Friday Flash Fiction - Red
Then
She is standing in the middle of the circle, feet firmly planted right where he had led her, telling her not to move. Rush hour cars swirl around the roundabout, flicking in and out of lanes. Fumes and toots puff through the air, through the circle, climbing up through the heavy air until they dissipate into the clouds. She laughs, more out of nerves than joy. But it is exciting. He's behind her, but she obeys his command of not moving, not turning around. What if someone she knows drives past? How will she explain to her parents why she is standing in the middle of this busy roundabout on a Tuesday afternoon instead of chasing a hockey ball around the field at her exclusive all-girls school? She sneezes.
‘Tom! What are you doing?’
He appears right next to her, eyes and dimples shining and holding a bunch of chrysanthemums. ‘Here,’ he thrusts them into her hand, ‘and don't move. I'm getting more.’ He darts back into the black soil of the flowerbed. Her eyes stream, but she holds the growing posey in front of her chest, swivelling now to watch Tom hopping among the flowers. Eventually, all the red flowers are in her hand, leaving the blue, yellow and orange flowers looking sad and squashed from Tom's plundering boots. He stands in front of her with a proud grin and declares she's as beautiful as the flowers she's holding. No, she's even more beautiful, and he won't listen to her protests that she must look a right mess with red, watery eyes.
Now
She tosses the fifteen perfect red roses into the bin without reading the card. It will say the same as the cards have said every day for the last week. I'm sorry; it didn't mean anything; please don't throw me out. Or maybe it says you pushed me into this, or I never see you any-more; what do you expect me to do?
She hasn't read any of the cards.
She walks to where the roundabout used to be.
People glide by on a string of bikes, scooters and tiny solar carts. There are no noisy cars with fumes billowing out. The air is cleaner, yet it feels heavier as if the weight of everything she has lost is pressing down on her. She feels stuck, rooted into the ground where the circle used to be, unable to move. Everything around her has changed, but she's still standing in that same spot, her hands clutching air in place of the flowers that once made her heart flutter. The flowers are gone, the laughter is gone, and the love is gone, too.
She wonders if anyone in a passing tram will notice her and wonder why a surgeon in scrubs is standing still as a statue in the middle of the road.
It isn't hay fever making her eyes red and watery.