Auntie Rosie's Magical Flower Stand

I drove down an unfamiliar country road, so old the lines had been rubbed away. I took my half out of the middle, leery of the muddy shoulder. The last reds of sunset, fading to purple, made me glance at my watch: two hours and counting. I took a deep, slow breath. All that time ahead of me, and already I was sweating. Awesome. The years started to play out in my mind, among the barb wire fences and occasional maples and oaks. I saw myself in Sarah's favorite bar, pretending to play pool, looking like a fish out of water. I saw myself under the hood of her truck, wondering if I could even identify any of those contraptions, trying to keep the grease off my tie; then later, holding the light and watching her fix it. I saw her explaining how she did it for the fifteenth time as I just smiled and nodded, entranced. I shook my head. Crazy. “I have to be insane, she's not the woman for me,” I said. I would not do any of those things on a bet. I did not know what she had put into my drink, but that was the only thing that made sense. I figured there was still time to get out of this, to stand her up or something.

“Love the girl who holds the world in a paper cup,” I sang under my breath. That was Sarah, in the song, the girl Loggins and Messina were talking about. I could never disappoint Sarah, not even drunk and pinned under a rock. I shook my head again, softer. Sometimes, the head does not even get a vote.

I turned the corner, and a little flower stand popped out of nowhere in a flurry and a whoosh. I shook my head, no. It was just the wind: the stand must have always been there. I pulled over. “Auntie Rosie's Magical Flower Shoppe,” it said. Below, in sparkling paint, that seemed almost to glow, it said, “Who needs potions? Our flowers will capture her heart.” Maybe Sarah liked flowers. I sure hoped she liked flowers! I snickered as I saw the clerk: all scarves and chunky jewelry, a colorful dress. 'Auntie Rosie' dressed the part: I wondered if this fortune-teller lady was going to read my palm.

So I walked up to Auntie Rosie's stand, and smiled at the scent of the flowers until my mouth ran dry at the thought of why I was there: Sarah. "Oh, please, let me pick a good one," I whispered to myself.

"First date, hmm?" the old lady said, behind me. There were flowers everywhere, behind me, in front. Several even sat on the hood of my sedan! I never saw her put those there. Quite a lot of trouble, to put on a magic show just to sell flowers by the road. And so many, swirling reds and blues and violets, fluffy and silky and velvety and lacy ones, petunias, violets, roses of every color imaginable, celosia, even flowers I had never seen before. The sweet and scratchy perfume made my nose burn, my eyes water. I imagined that there must be every flower ever known to man right there, and a few that might not be known.

"Uh, kinda," I said, looking around. One of the flowers winked at me, and I shook my head yet again, my disbelief growing: a really impressive show. "You know, I'm not ready."

"I should hope not," Auntie Rosie laughed, and gave me a wink. "If you're ready for it, it's a practice date. Nothing good ever comes of that." Grinning, she shook her finger at me.

I chuckled nervously. "Yeah, I guess," I said, hoping just to get on with it. "Maybe you could help me."

"You are so cute," she said, pinching my cheek. "I cut the flowers and take your money. The magic's in you."

"What do you mean?" I said, looking at a ominous, violet flower I had never seen before anywhere. It smelled of cinnamon and liquor, and reminded me of dark nights under the moon, of Romeo and Juliet, and poison vials. I imagined myself hiding in the bushes as Sarah's father, carrying a double barrel rifle, walked past me. Colonel Graham probably does own a rifle, I thought. I shivered and looked away.

"Well, each of these flowers is a masterpiece," she said. "They are all wonderful. Each one special and unique. But the power, my child..." She stood, looking at the flowers and shaking her head.

I waited. She said nothing. "Hello? The power?"

"You have to look with your heart," she said. "Each pretty has a special spirit you can only meet with your heart wide open.”

Now, the psychobabble. “Okay,” I said, looking away from her.

“Open yourself, and you can speak to Sarah's spirit, in the language of flower."

Sarah? What? How did Rosie know her name? I did not think I mentioned it. I shrugged. No matter, probably a lucky guess: cold reading, they call it. “I guess that's the point, isn't it?” I said, assuming I knew what Rosie meant.

“She's here, in spirit, speaking to you. Each one of these flowers represents a path your love could take. Choose wisely.”

I scoffed. Now she was going a touch too far. I looked for a few seconds, then grabbed one at random. It seemed pretty enough, and I needed to get home, to get ready.

"Oh, please," Rosie snapped, grabbing the flower out of my hand. "You're not even trying."

"You said you couldn't help me," I objected, shaken by her tone.

For a long instant, her rough gray eyes peered into mine, nodding, making me sway in time to their motion, then she poked me in the chest. "Only you know the one you need, but I can see it in your eyes. That isn't it."

I glared at her, then took a breath and thought about the flowers. There was a little daisy in the back that caught my eye, so simple and pure, so like Sarah. Instead of that, though, I picked up something fancy, an orchid, I think: it seemed the smart flower to pick.

"Nice try, kid," she said, snatching it out of my hand. "But that's not for you. One more try, you get the love you pick this time."

I looked at that flower, and my mind flooded with images: black ties, dry music and long winded parties with a woman who tries to make me into a congressman. My Sarah, serious and wilted, looking trapped in an evening gown. As much a fish out of water as I had been, in my vision before. Auntie Rosie really knew what she talked about. I shuddered and looked back at the daisy, daydreaming of grassy meadows and bright blue skies, playing ball with grandchildren. Entranced, I absently grabbed the daisy.

She gasped with delight. "Aha! Yes, that's it! I can see the smile in your eyes! Now you have to give it to her."

I reached for my wallet.

"Oh, no. Just buy the wedding flowers from me, son," she said, with a cockeyed smile and a wink. "That's where I make my money."

I set the daisy down on the seat and pulled out the money. "I really want to tip you," I said, but she had vanished. The entire road was empty, just a meadow with some wild daisies swaying in the wind. I shrugged, and put the daisy in my jacket pocket.

I had a date to keep.