Red Flower, Yellow Flower

by Laura Craig

There I was. Standing perfectly still in a room cramped with flowers. Stale air hung heavy with the scent of old perfume reminding me of all the other women who had come before me in this very room. What ranges of emotions must each one have felt? Were they similar to mine own feelings? Did we all share the same thoughts? Our shared experiences woven together as the thread is woven into the quote embroidered over the door. The words stitched in pink spell out “love is eternal.” It is suppose to bring comfort. Steady the heart and reassure the soul. All it is doing for me is cementing the fact that if I walk out that door, march down that isle, I will have sealed my fate. No mystery will remain of my future. No guessing of what the days ahead hold in store. All will be decided.

                This room, the flowers, the jars, the peeling paint, the outdated art. This is the last choice I get to make. This is my final decision. The one that determines the course of all the rest of my days to come. Can I do it? Can I make the choice? Is it really my choice to make at this point? I breath for the first time in minutes. Notice how the fitted white lace stretches as my chest fills with air. It’s too late. The time to choose a different path has passed. There is nothing more to do. Open the door, hold the bouquet and glide headlong into a life that has no waiting surprises.

                I watch the flowers. The red one looks sad. Picked too early. Placed in the wrong jar. Was it given a chance to remain on the vine? Continue growing? Or was it plucked from it’s comfortable bush and brought here, to give this room the illusion of beauty against it’s will? For no other reason then it was easy to reach when the shears came.

                The yellow flowers seem happy. I imagine the buds lifting their heads in joy to fulfill what they have always known was coming. The chance to brighten a room and put a smile on a woman’s face. Still her nerves as she ready’s for love. Stand tall in a jar of clear fresh water and drink in their destiny.

Am I the red flower?

Am I the yellow flower?

                I won’t matter if I open that door. My destiny will not care if I am happy or sad. My future will simply happen. It will matter if I keep that door closed. Stay inside with the lingering perfume and wait for the rest of the paint to peel. My choice depends on if I am happy or sad.

                “It’s time.” A soft voice whisper’s from somewhere in the musty room. I recognize it immediately as belonging to my best friend. She will take me at my word. She will either throw the door wide open and lead me out by the hand, or she will bar it closed, blocking it with her body if need be.

                I turn to face her. My mouth opens to form words I don’t yet know. When I speak, I hear my voice.

                “I am the ---- flower.”

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Writers Bio

My name is Laura Craig. I live is Santa Cruz Ca. I have been writting as a way to understand myself and my world. Make sense of my emotions and heal from hurts. I love the redwoods and the beach. 

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