《and peggy》

《14》

everyday's a test
of our...
bravery.

■

Peggy walked along the cracked sidewalk, her converse dragging her feet slowly and hesitantly. She stuffed her hands in the knitted pockets of her yellow sweater cardigan. 

A worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird  hung lazily between her arm and her hip, threatening to fall if she made a wrong turn too harshly. 

She turned into a shop covered with glass windows, the door hitting a bell as she walked through, signaling her presence. 

"Hi, welcome to Phillip's Boutique! Anything I can do for you?" A man, sightly younger than Peggy, came from behind a counter where he was counting money. He could't have been any older than a junior, Peggy thought as she examined him. 

He had curly hair that reached his shoulders and a few freckles splattered across his face. Not as many as John, but it was close to it. He had a white apron on over a pair of ripped jeans and a Guns n Roses t-shirt. 

"Yeah, um," Peggy rocked back and forth on her heels, her fingers fiddling with the binding of her book, "can you whip up a bouquet that, uh, will tell somebody that I love them?" 

Phillip smiled. "Of course." 

He walked behind the counter, setting up the plastic that the flowers would be set in. "Do you have any color preference?" 

She nodded, leaning on the counter slowly. "Uh, red?" 

He smiled back at her, yet she couldn't mimic the gesture he had offered. 

"Red is the perfect color for love. It symbolizes the blood that pumps through both people's hearts, that come together as one in the end." Phillip said gently, softly putting flowers into the plastic. 

"It also symbolizes the blood that you bleed once the person you love cuts you open like you're nothing." Peggy mumbled. 

"Well, jeez. We've got a poet here." Phillip laughed. 

A ghost of a smile hinted on Peggy's face, but it quickly faded as she looked down. 

"To Kill a Mockingbird?" Phillip pointed at the book underneath Peggy's arm as he cut the stems of the flowers in the plastic. 

Peggy nodded. "Uh, yeah. One of my favorites." 

"That's the one where you find out that people aren't always who you think they are, right?" Phillip asked. 

"Yeah. It's something that I never thought I'd have to learn, uh, you know, in my life." Peggy said. 

"Well sometimes life throws things at you for a reason. Whatever happened, it'll help you grow into who you're meant to be." Phillip shrugged, handing Peggy a bouquet of perfectly red roses, the rose petals gently blowing in the wind of the breeze that the open door had let in.

Peggy brokenly smiled at him as she took the roses. "You know, you're pretty smart for a kid your age." 

Phillip smiled. "I like to think that I blossomed early." 

Peggy chuckled. "Here." she handed him a twenty dollar bill, making her way towards the door. 

"Wait, it was only seven ninety-nine!" Phillip called after her. 

"I know." Peggy paused and turned behind her, watching the giddy boy deposit the bill into its correct place. 

He looked up and smiled softly. "You know, that book could also help you learn a little about yourself, too." 

Peggy raised an eyebrow at him, but he just smiled and started to readjust some of the displays of daisies. 

Peggy walked out of the shop and immediately walked towards the nearest bench, tears in her eyes. A breeze flew through her hair and she covered her body with her sweater cardigan, relaxing in its warmth. 

Maria's words repeated in her mind, reminding her that she's not good enough. 

She'll never be good enough. 

Taking a seat on the bench, Peggy let her tears fall once again. 

And one by one, she took the red roses, and picked off each of the petals, chanting, "She loves me, she loves me not." 

Thirty minutes pass and she sits there, roses petals littering the ground around her and a bouquet of nothing but old rose stems. She picks the last petal off of the rose, her voice cracking. 

"She loves me not." 

And then and there, Peggy lets out a sob. She buries her head in her hands and cries, streaks of mascara rushing down her cheeks. 

When she picks her head up, the last rose petal still lays on her lap, on her copy of her book. 

She got a new bookmark that day. 

(751 words)