People ask me about myself.
They ask me how I ended up here, who helped me, what I lived for, things like that. They ask me why I like this life, what makes me the kind of person I am.
They ask me who I like, what I like to eat, what kinds of clothes I wear, when I will buy another house. They ask me a lot of things, and I happily answer them.
I guess I can tell you many things about myself. Do you know that I love sweet apples more than anything, that I own five mansions by the sea now, that I was afraid of the dark when I was a little girl, that I lost hope many times in my life, that the rain used to make me cry? All these things are about me, but they don’t define me.
“Smile,” the news reporters say, pointing their cameras, and I gladly do.
Then someone asks me, you have lost hope before?
Oh, yes, I have. Like anyone, I definitely have. If there is one thing you learn about me is that I never give up. It’s not difficult to talk about anymore, but I will never forget it.
Twelve years ago, I graduated from college with a psychology degree. I went to New York City searching for opportunity but I was scared out of my mind. The skyscrapers rose into the sky, and as I walked underneath them, I wondered who worked up there. Here, there was Wall Street! There was Broadway! There were opportunities for me.
But I never used my psychology degree.
I was rejected over and over again; no one wanted me. I was still young, a twenty-three year-old graduate, but I lived alone in New York City with nothing to do except work at a flower shop down the street.
One day, I stepped outside the apartment door and into the wet morning. The rain had been relentlessly pounding on my window pane throughout the night, but with dawn approaching, it had slowed to a gray drizzle.
Standing next to the crosswalk, I waited for the light to turn. Cars whizzed past me, and people strolled around me. They walked with a purpose and I was stuck at a stoplight. I watched the people and wondered how many of them were like me, lost in this world of flashing lights.
The light turned, and I crossed. Everything was wet. My shoes, the streets, the cars, the flower shops: all drenched. I took out the key and unlocked the shop, entering. My manager comes in the evening to check on me, but otherwise she leaves everything else to me. Inside, although the white walls were yellowing and the windows were smudged with fingerprints, the damp air was deathly sweet from the wilting flowers.
Soon, everything was set, and I leaned against the counter. Even that was damp too, from the rain outside. I looked around me, looked at the summer flowers and at the tiled floors. I saw my reflection in the window glass, at my young face. What was going to happen to me? Will this be the life I ever get?
The door opened, and a woman walked in. Her jogging attire was wet with the rain, and her sneakers squeaked against the floor. Without looking at me, she picked through roses. Then she turned to face me, frowning.
“Are there fresher ones?”
I shook my head. “There will be new ones coming in this afternoon,” I explained, “but this is all we have for now.”
“Can you go check in the back?”
“I’m sorry, this is all we have.”
She looked at me. “Can you please just check in the back?”
“Sure.” I went through the door, but it was empty except a mop and a few dirty buckets. I returned to the counter.
“There’s no—”
“Yeah, I know,” she said.
As she was walking out the door, I tried to imagine myself in her clothes. I imagined myself walking out the door, holding her purse. Did she have children and a husband? I wished she knew how lucky she was, and I wished she could understand how lost I was.
I stared at my reflection on the window glass again, which was glazed with rain. I stared my face, but I didn’t really see myself. I remembered when I was a little girl, the times when I was scared of the dark. I remembered the times when I dreamed of becoming a famous scientist, like Marie Curie. I remembered my parents. Oh my God, I was their only child, and they loved me so much. I felt bad for them. They loved me so much, and I ended up working in a flower shop.
Two young men came in, laughing. I smiled hopefully at them, but they only had eyes on the flowers. Picking up a batch, they went over to the counter. They never looked at me, never spoke to me as they slapped down a few bucks. They just laughed and talked to each other, and they never got a chance to see my wavering smile.
Then they were gone from the shop, and I was left alone. I started pacing around, straightening the flowers. The rain had started up strong again, relentlessly pounding against the window glass. I looked around, and I wondered if this was all I got in life.
I thought about my friends. So much time had gone by, and I wondered where they were. I slowly took my phone, pausing to stare at my reflection in the blank screen. Then I lit it up. I opened the contacts and called Lyla. It didn’t even ring. I dialed Tom, but he didn’t answer. Then I called my younger brother. I think he’s a senior by now?
It was left to voicemail.
I stared at the window glass, at the rain that blurred the busy streets beyond. The relentless rain was drowning me. It just kept pounding and pattering and pattering, never ending.
I wandered around the shop, looking at the wilting flowers. I knew nothing ever lasted. I closed my eyes, and I remembered when I was younger. I remembered all those idyllic times, when we camped out on the fourth of July in the woods. The sun had already set, but the moon hadn’t gone up yet. In the semi-darkness, the fire had flickered and threw up red sparks.
I opened my eyes and walked back to the counter. Oh, right. The counter wood was damp, like everything else. I walked over to the roses, picked up one, and stared at the dark petals.
Nobody wanted my psychology degree, I thought. What a waste of time. I wasted years earning that thing, and now I’m wasting my time in this shop. Is this all I will see of life?
My phone rang, and I answered it, leaning against the damp wooden pillar.
“It’s me,” my brother said.
He was drunk, and I was kind of scared for him.
“Are you okay?”
“Hey,” he said. “Are you at the flower shop? Are you?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Guess what,” he said. “There’s no hope for me, no hope for us, at all, you know.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“My girlfriend left me. She just left.”
“Oh, I’m sure there’s hope,” I tried to say, but he interrupted me.
“There’s no hope for you, my dear sister,” he laughed. “No hope at all. How long have you been working there, at that shop? How long?”
I didn’t answer. The rain pounded on.
“Two million years. Where are you going? You and I, we’re going nowhere. We’re drowning in whiskey. This is your life. You’re just going to be there forever—”
“Shut up,” I said.
