by Hugh Barlow
“What was that about?” Keiko asked as she gingerly separated the lily from the wrapping and the baby's breath and examined the flower. Keiko unbound the lily and noticed that the stem seemed strong. The flower no longer needed the support of the wire, and the damage to the stem itself was barely noticeable. The flower had been bound while the bud was still young, long before it was to be presented for sale. The support could have easily been removed, and the flower sold or given away with no-one the wiser of its injury. “Why would he give me a damaged flower?” Keiko asked. Julie smiled. “That is probably one of the few answers I actually know around here.” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “I used to work for Bob's mother at the flower shop's green house, and her people have an old custom. Often buds get broken while the mature flowers are being harvested. The shop binds the stem to attempt to heal the flower using the wire and floss like a splint. Usually the wire and floss is removed before the flower is sold to the public, but on occasion a bound flower is presented to someone with the hope that the verdure will pass along the act of healing to someone who needs healing themselves. The splint is removed before presentation if they wish the act to go unnoticed, but it is left on if they wish to declare their intent in wishing the recipient well. I think he likes you.” Julie said. “He seems to have waited a while to give you this. The lily is his favorite flower. It took some time for this to heal, and I think he had you in mind when he repaired it.” She continued.
Keiko had lost a loved one some time in the recent past, but had not made her loss known, being a private sort of person. “How did he know?” she asked Julie. “I think it is in your music.” Julie replied. "You play the cello in a very melancholy way. It is a moody instrument to begin with, but you play it with sadness." Keiko watched as Bob walked out the doors of the music room with a bounce in his step. Had there been room, he might have skipped. Keiko gathered her instrument and began to lug it down the aisle. For the first time in a long time, she began to look forward to physical instruction.
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This story came to me one day while I was musing on traditions. Somehow it seemed right that a flower shop would develop traditions regarding inventory and that these traditions could be passed down in obscurity. Odd, how the story presented itself to me around Valentine's Day.
I liked this. Nice idea with the flower shop's healing custom. Lovely story.
Thanks. These things come and beg to be written.