Vibrant Flowers from Across the Sea

The color of December was always grey. I lived most of my life seeing grey, and for 21 years of my life, this lack of vibrance constantly degraded my existence. I had never enjoyed the Christmas season, and more importantly, I never enjoyed winter. Life felt much more empty then, and I believe it was due to the color of everyone's lives around me, except mine, inevitably reminding me of my dull gradient of a lifestyle. The Manhattan streets would be littered with damp white snow that would transmute into black sludge the following week. Snow was just another reminder of the absence of magic in my life. The first snowflake was supposed to ignite an irrefutable feeling of ecstasy and excitement; however, no such feeling was invoked in my heart. At least that’s how it was for the first 21 years of my life, until I saw the magic of the snow touch something beautiful. Someone so Beautiful. As that was the first time I laid eyes on her.

That night, I had once again been assaulted by the infamous creative blockage one experiences after staring at a blank page for hours. I sat in my apartment, which some could call minimalistic, but I’d just call it small and affordable. The splintered redwood floor was lined with painted plastic, and canisters of my precious paints cluttered my living space. Where a couch and coffee table would be my canvas and brushes sat in various cups, and with it a small square stool I used to sit in when I articulated my work on the canvas, but I typically transition to standing and pacing. This particular night of December 22, I was pacing in front of the blank canvas. Its lack of substance smirked at me mockingly as it continued to indulge the perplexing void in my head. Eventually, the frustration built to the point I slammed my brush to my floor, snapping it in half. I knelt at the brushes' fractured state; regret had begun to pollute my thoughts as I picked up the wooden halves. I don’t know what particular aspect of the brush caused me to lament, but as I stared at the results of my heinous actions. It could’ve been hours, maybe days, but most likely it was only a few seconds; yet I sat absorbed in my thoughts. It was the car horn outside that stirred me from my thought-induced coma, as only being on the third floor made the city streets' grotesque melody loud and clear. I rose, catching a glance of my face in the window's reflection. My tall, slender body was splattered with paint. Typically, I thought of myself as toned, working out was incorporated in my everyday routine, but as I looked at the person in front of me, he just looked minute. My white baggy tank top was soaked in layers of paint, and my baggy black cargo pants couldn’t distract from just how pointless the man was underneath. My hair fell right about the length of my jaw; however, it was framed in a way that you could see my eyes clearly. Those hideous dark brown eyes, I hated them with every fiber of my being. I hated the bags that sat beneath them due to sleepless nights, and I hated the empty glare they pierced at me whenever I stared into the mirror. I decided I could not stand these eyes any longer, so I turned away from the hideous reflection and grabbed my black denim jacket. I didn’t care about the paint, which was ironically all over me and everywhere else besides the canvas, and stepped out of the apartment, not bothering to even lock the door behind me, even though I brought my keys.

Stepping out to get fresh air was an impossible task for a New Yorker such as myself. As soon as my white glowing shoe hit the pavement, the smell of the city assaulted my nose. As a professional city dweller, I ignored this and continued with my walk. I had no direction. I just knew I had to get out. The buildings rose around you as if forming a cage in which we were more than happy to dwell. Eventually, I decided on a destination. I chose the Hudson River. Anywhere else, my life would’ve turned out differently.

