Every time I look at the half-hinged door hanging from the tool shed, I remember Diane. Her green eyes blazing, red hair flew as she lurched at me, crashing us both into the innocent shed door.
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I rose immediately, checking to see if any of us had sustained injuries but when there was none, I reached out, grabbed her by the waist, and flung her on my tender bed of marigolds. Don't judge us, we were teenagers then, fighting for nothing.
"You think you're a princess? Princesses exist in fairy tales you dragon-haired snitch!"
Yes, that was me roaring. Blue-eyed, blonde-haired that I was, I grew up eternally jealous of my half-sister because she got all the compliments each time we walked to school or walked to the library where my dad mandated us to go every evening after school.
"And what do you think you are? Daddy's perfect daughter? I can be like you if I want to. Do you hear me?"
I can remember raising my head to laugh when suddenly a fist well-folded landed on my nose causing crimson liquid to spill from it, into my open mouth. I can still hear Diane's shrieks for Dad, and my mom running out with her blue eyes wide open in fear. I can remember someone asking me to look into the sky and breathe through my mouth. Then the searing pain that made my entire body numb when the nurse dragged my nose back into position.
My lips curled up at the corners at that story.
I allowed the water to drain too much from the watering can when I got to the zinnias. It was like I wanted to make up for the love my mother couldn't shower on them after her death. They used to be her favorite flowers, there was no week a color of zinnia was not displayed in the marble vase on her window.
"You see the zinnias tell a story of peace. Whenever there's a storm in my life, I like to pick a bunch of the white ones and arrange them in my flower vase, they have a way of making me feel everything would be okay."
When she died some years back, I didn't tend them. They reminded me so much of her and I couldn't stand the painful memories. It wasn't until a few months ago that my dad requested a bunch to decorate her picture with at her memorial service that I began to tend them again; Those white ones she loves so much.
The thought of my mom made me want to sit for a while so I leaned my back against the cherry blossom tree and balanced myself on one of the sturdy roots. She had been a sweet woman who loved her children irrespective of the fact that one was born from my father's immoral affairs as a married man.
She taught us to accept Diane as one of us, especially myself, who was constantly in competition with her. She would tell me how God saw I would be overwhelmed by my two mischievous younger brothers in later years and decided to give me a sister for solace. She had not been far from the truth because Diane and I formed a solid team in keeping my brothers calm headed especially in their teenage years when they always had fights with our dad.
As I leaned my head against the tree and closed my eyes, a pair of deep brown eyes came before me, they were subtly carved into a freckled face with a long nose accentuating his overall look. Ernest, my one and only true love.
We met at the library, and he was one of the people who helped me love Diane, getting along with her was difficult at first but with Ernest, it all became easy. It was under that cherry blossom tree that we shared our first kiss when he came to meet my parents during Christmas. I had been tensed all evening having his brown eyes dig into me at the table during dinner so when we went out to take a walk, I led him straight to the garden.
We talked about a number of things ranging from the food to the nice reception he got, and he suddenly took my hand in his. My heart beat doubled causing me to take shallow breaths. He stopped walking when we got to the tree.
"I love you Elena" and before I could respond, his warm, full lips came down on mine.
As I walk through it now, running my fingers lightly on each petal, each blossom calls out to me. Reminding me of the stories I had written with my loved ones and bringing tears, softly, down my olive skin.
PS: This is my response to the creative garden prompt for the week. You can join here