“The hope just drowned in the rain, you know. We’re lost forever—”
“Don’t say another word. I know, I know. I’m staying here forever. Alone. This is all I get of life. Don’t tell me what I already know.”
The other end went dead.
My heart was pounding. The rain was relentlessly hitting against the window glass, and I felt like I had already drowned. No hope.
I slammed my phone on the counter as I walked by. I didn’t look to see if it broke. I wandered over to the window glass, which was glazed with rain. I looked at my reflection and the wilted flowers surrounding me. Nothing beautiful ever lasts. I looked at my young face. Nothing will ever last. My dreams never did.
Then my phone rang again, and I ran to the counter. It was my brother. I threw it on the ground, and it smashed. All these little pieces from my screen fell out. I never knew there were so many little silver and black pieces, but they all came tumbling out. My tears tumbled out too.
I ran into the back storage room. I sat down on a dirty bucket and cried. I remembered the rock’n roll that I loved when I was in school, and I wondered if music would ease the pain. I paused crying for a moment, and all I could hear was the relentless rain.
This was my life. This was all I was going to get. My brother was drunk in his room, and he was probably getting drunker by the moment.
I was going to live forever here, alone. I was young, but that meant nothing. My dreams existed for a while, but they were gone like smoke. If everything had to end, why do we still hold on to them for as long as possible? Why do they keep on delivering flowers if they were going to wilt overnight? Why do people still buy them?
I cried, and I told myself there was no hope. Why don’t I just end it now? Why don’t I? I tried to tell myself that there was no hope, that I was hurting no one, that life would go on without me.
I thought about the future, and it scared me. Many people have done extraordinary things, and many people will continue to do them. Who am I? What have I done? What will I ever be able to do in this world? This was all I was going to get in life. All I was ever going to get was an old shop in New York City. This was all I was going to get, and everything must eventually end.
I thought about the woman that came in. I thought about the two laughing young men. I thought about my drunken brother.
There was no hope.
I cried and asked myself why I don’t just end it now.
Suddenly, a voice called out from the front of the shop.
“Hello? Is anyone back there?”
I bit my lip. My hands still covered my eyes, but I was out of my stupor.
“Hello?”
It was instinctive. When people talk to you, you can’t bear to not answer. Sometimes, you yell for them to go away. Sometimes, you tell them you need help. But you always answer.
I wondered if there was any point in answering. There was no hope.
“Hello…?” The man trailed off into silence.
No, I told myself. This is not the end. Whether or not the end was inevitable, today was not the end. Someone was calling me, and I decided that I should answer. The only parents I ever knew would want me to be brave.
It was difficult, but I stood up and quickly wiped my eyes. They weren’t too swollen, I guess. Hesitantly, I walked through the door and to the counter. The rain had stopped, and I was surprised that the sun was starting to flash through the windows.
“Hey,” the man said. “Are there any fresher tulips?”
“No, I’m sorry,” I said, “but there will more deliveries in the afternoon.”
“It’s okay,” he said, fingering the wilted tulip in his hand. Then he looked up at me. I tried to smile.
“Sorry—” I began.
He looked surprised. “Wait,” he said hesitantly.
I stopped. He seemed to on the verge of speech, but he did not speak.
I waited.
Finally, he said, “I’m wondering…could I take a picture? Here, just stand here, among the flowers, and just hold this tulip. Do you mind if I take a picture? See, I’m a show director, and I’ve been looking for a picture. If I could just…?”
My heart was pounding. I guess there were still some tears in my eyes, but I took the red tulip and stood among the variety of flowers. They surrounded me, gently touching my elbows. Suddenly, I was aware that I was wearing a cheap pink dress, but it was a still a dress. I reached up and was about to tuck my braided hair back, but he said it was okay. Fumbling with a black camera, he held it up.
“You don’t have to smile,” he told me as he crouched down, but I tried to anyways.
There was as small flash, and then he stood up from where he was crouching. He stared at the image on his camera, waiting for it to load.
Biting my lip a little, I stuck the tulip back in the plastic vase before walking back to the counter. I stared at the man, who was still looking at the picture. There was a thoughtful expression on his face. Abruptly, he looked up at me.
“I’m wondering,” he asked, “whether you like to sing.”
“No, I can’t,” I said quietly. “I can dance, though.”
He looked at me with incredulity. “You can,” he repeated. Then he smiled. “My name is Justin,” he said. “My office is not far from here. I’m hiring for people in the next show, and if you’re interested, you should think about trying out sometime.” From his pocket, he drew out a slightly folded business card. Like the wilted flowers, it was somewhat folded and crinkled, but it was a business card nonetheless.
I took the card, and I saw that my hand was shaking. I looked up at him, but he had turned around. Amazed, I saw him pick up the tulip that he had made me hold. He brought it to the counter and laid it down on the wood. Taking out a dollar, he paid for that red tulip, smiled again. Then he left the shop, the tulip dangling in his hand.
For a moment, I stood there, staring at the door. I suddenly realized how bright and illuminated the shop had become. The storm had ended, and the golden sun was streaming in. The rain had washed away the dirt that had stained the window glass.
Then I started laughing. I laughed so hard all I could hear was my own laughter. Laughing, I picked up the plastic white phone on the counter that was for deliveries, and I dialed my brother.
He picked up.
“Hey, hey,” I said. “Hey, I think I’ve made it.”
“What?” He wasn’t drunk anymore, just a little tired.
“Hey, I’m made it!” I was laughing so hard.
“You did? That’s wonderful.”
I don’t think he knew what I was talking about, but I didn’t care. I made it. Like I said, the storm was over, and the sun was out, and there’s a rainbow in the sky. The delivery truck was probably unloading the fresh batches of summer flowers into the back storage room right now, I had a business card in my hand, and I think I’ve made it.