Flowers from 1970 - DNF

The Sketch

Dream called George to check up on him, and it took a few rings before he picked up. "Hello, Dream."

"George." He smiled, "Sorry I couldn't call yesterday, the kids I coach were having a game and it was quite busy."

George was confused until he remembered Dream coached baseball, "How was that? Did you win?"

Dream gave a hearty laugh, "In all honesty it was a really bad loss." He admitted, "They're quite young and didn't take it well. One of them threw soda at a player from the other team and it caused some trouble between me and the parents."

George imagined Dream trying to explain himself to a parent and guiltily, it amused him, "How did that go?"

Dream groaned, "They threatened to get me fired. Accused me of being the one to tell the kid to throw the soda. I was getting riled up when one of the players came up to me and told me that the kid was provoked to throw the soda because the rival team called him duck-footed and threw peanuts at him."

George laughed, opening the microwave in his room and throwing a bag of instant popcorn inside, "What did they do to the rival team?"

Dream sighed, "Nothing. They didn't get in trouble at all but my kid got a suspension from games."

"That's quite unfair." George frowned, leaning against the desk and playing with his fingernails.

Dream was silent for a while, "Yeah, but I'm gonna work with him privately anyways so he gets practice in and isn't just thrown into the next game when he's back."

George smiled, he seemed to really care for the kids on the team, which reminded him of his run-in with Wilbur and his family the day before. "That's sweet of you, Dream. I actually had a hilarious encounter with children as well."

"Oh really?" Dream sounded intrigued, "What happened?"

The microwave beeped and George put the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he opened it and made to grab the popcorn bag inside, "Well I was having trouble planting your flowers and- ow." He burned his fingers, and decided it was easier to grab it by pinching the corners of the bag instead, "-and a man named Wilbur came over to help me, then I met his family."

"Wilbur." Dream thought, "That's quite a nice name." He wrote it down on a sticky note before turning his lips to the phone again, "What happened with his family?"

George chuckled at the memory, "His kid was hilarious. He was fighting his friend over a video game disc, and so Wilbur's wife called in his uncle to scare him into apologizing."

"What an interesting way to parent," Dream grinned, "did it work?"

"The boy sobbed and practically begged for forgiveness." George laughed before eating some popcorn and collapsing on the chair.

"You chew quite loud." Dream told George, and George immediately stopped, amusing Dream even more.

George swallowed, "I'm sorry, I forgot how loud it would sound over a phone."

Dream shook his head, "No, it's adorable." He said, sort of impulsively but truthfully nonetheless.

George was taken aback by that, "I imagine it being a bit annoying, but thank you anyway." Was all he could say.

"I never asked you about this, George," Dream began, "but you're obviously British. How did you end up in Florida?"

George's first thought was the iconic "If you're from Africa, why are you white?" line from Mean Girls, but he knew Dream wouldn't get the reference so he kept it to himself.

"I got a scholarship from a school here," George explained, "I took it, then I got carried away with how much I liked it here. My mom and sister didn't want me to leave but I did so anyway. I finished school and didn't come back home. I stayed with my school friend Alex but he ended up moving to Mexico. Luckily I had a job by then and could pay for this house, and now I'm here." He took in what he just said, realizing at once that his loneliness had one person to blame: himself.

"Do you visit home often?" Dream asked, his voice full of genuine interest.

George sighed, "No." He replied, "I send cards for holidays and birthdays but the last time I saw them was when I had the argument about living here. They never made an effort to invite me back home anyway so I never tried."

"You should try." Dream urged, "They wanted you to stay home in the first place, so why wouldn't they want you there? At least to visit or check up on them."

George had never thought about coming home until Dream suggested he do so. He missed his family and he grew up in a loving environment. It was him that isolated himself with his own worries for his future and hard work that cost him a childhood full of friends and connections.

It was easy for him to get caught up in work. All he did before he met Dream was work. He'd order take-out, then stay in his house burning his corneas with his massive screen time just doing work.

Meeting Dream had pulled him out of his mundane routine of not living, but merely surviving. He had a reason to get off his computer, and for the first time in a long time, he had someone to talk to.

