Peter Parker Imagines Book

Amaryllis - Part Two

The air was brisk and Peter could see nearly see the transparent cloud of breath in front of him. The temperatures hadn't yet dropped below zero, but now everything around him seemed to scream at Peter about the arrival of the day he had tried hard to forget about. The people on the street bundled up with hats and coats, the holiday decorations on displays in stores and on doors. 

He had been doing well really, if seen from an outside perspective. The worst of his mourning had been after the first few months. But then he adjusted to life with the loss of one, and his life started to create another new routine. The first being with the addition of Spider-Man, the next being for a family of two. 

His feet seemed to know where he was going before his brain had comprehended it, his body moving on autopilot as his brain was too clouded with thoughts of reality and how it was sneaking up on the previously oblivious boy. He had even taken a cab over Queensboro Bridge without remembering taking money with him. But he stopped moving when he told himself he needed a minute to collect himself. 

He looked around, seeing that he was on a street that wasn't as populated as the others, the quietness and calm giving it away. He eyed a flower shop at the end of the road, and he frantically patted his pockets for his wallet. If he was going to do this, he wanted to do it right. To pretend he wasn't as unprepared as he really was (maybe he should have waited for May so they could have gone together). But when he pulled it out, he saw that he barely had a dollar in change. 

Groaning, Peter shoved the item back into his pocket and kept walking. But when he saw the glimpse of bright color against the umber of the brownstones lining the street, he paused again. To his right, a planter filled with colorful yellow flowers hung from the window. A special splash of color on the side of pavement. 

Peter knew he shouldn't. Someone had spent their time planting and caring for those flowers. But there was no one else around him in sight, and the light in the window with the flowers was out. It was unnecessary as Peter crouched up the stairs, but involuntary. He felt like he was stealing - he technically was - so his body language portrayed just that. He just wanted something special to bring with him. Something pretty. He hoped the show of love and respect would remain the same, even if Peter hadn't paid for it. 

"I'm so sorry," Peter whispered into the open, both to the flower he was currently uprooting and to the person that would be eventually be mad to find one of their flowers missing from it's place among the others. Part of him hoped the owner wouldn't notice - there were a lot of flowers exactly like it filling the planter, surely one wouldn't make a difference. The other part of him was guilt - a pathetic attempt to convince him to put the flower he now held in his hand back and just go without it. But the damage had already been done, and Peter was now patting the soil back in place as he hopped back down the steps and walked a little faster than normal down the street. 

The boy let out a loud breath, staring down at the blossomed yellow flower. Holding it in his hands, he realized it was prettier than he initially thought, with a magenta center. He prayed it hadn't been too expensive, and continued to his destination. At least now, he had something to offer. 

What Peter hadn't known, was that if he were even a minute later, the light in the window would have been flipped on. 

You had had a rather uneventful day - well, uneventful in the way that translated into tedious. You had been in your room all day finishing up your History project and your other weekend homework. The day was still a few hours from over, but you were so mentally exhausted from both your earlier trip and the work you had done holed up in your bedroom. 

Your footsteps creaked on the old wooden floorboards, and you turned on the hallways light switch as you descended the stairs, passing the front doors as you made your way to the kitchen for a snack. 

You were alone, but it wasn't nothing you weren't used too. Your father worked two jobs and he really was there only in the late night and early hours of the morning. You helped out when you could, babysitting for your neighbors and small jobs like that, but for the most part, whenever you weren't home, you were alone. 

The isolation wasn't something that bothered you most times, but there were occasions where you would feel overly alone. Those were the times where you did something like turning up the TV or blaring music. Something for another voice to fill the large space around you that could feel suffocating during those times. But when that feeling of loneliness came to you in another form, that's when you would find solace in the garden in your backyard or in a bowl of batter. 

As you slid into a seat at the small kitchen table, you reached your hand over to the plate of cookies you had left out for your father to take that morning. By the looks of it, he had only taken a couple to work with him, and you allowed yourself to indulge on the remaining few, biting into it and letting the softness of the cookie and the smoky sweetness of the molasses fill your mouth.

You crossed your legs before uncrossing them, uncomfortable with just sitting there and eating. Gathering up another cookie, you had raced back to your room to grab a hoodie strewn carelessly across your bed before you made your way to the back door that led to the garden outside. 

The backyard garden had been something you had called a sanctuary for years. An archway led to a stone path into the garden that sat between the two trees marking the border of your yard space and your neighbors. Fairy lights hung on the low branches, twinkling like stars in the moonlight, and illuminating the flowers that grew in-between. A bench lay in the center of it all, in the perfect position to be surrounded by the nature and an amazing place to just get lost. To forget, if only for a little while. 

You knew you didn't have much time with the flowers you had planted a few months ago, with the winter weather encroaching steadily. But for now, you sat down on the stone bench, surrounded by the violas and dahlias and zinnias among some others around you. The amount of hours you had spent in this garden taking care of the flowers you put in alone took up a large portion of your life. Adding the amount of time you spent just to spend there, it would be uncountable. 

The bench was chilly, but it didn't stop you from lifting your legs and laying down on the surface. You didn't feel so lonely anymore, surrounded by life. If you closed your eyes, you could almost hear your mothers voice, telling you how proud she was of you and how beautifully you've kept up her garden. 

You blinked your eyes open, not wanting certain memories to play at this specific moment. You had already had one reminder of her earlier, and you weren't planning on mourning her death, nor were you in the state of mind to do so. But still, your voice in the back of your mind told you about how you should have taken the amaryllis this year. That you should honor the one thing you haven't been able to bring yourself to do. 

Instead, you cleared your mind, creating a blank slate for you to fill with nothing but nothingness.