Creative Ramblings

Graham Kerrington

Last year, I wrote this short story for a creative writing assignment, but ending up editing it for my final project. Enjoy the final version!

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The bell above the front door chimed, echoing through the small garden shop as the first customer of the day strolled in. "Mr. Shapiro," I said, smiling at the elderly man who came in like clockwork, every morning, to buy a small bouquet of roses for his wife. "What colour are you thinking today?"

"Red, my dear," he said, moving towards the counter as I scooted out from behind it.

"Coming right up."

Plucking six red roses from their vase, I carefully wrapped the stems in tissue paper, tying a strand of ribbon around the middle. "Here you go." Handing the bouquet over to him, I noted the money he'd left out for me. "I'm sure your wife will love them."

His moustache twitched, lips curving underneath. "She always does."

"Well, tell her I said hello, and that she's welcome to drop in any time. I'd love to know how her garden's coming along."

Nodding, he bid me goodbye, wishing me well as I signed off on the first sale of the morning. Smudges of dirt littered the page, not unlike the rest of my files, as I'd never quite mastered the art of cleaning up as I went. There was soil everywhere, it seemed, and there had been ever since I'd taken over this shop from my mother years ago. It was quaint, but a local staple in our busy San Francisco neighbourhood, with business continuing to bloom every season.

Tucking the receipt away, I quickly went through the day's orders, using the typical morning lull to check and double-check everything was in line for when deliveries went out. It didn't take long, and once everything was accounted for, I turned the sign on the front door, notifying any new patrons that I'd be around back, tending to the plants.

Stepping outside, I felt the warm autumn breeze tickle my skin, causing a few trees around the property to sway in tune as the sun stood alone in the sky, not a cloud to be seen. Within moments, the greenhouse came into view, and while this type of weather made for a stuffy environment inside the glass-made room, I'd grown used to it. Had learned to enjoy it. Leaving the door ajar, I took in the earthy smell that never failed to put a smile on my face, basking in it for just a second before I got to work.

Soil needed tending, plants needed water, and the displays needed fixing. It was just another ordinary day—same in, same out.

Gloves on, I knelt in the dirt, moisture dampening my overalls as I tended to a small patch of fully-bloomed hyacinths—their tightly packed, pink flowers floating atop large green leaves—when a pair of women stepped into the greenhouse. While they looked to be around my age, smiling in acknowledgement, I didn't recognize them as regulars. Nevertheless, I welcomed them, letting them know I'd be happy to help with whatever they needed before circling my gaze back to the flowers in front of me.

"Did you hear about the Kerringtons?" one of them whispered, a false-sense of sympathy coating her words.

For one nerve-wracking moment, I thought she was talking to me, and my breath caught. My fingers tightened, accidentally catching one of the flowers and pulling it free of the soil, roots in tow. However, when I lost my balance, falling backwards, it was clear she hadn't been. The commotion caused both of their gazes to swivel towards me, a haze of amusement hidden behind confusion, though I barely noticed. My mind was whirling.

It had been months—years—since I'd last heard that name. Since I'd last thought about who that name belonged to.

Not since I was small and a new family moved in a few houses down. Even as a child I couldn't help but watch the cute, neighbourhood boy riding his bike down the street as I helped my mother in the garden.