Red Flags

I strategically placed my body perpendicular to the mob of women clustered around the usual spectacular display of blooms, from crimson to ox-blood black and everything in between. A specific bushel of hot pink roses beckoned, but their numbers were dwindling. Snagging the best flowers at the shop had turned into a sport, and I knew these other women were on the hunt for the same prize.

I watched with disappointment as one woman lunged to pick up my precious pinky pies, when suddenly I saw another arm jut out from the crowd, grabbing the particular bunch I’d had my eye on. And just like that, they were gone, absorbed by the giant blob of ladies in head-to-toe Lululemon.

“Well, that’s that,” I thought. I decided I was done vying for flowers. Life was too short, and this was just ridiculous.

As I started to roll my cart towards the less competitive produce section, a woman with the same arm and hand I’d seen quickly snap up my coveted target, placed the very bunch into my cart.

I looked up, raising my eyebrows to see the smiling face connected to the arm that had snatched and now gifted me today’s object of desire.

“What?” I said meekly, stopping in my tracks and cocking my head to the side.

“I could see you checking out these babies hard core from behind the front lines, and I was happy to help you out,” a lithe, raven-haired woman around my age informed me.

“Sometimes my tallness works for things like rescuing flowers for the people who deserve them,” she said, in just the right amount of snarkiness.

“That is so kind of you, thank you!” I said firmly, coming back into my body from the surprise. “I can’t believe you noticed me– it’s chaos over there,” motioning with my chin to the flock of seagull ladies chanting what I assumed was the word “mine” in their heads over and over.

“It’s no problem!” she said casually. “I’m Aislinn,” she said, touching her heart instead of reaching out her hand. “I’m a huge flower person–I do events and gifts for friends, flower design stuff. I love it,” she said while taking out her phone to show me all of her latest creations.

“Fascinating, me too!” I practically chirped, clearly excited to make a new friend with a passion for flowers, or just any friend, really. It had been a tough transition moving to a new city. I was so excited, I forgot to tell her my name.

“And oh, sorry, I’m Maya,” I said, bowing my head in a gesture of gratitude. I immediately felt self-conscious and dorky–how I would usually feel when around a girl I thought was cool or interesting. Funny enough, this never happened when I met a man, or any man I could remember, at least.

We stood talking and laughing for an hour, blocking the aisle, and getting dirty looks from the Lulu ladies trying to move on to their next conquest. We had so many things in common that it was likely too good to be true. It had been a long time since I met a female friend, someone I could talk to for hours, to confide in, to grab drinks with. She had no children and wasn’t married, which I figured there could be a million reasons for, and besides, it was way too early in the friendship to ask for justifications for life choices.

My heart felt happy as I came home to tell my family I’d met someone wonderful at the grocery store. My daughter, always highly intuitive, scrunched her eyes and turned up one corner of her mouth as I told her the story of my new friend’s heroic flower rescue for me.

“Seems like you really like this lady,” she said. I knew immediately she wasn’t getting a good vibe, but how could she? She hadn’t even met this woman. I should always trust my witchy teenage daughter’s intuitive hits. They always prove to be correct.

Even my best friend, now living abroad, feared I was too trusting because I was lonely, she claimed. She wasn’t totally wrong, but I felt insulted nonetheless, and perhaps that she was just jealous that I had met someone interesting enough for me to make an effort, which she knew for me, was a big deal.

“Something doesn’t sound right,” my forever blunt friend shared with me on a call one afternoon.

“No, really, she’s fine, just a few hiccups with her family,” I protested. “No one is perfect, everyone has drama, right?” I tried to convince her.

“I mean, of course, we all have drama, sure, but this one sounds…different,” she shot back with a concern in her voice she didn’t often express.

“I’ll be careful,” I said decidedly. I was clearly willing to take a chance on this friendship.

I paid no mind to my closest confidants and plowed ahead, excited to finally have a friend to explore new places with. She was a local, born and raised, and knew every secret, or not-so-secret gem in the city—beaches, boutiques, cafes, healthy and yummy eats, and, of course, where to find the best flowers. It was like I had found a twin. I didn’t question it, I simply jumped aboard.

One day, on an excursion to a beautiful, secluded island with a spectacular shell assortment we’d spent the day gathering, she confided in me about some strange happenings around her apartment—sounds she couldn’t place in the middle of the night, waking her up, freaking her out. When she went to check, nothing was askew.

