Flower Child
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| Chinese Pistache Tree. Photo provided by Flickr |
My grandmother once told me she thought I came from Mother Nature, herself. She told me when I was around 3 or 4 she found me sitting down in her driveway during a northern downpour that Oklahoma City gets every now and then.
She told me I was looking up and my arms reached towards the sky, like I was welcoming something. When I came in completely soaked to the bone she gave me a big smile.
“What were you doing out there?” She said she asked.
“Saying hello,” I said.
“To whom, dearest?” She asked.
“To the raindrops.”
When I was 9 I thought I could talk to trees. Mom had married my stepfather, Howard. I was the flower girl at their wedding but my grandmother called me flower child instead.
Mom and Howard dated for 5 years because he wanted to make sure my brother Caleb and I liked him. We moved into a house in the middle of the woods.
I used to sit outside during summer nights and talk to the trees as fireflies glowed and crickets talked to each other.
Howard would sometimes come find me outside before it got too dark. He would sit there and listen to me ramble. He would listen as I told him I found a foxhole in the woods. He would listen as I told him I planted some flowers by the pond. He would listen until I grew drowsy and I wanted to go inside.
He was my father. He loved my brother and me. He took care of us. Mom told me after he died that she would tell him how much he changed our lives for the better.
“It is not just your lives that have changed, but mine as well,” He said.
We were happy. We lived and loved until we didn’t anymore.
Mom and Howard dated for 5 years because he wanted to make sure my brother Caleb and I liked him. We moved into a house in the middle of the woods.
I used to sit outside during summer nights and talk to the trees as fireflies glowed and crickets talked to each other.
Howard would sometimes come find me outside before it got too dark. He would sit there and listen to me ramble. He would listen as I told him I found a foxhole in the woods. He would listen as I told him I planted some flowers by the pond. He would listen until I grew drowsy and I wanted to go inside.
He was my father. He loved my brother and me. He took care of us. Mom told me after he died that she would tell him how much he changed our lives for the better.
“It is not just your lives that have changed, but mine as well,” He said.
We were happy. We lived and loved until we didn’t anymore.
We planted a Chinese Pistache tree for him after he died. I sometimes go out and talk to him by the tree when I feel lost. I suppose I haven’t lost that habit just yet.
Written: 1.12.16
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