled in response. After a few of the same scenarios, she stopped warning her, it was… useless. Her mother goes where the flowers are.
She shook off the memory and observed the bouquet sitting on her desk. Lilies this month. Every month Maya introduced herself to a different flower. In her journal, she would document the scent, how it made her feel, and if it was any of the flowers her mother introduced her to, early on, when she was too distracted or not interested enough to pay attention.
Up till this point, she didn’t want to smell or see the lilies. They were the strongest impression of her mother‘s life and the only thing she really asked to be surrounded by at her death.
“A room of lilies if you can afford it, Maya.” her mother rasped out in her final days, the hardest days when they could no longer take walks together.
She reached for the bouquet, breathing deeply… it might have taken three 3 years but today, it smelled like forgiveness.
Share this post