I asked if this was something new, but she revealed it had been happening for months, and that it had caused some complications in her life—preventing her from showing up to jobs, breaking relationships, and mysterious health issues.

Always interested in the supernatural, I was intrigued, but also immediately concerned. Aislinn had never invited me to her apartment to hang out, and I wondered if this was why. I asked what she thought it might be, and the only thing she could tell me was that it started one night when the sound of shattering glass awoke her, but when she went to check, terrified, nothing had broken. Not a window, not a vase, nothing. I suggested it might be a nightmare, but she insisted she was fully awake. Dumbfounded, I didn’t say much else while we stared out at the fiery sunset unfolding before us.

A few months had passed when Aislinn asked if she could crash at my house. Major construction was underway in her apartment complex, she said, creating a thick dust cloud that hung over everything, including her windows, which weren't up to code because she couldn’t afford to have them updated. The dust was everywhere, and there was nowhere to escape it. It was either live with it and spin the wheel of additional health issues she would have to deal with, or stay somewhere temporarily until they were able to clean it up.

Of course, I had her stay with me. We made her a cozy space in what is technically a spare room, but is more the size of a closet. She didn’t care at all, as a loving family and a stable environment were things she hadn’t had in her life for some time.

She, in turn, helped us with the dogs, which was a nice trade since I had become so busy with other work recently. We’d take bike rides through the various neighborhoods tucked away from the main roads, talking about houses we thought were charming and places we’d like to visit.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married?” I boldly asked her on one of our neighborhood rides with the afternoon sun streaming through the swaying trees. The perfect weather inspired deep questions.

She had told me about some on-again, off-again relationships she’d had, but never anyone strong enough to consider that big a step.

“Me? No, never,” she half-laughed, then tilted her head back to look at the vivid blue sky. “It’s not in the cards for me, dear,” she explained. “I know I won’t make it much longer in this life, so I try to take things day by day.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, forever the optimist, trying to understand how she could work things out.

“Because it’s true,” she said flatly. “There’s nothing more to do–I’ve resolved that this is my life. I am cursed.”

Cursed. Aislinn had never used this word in all the months we’d known each other. I started to understand what was going on in her mind, but I had no idea to what extent she had taken this revelation, what she had self-created as a result. I fell silent again, not knowing how to respond.

She stayed another few days. On the last night, at 3 am, there was a stirring in the kitchen. The dogs heard it first and woke me with their whimpering. I slowly walked to my bedroom door and opened it just a crack, which cast a straight line into the kitchen.

My eyes slow to adjust to the sudden wakefulness, I squinted hard to see a shadowy figure moving what looked like arms, as if it were talking, but I could hear no words. Confused, I quietly opened the door another inch to gain more sight when Aislinn moved across my frame, appearing to back away from the figure. Soft crying filled the room.

The dogs, always sensing more than meets the eye, ran out from behind me, charging into the kitchen and jumping up on Aislinn to make sure she was okay. Distracted by the dogs, Aislinn didn’t see me watching the scene. The shadowy figure disintegrated like ash scattering to the wind while I stood frozen, gripping the door with fear, not being able to grasp what I’d just seen.

I awakened to the dogs licking my face behind the bedroom door—groggy and sore from sleeping on the floor. I looked over at my still slumbering husband, apparently not having heard a thing. Typical, I thought. Attempting to rise with a stiff neck, I suddenly remembered what had happened and fell back to the floor onto my elbow, wincing in pain. This groan, apparently, was enough to wake him up.

“What are you doing on the floor, love?” he yawned, not the least bit alarmed.

“I have no idea how I got here,” I said while rubbing my elbow. “I had the weirdest dream. I think I must’ve been sleepwalking.”

“Really? Well, that’s a first,” he said, still totally calm. “I don’t remember you ever sleepwalking in all the time we’ve been together.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I said, now thoroughly irritated and in throbbing pain.

Finally pulling myself together, I walked immediately into the kitchen to see where Aislinn was, but there was no trace of her. Usually, there was a coffee mug in the sink and a half-eaten banana on the counter, but today, there was nothing. I checked her closet/room, but she wasn’t there either. I walked toward the front door to see if her car was still there, and found a note stuck to the lock.

“I’m sorry, Maya,” it started. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this nightmare. You’ve been such a good friend. You don’t deserve this.” Signed with a heart next to an "A".

