Short Stories

24. The Garden

 The first time Steve and Ced saw each other in the eye was right in a garden. 

Not just any garden, but in the garden. 

The bell had rung and most of the students were already gone. There were a few seniors, and a bunch of kids whose parents were yet to pick them up.

And it was raining that day.

Steve was the only one in his classroom. Mr. Huskin, their English teacher had asked him to stay back because he was the only one in the class who didn't know how to read aloud properly.

The school bell rang again. The teachers had a meeting. 

Steve snapped his book close.

Sienna had said to come home on time, or come hours later. There was a guest coming over. 

He was already late. There was no point going home now.

Steve stuffed his book in his bag. It was old and rough to touch. If you brought your nose close to it, you could smell the dust and mildew. It was a third hand. Before becoming Steve's, it belonged to Mycroft, and before that it was Mycroft's older brother's, whose name Steve didn't know. Nobody mentioned him in the house. 

He tugged the bag at its strap and swung it over his lanky arms. For a 6 year old, the bag weighed a ton. But Steve was strong.

He was strong.

The rain pattered against the windows in the corridor. He could see the lush greenery of the back-garden of the school from an open window.

Steve was no pro, but he knew the garden couldn't be made any better than it was right now.

It was attended to with the gentle care and love and preciseness only an expert could accomplish with effect. Each leaf, each twig, each bud was in its place, positioned in such a way that it looked like they were all celebrities, posing for the photographers. They were right where they were supposed to be. Just perfect.

If the school screamed to the elite, the garden attracted the elegant.

Steve never saw any of the rowdier kids in the garden. It was like an unspoken rule, that only those who deserved the heavenly beauty of the garden could feel the smooth, cool leaves between their fingers, smell the fragrance of the flowers, feel the sweet, gentle aura wash through them.

Or maybe it was the old man with the stick, who sat near the entrance and growled at anyone who passed by.

Who knows? 

Anyway, there Steve was, wondering what he'd do now that he couldn't go home. He could drop by in the school library and take a nap. 

Before he could act on his very productive plan, as luck would have it, a strong wind, rain water and all, blew from the corridor behind him and flew his school hat out of the window in front of him--the one that opened above the garden.

Steve's first reaction was to jump out of the window to catch the hat--Sienna would kill him if he spoiled it. But then he remembered that if he jumped, she'd kill him a hundred times because then she would have to pay the hospital bills.

And there's the teeny fact that breaking a leg, literally, sounded pretty painful. So that wasn't a very attractive option.

So he ran down the stairs and stormed out of the door, into the garden (the old grunting man had probably went home, or maybe...bathroom break?). He darted past a blond boy standing under the shelter and splashed past the imported daisies and the mutated roses. 

There, on the rough shrubs, which didn't provide much looks to the garden, but symbolized strength and resilience (and that was enough reason to call it an important part of the garden), struggling against the wind and rain and splashed with dirt was his beloved hat.