Spring Flowers for Yaeli Benayim by Orit Yeret

The morning was cold. I had barely opened my eyes and he was already downstairs, coughing. Every day I convinced myself – I'm done… I can't handle it anymore… and every day I stayed in bed and waited for the sun to shine.

Unwillingly, I dragged my legs down the stairs that day. I counted them all the way down until I reached eighteen. Eighteen stairs from my room to the first floor, yet every time I touched ground it seemed as though I had stepped into another world.

"Good morning," I mumbled while I made my way into the kitchen, desperately reaching towards the kettle to pour myself a cup of coffee.

Dad was cracking nuts in front of the TV. It was eight thirty in the morning.

The sudden sound of the lawn mower startled me. I looked out the window and declared, "Dad, Omar is here."

"I know," he answered.

I sat down at the dining table and cradled the mug in an effort to chase away the cold from my fingers. I heard the lawn mower more clearly from where I was sitting; it was coming around the corner. The TV soon followed; the noise was unbearable. I raised one hand to support my head.

"Dad, can you turn it down, please?"

"What?"

I nearly screamed, "Turn it down!"

"What?" he asked again. He couldn't hear me.

The lawn mower got louder and louder, closer and closer. I felt like my head was about to explode.

Dad began to cough again and inhaled from his medicine several times. I was worried; these kinds of things happened too often, especially when the weather acted up.

How the hell, on this Sunday morning, did I find myself stuck between these two men? – Just as the thought crossed my mind, the lawn mower calmed down. The silence was followed by a knock on the door.

Dad went over to answer it.

"Hi, Avi! I finished with the work, if you want to come and have a look…"

"Sure, sure… come in," Dad said, inviting Omar inside. "Let me just put on my shoes."

Omar waved and smiled at me. "How are you?" he asked.

"Good, thanks…" I waved back and yawned without noticing.

"Omar, do you want something to drink?" I asked.

"No, thank you," he replied, sincerely.

"Here they are!" Dad put on his shoes and buttoned up his flannel shirt.

"Let's go," he said to Omar and they both stepped out the door.

"You're here, right?" Dad turned to me before exiting.

If he only knew where I really wanted to be…

As soon as they walked out the floor was quiet. The first thing I did was mute the TV. I sniffed the hot liquid in my cup and closed my eyes. The smell made me nostalgic and I recollected my recent trip to Vienna. In the old neighborhood the main street was busy; I remembered how I had looked over the square from my table near the window at the "Pink Café." No one knew me; no one was interested in my problems. The motley crowd seemed to carry on at the usual speed of life. Shopping bags and street performers, tourists and locals – so many faces, so many colors – all I ever wanted was to experience that world.

Dad cut off my daydream when he entered the house in a hurry.

"Good thing he came early; it's going to rain. When you go upstairs, close all the windows," he ordered.

"Can I finish my breakfast first?" I asked sarcastically.

He didn't answer, instead he grabbed hold of the remote control, un-muted the TV and sat down on the sofa again.

All of a sudden, I noticed a pair of dirty work gloves on the little table near the door; I guessed Omar had left them there when he came in to call Dad.

"Dad… Omar's gloves." I pointed at the table.

"Huh?" he asked without turning around.

With the lack of cooperation, I decided to act. I put on my rain-coat, grabbed the gloves from the table, and stepped outside and into the garden. Omar was still there, packing up his gear.

"Omar…" I called out, "your gloves!"

"Yes! Thank you. I tried to remember where I left them."

"You're welcome," I said and strolled around the garden in order to evaluate his handiwork. "Everything looks great, thank you very much."

"I'm glad you like it," Omar put on his gloves and started loading up the leaf blower and the rakes on the back of his green truck.

"Say, maybe it's none of my business but…"

"What is it?" I was curious.

He stopped what he was doing and asked, "Is everything okay with your dad?"

"You mean the coughing? He has respiratory problems," I explained, "it's called asthma; it always gets worse in the winter."

"Oh, I see." Omar said.

"I guess the winter is difficult for you too," I said to him.

"Why's that?" Omar smiled.

"Because nothing can grow." I touched the naked branches of a small shrub, situated in the middle of the garden.

"Well… some things grow," Omar came closer until he stood next to me, "and others just need more time, that's all."

Omar went over to the truck. He took off his gloves and his jacket and tossed them in the back seat.

"Aren't you cold? I'm freezing!" I rubbed my hands together.

"It's from the physical work," he laughed.

I looked up, "The skies are dark. It's going to rain."

Omar came closer and covered my head with the hat attached to my coat.

"There you go…" he said, "now you're safe."

He turned away and continued to arrange his things.

"You know, I told your Dad that I planted some new flowers around the fence," Omar pointed out at the direction.

"Really?" I looked around. I was too embarrassed to meet his eyes.

"I hope I got it right – blue, purple, red, pink – sort of a mixture of colors to brighten up the place."

"Sounds wonderful!" I was excited.

"You won't see it right away, but in a couple of months or so they will blossom and the garden will really come alive," he declared proudly.

"Spring flowers…" I whispered to myself. Out of nowhere, my cheeks began to feel warm and a huge smile stretched on my face.

"Exactly, spring flowers," Omar repeated, "It's nice."

"What is?" This time, I turned to look at him.

"To see you smile."

"Thank you." We were both silent for a moment.

"No problem." He finished loading up the gear and secured the ramp in a single shut.

"See you in a few months?" I waved as he entered the truck and drove off.

I was left alone in the bare garden. The wind was chilling and my face became numb. I saw a couple of gentle drops descend upon the ivory floor tiles leading to the house.

"See you in a few months…" I recited, before going inside. "You just need more time, that's all."

Orit Yeret writes poetry and short prose. Originally from Israel, she is now living in the US.

#Serials #OritYeret