Epinephrine

Reminisce

Leaving Fort Defiance was an easy decision to make. It was a small town, population never exceeding 5000. After graduating, the few friends I kept through high school quickly disappeared into the basements of their adobe-brick homes, retreating to wherever they could find central heating and adult magazines. My brothers found work at the family corner store, but my father always told me my stutter turned customers away. 

So when my father's violent tendencies finally pushed my mother out of the house, it seemed to me that following her to Mesa was the obvious choice.

The only thing holding me back was Miss Rosie. She was an older woman who lived a few doors down. She spent every day draped carelessly over an overstuffed couch with a red woven cover that had long since been bleached white by the beating sun. Every morning, at 6AM, I'd walk past her and through her front door, and collect three cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon from her otherwise empty fridge. I'd poor a cup of food into Paco's bowl, turn up the volume on her Zenith Color TV, then sit on the porch next to her while the sun rose. Paco, a one-eyed hound with ears longer than the Nile, snored at her feet. Some days, she would tell me stories about skin walkers and dried up rivers. Some days, she would tell me about her wedding, how her husband showed up with a ring made of yarn because he couldn't afford a real one. Some days, she would grunt and impatiently grab the beers out of my hand. Every day, she would weave my hair into a perfect plait before falling back asleep.

I didn't know if I'd be able to live without the comfort of the knot tied at the end of my braid thumping against my back when I walked. I didn't know how Miss Rosie would make her way up the stairs to her bedroom at night. I didn't know who would deliver her groceries, or keep her lawn from drying out under the blazing Arizona sun. I didn't know how Paco would be kept full and happy.

And that's why, when I finally mustered up the courage to tell her of my plans, she loudly and painfully pulled herself up off the sofa, hobbled her way into the kitchen, and pulled Paco's leash off the backdoor. 

---

Ma and I were happy in Mesa, for the most part. We found a cheap one-bedroom apartment in West Mesa, just a short walk away from where the Fiesta Mall once stood. She took the bed and I slept on a pull-out in the living room. 

Ma found work at the Mesa Country Club, and I got a job at SummerWinds Nursery. Paco sat in the passenger seat on my drive to work every morning. He would rest his head against the open window that chamber orchestra songs with names I never bothered to remember leaked out of. My boss, Dylan, had taken a liking to him - Paco would either sleep under the front desk and soak up the attention of any customers who were keen enough to notice him, or would press his cold wet nose against the backs of customers' heels while they browsed. He was slow and quiet, but added a sense of "rural" to the greenhouse.

One day, a few months into my time at the nursery, I was restocking the shelves with Paco at my feet when a customer came in. They had choppy purple hair and an unsalvageable amount of facial jewelry. 

They walked in with confidence, which was rare for customers I didn't see often. With long strides, they walked through the front sale area, and out the back door to the greenhouses. I shared a look of uncertainty with Dylan who sat at the front desk, then went after them.

Paco followed me into the greenhouse that had perennials and flowering vines. The purple-haired customer stood in the far corner, carefully inspecting a bed of violets.

"E-Excuse me?" I asked. They didn't respond.

I started walking down one of the rows toward them, and I was already halfway across the greenhouse when they turned around.

I stopped, and hesitated for a split second before piping up. "Uh, hi. Do you n-need help looking for anything?" I asked.

They pursed their lips. "Nope, I think I'm alright. Thanks." 

And with that, they turned their attention back to the flowers in front of them. 

I turned around and headed back down the row. I busied myself adjusting the vines of a particularly stubborn honeysuckle while Paco kept an eye on the customer. When we deemed them harmless, I headed back inside to continue stocking.

The shop was empty for the next 20 minutes, so I read Fox in Socks while waiting for Purple Hair to buy their violets and leave so that Dylan and I could clean up and head out. It was nearing 10 minutes until close by the time they finally showed up at the front desk.

They wordlessly put four flowers and two ceramic pots onto the counter.

"Will... this be all?" I asked, scanning their items. 

"Yup, that's it. Is there... How do I pay?" they asked. 

Despite my best efforts, Dylan had yet to purchase a digital card reader for the shop. She said they weren't trustworthy, and that the card reader connected to our archaic desktop computer would "do just fine."

I glanced up at the computer screen. "O-Oh, are you paying with cash or card?"

They snorted, and replied "If I was using cash, I'd just give it to you." My ears turned red, and I held out my hand. 

"Right. Your, uh, total is $84.64."

They handed me their card. The name on it read 'Rhodie Delhouse'.

"Rhodie? Like "rhododendron'?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah. My mom is a hardcore gardener. I thought my full name was obnoxious so I got it legally changed last year to something shorter," they said.

"Oh," I said. I handed their card back. "Thanks for c-coming in."

Rhodie blinked at me. I couldn't think of anything else to say, and it seemed they couldn't either. They took their flowers and vases, and left out the front door.