Juggling Flowers

August 30, 2021

By LC Harrison

Marigolds lay on the table, as she stared out the window, hopeful for his return. It was raining as her tears fell, she longed for him to wrap his arms around her once more. He had been gone for far too long, and she ached deeply inside for his comfort and love. She knew the moon was full outside, but it was hidden by all the clouds. She could still see the soft glow from it, as she lit a candle and whispered a prayer softly. She snuffed the candle, and moved from the window to her record player, and placed a favorite record on to listen to. It was a warm evening, and she decided to take a cool shower before she laid down in her bed for sleep.

Awhile later, and she was laying in her bed, imagining him next to her as she soon drifted off to sleep. In her dreams, he was there watching her as she juggled knives. She recalled in her dream learning to juggle as a child with small sacks of rice and dried beans, graduating to juggling fruit of all types: apples, oranges, pears, and even plumbs. Her favorite thing to juggle was thorny flowers, which she usually tied into bouquets with soft flowers like marigolds, that was the secret to juggling something sharp. She loved the thrill of possibly being pricked, knowing if she juggled quickly and softly enough, that would never be the case. In this dream, she effortlessly juggled the knives, until one blade caught her palm of her right hand, and she had to dodge as all the blades fell towards her. Her love came running to push her from beneath the falling death traps, and was struck by one in his shoulder. She awoke in a sweat from the dream. What was that all about?, she thought to herself.

She crept downstairs to make a cup of tea to soothe her nerves, and think it all over. Hopefully, he would be home with her by the day's afternoon. She missed him so. His smile, his soft chocolate amber skin, his soft curls, and gentle soft and melodic voice. He would often sing to her, surprising her with his new song ideas. He loved music as much as she did, and they had spent many times dancing together. He was always so sweet, always trying to cheer her, and never judging her for all her peculiarities. She never judged him. Their home was filled with strange curious art, he loved to collect and admire, and she had created much of it herself. He always encouraged her sculpting, and painting. He always encouraged her in everything, and he inspired her too. She sat with her tea, sipping it slowly, allowing the steam to hit her face and she took a few deep breaths. Contemplating the vivid dream, she thought, perhaps her nerves were on edge, the swords could have been fears or worries, and like in tarot, they could melt away with the warmth of the sun as mere illusions created out of misconceptions not grounded in the material true world. She finished her tea and returned to her bed to rest.

She awoke again, suddenly to feel her love beside her. He was home, kissing her. "Are you awake?," he asked her. "What time is it?," she muttered to him, confused. She felt as he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tightly. "It is the middle of the day," he said, "Why are you still in bed?" "I had a nightmare last night," she told him. "I am here to save you now," he smiled and told her, "Get dressed; we will stroll the garden. It is beautiful out. I will grab the parasol, and wait by the door for you." They both were very sensitive to sunlight, but truly enjoyed the warmth and the light of a new day shining on all the flowers.

She hurried to dress and meet him at the door, as she approached him, she noticed his shoulder was bandaged. She shrugged it off, and joined him on a stroll. As they strolled he gathered flowers tying them into a bouquet, and she knew at some shady spot they would stop and he would ask to watch her juggle, then they would dance, and sit under a favorite tree and kiss. All their strolls were playful like that, and he would smile at her with such a big bright grin, that all she could do was smile back. She loved him so much. They took a different turn in the garden then usual. "I brought something home to show you," he mused at her. He propped the parasol up against a garden bench and laid the flowers upon the bench. He walked over to her and put his hands over her eyes as he guided her over to a shady spot that felt cool. "What do you think?," he asked as he removed his hands from her eyes. Her gaze fell upon a forlorn statue of a girl kneeling over a fallen bouquet. At the statue's feet were knives, and it made her remember her dream. She must have frowned, because his cheerful face started to frown back at her. "You don't like it?," he said as he shuffled a foot and looked down at the ground, "I thought it was very poetic." "No," she tried to muster a reassuring voice, "it is just, that it reminds me of my dream, last night." "Oh," he said, seemingly relieved. He put an arm around her and guided her towards a big oak tree, where he pulled her towards the ground to sit beside him, "Maybe we should talk about it," he said to her at last.

After she told him her dream, he was quiet for awhile, then he said, "I got the statue at a circus sale, they had a knife juggler and thrower, who posed for the statue awhile back. I hurt my shoulder when the knife from the statue's hand broke and fell,  shattering on the ground, when I was placing it here in the garden." It was her turn to be quiet, from surprise at her dream's intuitive qualities. "You know, I thought she looked like you, but I could not decide why she was so sad?," he told her. Then he leant toward her, and kissed her softly. "Perhaps, we should go inside," he said as he stood and held out his hand to help her up. As they approached the bench, he handed her the bouquet, and picked up the parasol.

Once inside, they sat down to share some tea together. Just then, someone knocked at the door. They hardly ever had any visitors. She went to the door to greet the surprise guest. It was his brother, looking very forlorn. "I have bad news," he told her, "This morning, my brother was found dead at an accident scene down the road." She turned to see that there was no one sitting by the two cups of tea. "He was crushed by a statue he was unloading from his truck," said the brother. She collapsed to the floor, knocking over the vase with the bouquet of flowers, that landed right between the two at the door. She looked just as the statue had. 

...The End...