Be Like the Purple Flowers

Trish put her head back and closed her eyes enjoying the sun’s warmth on her face despite the growing hunger pains. She would give it half an hour and then go back inside for lunch. She tried not to think of that western omelet she had been looking forward to.

~

Suddenly, her husband was right behind her startling her and she dropped the carton of eggs she was holding. Crap. Please don’t find too many broken eggs inside.

“What’s your problem?” He yelled at her.

“You startled me!”

“You’re so jumpy. Why? Are you hiding something?”

“What would I be hiding?”

“Only you would know.”

~

Dammit. She forced those words off the loop they were playing on, determined not to have another day ruined. She opened her eyes and noticed the little purple flowers peeking out from the ground.

Mother Nature’s reward for surviving the cold harsh winter, they make their appearance year after year. Where do these little treasures get their tenacity? They push their way up through the ground, their fragile petals backed by great strength.

“Be like the purple flowers, Trish,” she whispered to herself. Maybe she should frame that motto and hang it on her bedroom wall. Be like the purple flowers. It was a good reminder.

Her cell phone buzzed, drawing her attention away from her musing. She didn’t recognize the number but spontaneously answered it anyway. 

“Hello?” She glanced towards the back door looking to see if her husband was coming out. He had an uncanny way of appearing whenever she was on a phone call.

~

“Who were you talking to?”

“My mom.”

“You sure about that? I never hear you laugh like that with your mom.”

~

“Trish? It’s Stacy Burgess. How are you?”

Stacy Burgess. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.  The anxiety that the unknown caller’s voice brought on was her own fault for answering. How did they manage back in the day with rotary phones and no caller ID? She couldn’t remember.

After her lack of response, Stacy continued, “Remember you saw my apartment a few months ago? The one on Fifth Avenue?”

The crybaby episode. She cringed at the memory, wishing she hadn’t answered. 

“Oh. Hi, Stacy. How are you?”

“I could be better. My new tenant just informed me that he’s moving out. I guess he got a better offer; I have no idea.”

“That was unexpected.”

“Yeah. Anyway, are you still looking? I would rather not start the whole process over again. Maybe you’re ready now? If you didn’t move yet, that is?”

“Nope, I’m still here.” She glanced again at the back door and the windows. Was he watching her? Listening to her? She felt the familiar knot in her stomach take form.

"Are you interested?"

A moment went by. A long moment. An excruciatingly long moment. 

***

“It’s adorable. How do we proceed?”

“If you want to get to the next stage, fill out the application on the table. Here’s a pen.”

“Great.” Trish situated herself at the kitchen table and picked up the application. Why so many pages? She scanned through it feeling her heart drop. Work references, salary, bank statements, current address, personal references. She stared at it blankly. What in the world was she even doing there? 

“When is the apartment available?” She looked up from the application to the landlady.

“The first.”

Trish pictured the calendar realizing that was only two weeks away. Why was she sitting there filling out an application to move into an apartment in two weeks? What the fuck? She felt her heart race. She was unable to fill this out. Employer’s contact info? She was going to tell Yvonne “Oh, by the way, someone may call because I’m moving.” What? 

Those recent bank statements reflecting a zero balance flashed before her eyes. Although she had opened a new account since he wiped her clean, her savings were hardly anything substantial yet. She had barely enough to cover rent and a security deposit. Damn, she silently cursed her situation. 

Another perspective tenant came in and began filling out his application. She was frozen. 

“Can I talk to you?” She whispered in a shaky voice to the landlady. 

“Sure. Let’s go outside.”

“I can’t fill this out entirely. I’m in a situation trying to get out of a bad marriage.”

“I hear you. I am twice divorced. It was hard but totally worth it.”

Those were words of encouragement, proof that it could be done. Trish prayed that one day her nightmare would be nothing more than a bad memory. The years of trauma mixed with a glimpse of freedom brought on a sudden release of emotion.

“Come here. You need a hug.” 

Feeling overwhelmed, she allowed the total stranger to hug her, succumbing to the comfort.  What she would give for her husband to be that person rather than the one she was running from. 

“I feel like an ass. I’m so sorry.”

“No worries.  I get it.”

Trish wiped away the tears that had flowed despite her best efforts to block them. She needed to get out of there. “I’m so sorry. The apartment is adorable. I know you will find the perfect tenant.” 

She left.

***

“Trish, are you there?”

Stacy’s voice brought her out of the memory. How was that just a few months ago? One small uncomfortable baby step and she ran back into hiding. Had she given up her dream of independence during the cold winter months? Was it easier to remain in her half-life under her husband’s constant surveillance and false accusations? Nervously she turned her back towards the house feeling his unseen eyes boring into her.

“Yes, sorry Stacy. I’m here. You just caught me off guard.”

“Are you interested?” She repeated the question.

And there it was. The back door creaked open, and her husband came out with a black plastic bag. Was he simply taking out the garbage? Or was he trying to seem nonchalant while investigating her conversation? Impossible to tell but the timing of his appearance was typical.

Her heart began to race.

~

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

“That’s what you call your wife?”

“You’re no wife galivanting around town like a slut. Why were you late last night?”

“I got stuck on a call. I told you that.”

“Stuck on a call. Yeah, right.”

~

“Yes, Yvonne. That works for me,” she replied to Stacy, her voice surprisingly strong. 

“Ah. Calling me Yvonne. He must be there. So, yes, you are interested?”

“Yes.”

“Can you get here today in say an hour or two?”

Her thoughts spun crazily. He had a staff meeting scheduled at the café to prepare for opening day. Disgust rose in her throat thinking of her money stolen for his dream.

“Yes. See you then.” She ended the call and turned to face her husband.

“Who was that?”   

“Yvonne.”

“Your boss called you on the weekend?” He stared at her.

“Yeah. She’s a pain in the ass.” She looked back at the purple flowers, those resilient, dependable little beauties. She smiled to herself.