I ripped the note down, crumpling it in my hand. I could already feel the bruise forming on my elbow. “I didn’t sign up for this,” I thought angrily, running through all the red flags that had presented themselves in the preceding months.

“You did it again, May. You let things slide past you because you always want to see the best in people.” I sat on the couch, still clutching the note, wondering where she had gone and if what I had seen last night was real or in my imagination.

Aislinn and I hadn’t made contact for weeks. Clearly, we both needed some space to process, or disappear, or both. Still curious and now worried, I decided to drive by her apartment complex to see if she was there. After all, I still cared about her. I had to see what was going on.

It was growing dark as I pulled up to the main gate of the small community, which she had pointed out to me one day as we rode by, but never offered to show me exactly where she lived. Slowly riding through the complex, I noticed a distinct lack of construction. Things looked tidy, well-manicured, with not a sign of disarray. Had they completed things this fast? Was it over already? Where was everybody?

A woman with long salt-and-pepper curls, walking her two small dogs with similarly speckled black and white coloring, appeared seemingly out of nowhere and motioned for me to roll down my window. Startled by her presence, I stopped the car, rolled down the window, and asked if she was ok.

“Oh, I’m fine, darling,” she said gently. “But you look very lost. Is there someplace I can help you find?” she asked.

I stared at her blankly. “Have…. have they finished construction on the complex already?” I asked, stammering with confusion. Her dogs started to whimper.

“Oh, um, no, honey, there hasn’t been any construction here in years,” she said. “Are you sure you’re ok? Do you want me to call anyone for you?”

“No, no, I’m fine, actually,” I lied, trying to appear nonchalant. “I was just looking for a friend who lives here, but I must be in the wrong place, because she said it was a mess from all the construction going on. Clearly, I’m mistaken.”

She asked what address I was looking for, and when I told her, she confirmed I was in the correct place. “Well, thanks anyway,” I said, still obviously confused.

I started to roll up my window when she stopped me. “What was her name? The friend you’re looking for,” she inquired, jutting out her chin.

“Aislinn,” I said with an upturn, more like a question than a statement.

Her eyes wide, she quickly stepped back from the car. “How did you know her?” she demanded, much more strongly than the gentle inquiry she’d approached me with.

“We met at the grocery store,” I said, now in a complete panic. “Over flowers!” I said, the tears starting to well up.

Realizing her tone was disturbing me, she came closer to the car and put her hand on mine, which was gripping the door.

“Roses?” she asked, a tiny smile coming across her lips.

“Yes,” I eeked out, as tears started to roll down one cheek.

“She did live here,” the woman said, nodding her head slowly. “Thirty years ago. She was my friend, my good friend.”

I looked into her fine-lined, dark brown eyes. I could make out a slight hint of red flecks. This woman was at least thirty years older than I.

“But how?” I said, my voice shaking.

“There was an accident, many years ago, during the construction of some of the new units; a fire broke out. It was horrible…” Her voice trailed off, tears welling up to match mine.

My mind was racing. I couldn’t keep up. The world started to spin. I looked at the woman, looked around at the complex, then back to her.

“She…she found me,” I said, not finding the proper words. “But, she was young…and funny, and vibrant…And, sad.”

The older woman patted my hand gently again, then rested her other hand on top, her eyes softened even more, her thin lips in a broad smile now.

“I’m sure she was, sweetheart. I’m sure she was.”

I pulled away from her grasp, sitting up straight in my car, still running with the radio on softly playing “These Are Days” by 10,000 Maniacs. I rested my hands in my lap, slumping my shoulders, and slowly turned my head to take one last glance around the complex. I couldn’t understand how this could be. Where had Aislinn gone? I thought of all the fun times we’d had together in our short friendship.

Turning back to the woman, I watched her step back from the car window and start walking backward, still looking at me, the dogs guiding her.

“What’s your name?” I called after her, wiping away my tears as I tried to recover from this wild dream.

“Evelyn!” she shouted in the same friendly tone with which she had begun.

“Thank you,” I said, bowing my head in reverence.

Evelyn paused her retreat, the dogs quiet, sensing I needed to say something more.

“I hope she’ll be happy one day,” I said, sounding more like a question.

“Oh, I’m sure, one day,” Evelyn said, offering one more reassuring smile before turning down a side street and disappearing into the dusk.