The Lavenders

This little tale never found a proper home. I wrote it sometime in 2015 after seeing an oil canvas of lavender fields. From that image, this story sprang to life on its own. A writer never knows where a story will take them.

I thought a fitting, thematic prelude would be this little flash fiction I wrote some time ago for NYC Midnight. It too never found a home.  

We sit by the riverbank, my love and me. The fire’s glow keeps us warm; it warms the pot. She inhales; it smells wonderful. We share a slow kiss. I stir this stew of galaxies, these psychedelic novae, colors unbound. A little pepper for Andromeda. Some salt for Virgo. We’ll feast on Jupiter tonight, Saturn tomorrow, my love and me. Comets dipped in caramel will be our dessert, will melt delicately in our mouths. We’ll lick their sweet residue off each other’s lips. Constellations in a pot for my love and me.  

—     Constellations In A Pot

She thought the lavenders would have bloomed by now. I planted them specifically for today, she said. I’ve given them enough water but they haven’t come up at all, not even a little. 

Of course, they were meant to bloom in time for her and her husband’s anniversary.  And for that reason alone they were special. But the seeds did not take.

“It’s such a shame,” she said to her husband as they walked their garden, “and on such a beautiful day, too!”

“We’ll plant new lavenders,” he said.

“But they were meant for today, for our day.”

She it said so jubilantly that she certainly did not feel her little four-month-old squirming in the carrier strapped to her back. 

“We’ve been happy all this time, haven’t we? The happiest of people anywhere and everywhere. Happiness is a silly thing, isn’t it? I’d die to be happy, if that’s what it took.  But I have no need, not with you at my side. Oh! we risked everything! Yes, we risked it all just to be together, you and I. And I don’t regret it for a second. Not a second, my love! Remember our first time? We were under the shadows of the willows in moonlight, the moon smiling on us, pure and vulnerable love; sweet, divine love! My feet grew wings and I skipped across the stars.”

“Yes,” her husband said.

“Oh!” she answered with a start, feeling the baby squirm, “There she is, and crying too. Let me give her some milk.”

“Let’s keep going,” he said.

“It won’t hurt to stop a while,” she said, “we can’t let the baby go hungry.”

He didn’t turn around. “Let’s go.”

“You go. I’m going to feed the baby.”

With that she promptly sat herself at a nearby bench and removed her carrier. Then she proceeded to appease her crying infant with her breast.

Her husband kept walking, stopped, then turned around. He saw his wife at the bench. He approached her, slowly.

“She has such a hard time latching,” she said, then looked up at him, smiling, “What a beautiful summer wedding we had. Do you remember? The lavenders were in full bloom,” tears welled up in her eyes as she continued, “Our wedding was a touch of heaven. Even Father was happy, and he didn’t like you—oh, why isn’t she latching?  Come on, Emiko, drink up.”

Her husband was cold and stiff.  His face was stone. Tears ran down his cheeks.

“Yoshiko…”

“How lovely it will be to dance in Shukkeien once again,” she said, “How beautiful it will be to see the rainbow bridge, the green trees and little pavilion.  The water is clear as night there and the birds sing their songs. What a charming garden it is! How lovely it will be to see Shukkeien today.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. As she spoke his temperament deteriorated into tears. “Don’t you remember the flash? Don’t you remember the sun exploding?”

Yoshiko looked at her arms, and where the flesh should be there was only bone covered in a sticky substance. She didn’t realize half her face had been melted. Nor did she realize the top of her husband’s skull was exposed.  Little Emiko did not stir at all. 

“We have to go,” he said, “Follow the others out of the city.”

“But it’s our anniversary,” she said, “our beautiful anniversary today.”

“Let’s go.”

She placed Emiko back in her carrier and got up, carrying her precious little daughter on her back. 

“Why are you in such a hurry? We can still have a beautiful anniversary today. I only wish the lavenders had bloomed. I hope they bloom next year.”

She did not see the others walking in front and behind. The others whose faces had fallen off leaving only small holes for their mouths and noses, and empty sockets where their eyes were.  She did not hear them shrieking. Some of them were fortunate enough to have lost all feeling because their nerves had been fried.  Others, like herself, were blessed to have lost their minds. 

Shadows stained the roads, the walkways, the crumbled buildings. In an instant, before the eyes finish blinking, they vanished. Only their shadows remained.

“They will bloom next year, my love,” he said. “The gardens of Shukkeien will come alive as before, and the winding river will sing new songs for children not yet born. Your lavenders will bloom, my love, in fields of blue and purple. Their stocks will dance in new winds and their perfume will wash away the smoke that hides the sun.”

“I am so tired,” she laid herself down on the ashes. “Sleep beside me, just for a little while.”

He watched her lie there, her eyes heavy with sleep, Emiko in her arms. He lay beside her, his withered arms wrapped around her and their baby, and for an eternal moment their ashes were fields of lavender.