Red Spider Lily

Since I was a child, I had known the story of the red spider lily. I had heard my parents talk about it every once in a great while, about how a peculiar red flower would grow in the path of someone that they had known, but would never see again. The lily is seen as a flower of sorrow, seen in cemeteries commonly, for it was always the final farewell.

However, I had never seen such a flower myself. When I was a child, I had always seen my friends the next day, and the day after that. There was no such thing as a goodbye when you're so young, even if you never saw them again, you always forget. Such stories held no value to a child.

Alas, I have seen such a flower, but allow me to start from the beginning.

I am a young woman by the name of Eve, and my entire life I had been close with another young woman, by the name of Scarlett. Scarlett was everything that I wanted to be. She was well-spoken, beautiful with long auburn hair and vibrant light blue-green eyes, slender, and had the voice and talent of an angel. Scarlett was indeed everything I wanted to be, but I did not wish to be her...I wished to be with her. However, in such a world, even the thought of a woman loving another in such a way is so frowned upon, I fear I may never get my chance...

Scarlett comes to visit me often. I'm but a simple grease monkey who works on cars with my father. My long, rough, brown hair is in a permanent braid down my back and I am constantly covered in oil, scratches, and the occasional burn. She never seemed to mind though. She found my nature to be 'untame' and 'wild', all said with a loving voice. She was truly a kind soul and found me bickering with the other men completely charming. She often visited during lunch, always wearing something beautiful and flattering, like her custom made sun dress or skirt and blouse. She gave me so much company, despite my best efforts to turn my back on her out of embarrassment of her kind words in front of the men. The men would tease me and try to flirt with my beloved Scarlett, but she never seemed to pay any attention to anyone but me.

One day she came to me in the garage while I was working on a motorcycle. I was all alone that day. She watched me, content as I worked away and let out the occasional swear of frustration as I tried to fix the busted machine. She smiled and gently grazed her hand along my shoulder, touching the tribal tattoo on my dark tan skin. She made a gentle, positive comment about the artwork and I couldn't help but blush and smile. She was always so kind to me, and always knew how to calm me down. I pushed my thick bangs from my face and smiled up at her. My whole body froze when she leaned down and kissed me gently, stroking my cheek. I panicked. I flung backwards, still in my crouched position, and knocked into the motorcycle, making it fall and break more. I swore loudly at it, accidentally scaring her. She panicked and backed up, promising to never do it again.

I had only one choice at this point...I stood and grabbed her slender arms firmly in my rough hands. He pulled her to me and kissed her deeply, holding her close. When I pulled away, I could feel the heat leaving my face in massive waves. I set back up the bike and started working again. I asked her if she had lunch yet and she laughed, telling me no. I smiled and cleaned up, offering to take her out someplace for once.

Weeks passed and we enjoyed each other's company more and more. One day she came to me with tears in her eyes, holding a wilted red flower. I held her as she cried and told me that her mother had passed, and the red flower had grown in the small terrace outside of her mother's window that morning. I stroked her hair as she talked, remembering the old story that my parents would tell me. I went to the funeral with her, the same flowers growing around the old cemetery. I was sure to comfort her as much as she needed, but also gave her plenty of space to grieve on her own as well. We both knew that goodbyes were hard for her.

More time passed and the relationship between the two of us got out. People questioned us, asking why a beautiful woman of a high class would fall in love with a pathetic, low class grease monkey who barely qualified as a woman at this point. I wasn't lady-like, I was tattooed, I worked on machines with men, and I was a gay. Her answer was simple, and she had no problem repeating it to anyone. She simply said that I had all the qualities of a man she could ever look for, but the beauty and heart of a woman. She didn't mind that I was a gay, for she was one too, and she held that title with pride, more pride than I ever could. With every passing day of her not being afraid, I fell more and more in love with her.