He had gone outside and realized how long it had been since he had done anything physically draining when he dug up the time capsule. He had driven to the flower store and met someone new. He had gone outside and spent time trying to plant flowers he didn't know how to plant, resulting in making a new friend.

Dream was the first domino in him living the way he should have been living all of his life, and all he was was a voice on the phone.

"George? I'm sorry if I sound like I'm forcing you to go back home, I know nothing about your situation." Dream said after a while, and George felt bad for leaving him in silence while he was busy with his thoughts.

George shook his head profusely, "No, no." He assured, "I was just thinking."

"About me?" Dream joked.

George smiled. His smile had reached his eyes, which since meeting Dream has started happening more often, "Oh yes. Of course, because I just can't stop thinking about you." He responded sarcastically with an eye-roll.

"Honesty is the best policy." Dream said matter-of-factly.

"You're such," George couldn't even find the words, but he just spoke the first ones that came to mind, "a piece of work."

Dream responded with sassy mumbles, which George found so vexing in a good way.

"George, what do you look like?" Dream asked.

George knew what Dream looked like, but realized that there was no way to show Dream his appearance.

"I can describe myself, if you'd like."

"Yes," Dream agreed, "Oh! How about this. You describe yourself and I sketch you on the wall. You watch the sketch and tell me how accurate I am."

"I love how we normalized ruining the walls."

"Oh shut it." Dream countered, "So? Deal?"

"Alright, Dream." George gave in, "I guess I can clean the walls later."

Dream celebrated, "Just a warning, I'm an amazing artist."

George groaned before speaking, "Well I have quite a long face, but I guess it evens itself out. I mean I think my jawline does it justice."

George watched and waited, and then an outline of a face started to appear on his wall. A bit cracked and worn with time, but still distinguishable.

"I have dark hair. It's straight and cut short at the moment, and sort of bangs but not too long." He looked at his reflection on his locked cell phone, trying his best to describe himself accurately.

He watched the drawing, "Oh, a bit longer than that." He instructed, and indeed the sketch of the hair became a bit longer. George expected Dream to do a rushed, joke drawing but surprisingly it had full effort put in.

"Tell me about your eyes." Dream said.

"My eyes?" George thought for a moment, "They're pretty almond shaped, and my pupils are quite large so they look silly when I look to the side. Oh, and they're brown I believe."

Dream started a sketch of the eyes, and they looked a bit bigger than his, but other than that it still looked good.

"My eyebrows. I wouldn't say they're thick, but they're not extremely thin either, they're a bit lower and closer to my eyes." George continued, and so did the drawing. "I've no idea how to describe my nose, so I guess I'll just say medium."

"Medium?" Dream chuckled.

"Yes." George confirmed.

The nose could have used some work, but it didn't make the drawing look bad.

"And your lips, George." Dream asked, almost softly, "Describe your lips, they're the last thing."

George thought about it for a while, "They're full enough that they don't disappear when I grin." That was the only way he could explain it.

The drawing was complete, "So, how is it?"

George was a bit amazed to be honest, "It's great! If you put me in a line with people and showed a stranger this drawing and asked them to choose which one of us the drawing was of, they'd pick me."

Dream sounded proud of himself after that, "Wow. So I am a great artist. I was just joking about that."

"It's not entirely accurate, but that's on me for not explaining well enough." George critiqued.

"Maybe the drawing isn't that good, but I did picture you in my imagination, I hope that's more accurate since I tried to match a face to your voice." Dream told him, "You're lucky you have a photo of me."

"I am." George said quietly.

He meant to say it to himself but obviously that wasn"t what happened.

Dream laughed, "Damn right you are. I'm a pretty thing to look at aren't I?"

"You get so full of yourself sometimes." George said, but inside he deeply agreed.

"I get that a lot." Dream admitted proudly, "Anyways, I'm gonna turn in for the night. I have to meet up with my sister to help her with her dumb project, and the drive to her and my mom's place is quite far so I'm waking up early."

"Are you staying there?" George asked.

"Most likely." Dream sighed, "I'm sorry I probably won't be able to call for the day but I'm sure the day after tomorrow I'm all yours."

George smiled, "Alright. Be safe, Dream."

"Goodnight, George." Dream bid him, running his fingers on the wall with the sketch of George's face.