Being so absorbed in my head, I arrived at the Hudson in what felt like a matter of seconds. I approached the black water, leaning over the rails, and just as I had remembered, the dark water flowed just for me. Captivated by its flowing void-like properties, I thought of diving into that abyss. I dreamt I would eternally float in that nothingness. The people who could view the vibrancy of the world wouldn’t exist in that place, just me and my nothingness. I took a step towards the rails, even further looking down into the liquid void that flowed before me. One step away. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The voice startled me as I almost slipped over the rail. The harmonious voice’s point of origin was a girl. Her hair flowed down her head and into the wind like a river of dark brown silk. She was wrapped in a cream colored scarf that matched her navy blue coat, which was layered on a white hoodie as if she was preparing for a trip to Antarctica. She reached out and grabbed my arm to prevent me from slipping into the icy Hudson’s depths. Her hands were wrapped in cotton cozy, fluffy tan mittens, which paired with her matching colored boots. Finally, I stabilized on the ground, but my pride was long tossed into the riverbank as I looked at her glazed light brown eyes and slight smile that arched as she realized I was back on solid ground. The girl looked at me and laughed, “ I’m so sorry! I was trying to ask for directions.” She looked at me and smiled bigger, revealing bright white teeth. I snapped out of my daze and smiled back, laughing nervously, “ No, no, you’re ok, I was just in my head.” I laughed again, way too loud and way too soft simultaneously. I was never inclined to talk to anyone; consequently, I’d always end the conversations as quickly as possible. However, on this particular night, I did not have that inclination. “What were you calling beautiful earlier?” She looked at me, then down at the ground, laughing, which made my chest swell slightly. “ I was talking about you, of course.” She looked back into my eyes. I’m not sure of what face I made after hearing her affirmation, but immediately her smile switched to a nervous grin, “ Ah! I’m sorry, I was joking! Not that you’re not good looking… God, I’m sorry. The River; I was talking about the river.” I couldn’t help but smile in response to her nervous reaction. I looked to the Hudson flowing its normal blackened liquid that reflected the abyss above us. However, as I looked toward this familiar sight, a cold speck fluttered onto my nose. Winter's first snowfall.

As the sky begins to drop its icy soldiers are assigned the task of coating our lives in frost. The typical person would have seen this as a magical occurrence, the first snowfall of the winter days before Christmas; however, I viewed this as another meaningless occurrence to remind me of my lack of admiration for this world. This wasn’t the case that night. As the snow speckled the dark water, I turned back to the girl. “It’s just so beautiful to watch the moon on the water.” For the first time, the dark water had a bright shining surface. All around the moon was the dark abyss that absorbed my attention, but for whatever bizarre reason, the moon never appeared as it did before me. “So is this snow?” My attention snapped back to the girl and her beautiful caramel skin illuminated by the lunar radiance. Her eyes filled with excitement and curiosity as she admired the descending frosty flakes from the sky. One flake of beautiful snow eventually kissed the bridge of her button nose as she looked up. The snow was beautiful. I never saw it glow in such a way, but as those flakes caressed her face and melted, they became a sight unfit for my dull, dark eyes. She smiled bigger, revealing some of her gums as she giggled at the falling snow. It felt as though that moment had lasted an eternity, yet it passed by far too quickly. “ So.. Mr. Scaredy Cat.” She looked back at me with the growing white powder accumulating and nesting in her hair. “... What's your name?” The question made me realize I had not had to remember my name in years. All my work was signed in “K” in order to remain anonymous. That is a lie. I wrote the K in order to avoid my name, as if it would decrease the worth of the piece just by being plastered to it. “Kalus. My name is Kalus.” The unfamiliar sounds that came from my lips sent chills down her spine when she said it. “Kalus? It’s nice to meet you. I’m Zinnia.” I smiled heartily. “ Oh… like the flower. That’s perfect.” Her cheeks flushed slightly, “ My parents thought so.” She let out a gentle laugh that was too sweet for my ears. “Oh! I was gonna ask for directions. I’m looking for a particular flower shop; my grandmother owns and runs it, and I came for the winter to help her.” I thought for a moment, “What’s the name of her shop? I may know it.” My desire to assist her overruled my common sense, which reminded me that I had never visited a flower shop in my life. “Māla Pua,” the words were like honey from her lips; beautiful and sweet. It means flower garden in Hawaii and ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi. I laughed at her realization that the word required clarification. I pulled out my phone and looked at her. “Spell it out for me, 'cause God knows I’m gonna butcher it.” She laughed harmoniously and stepped closer. Her shoulder grazed my arm as she looked at the small screen, telling me each letter in the foreign word. As the maps loaded on my phone, she nuzzled a slight bit closer to me, forcing me to feel a heat run through my face. “Sorry, you’re the perfect windshield height,” she whispered, shivering from the increased cold that came with the ever-developing night. I could only muster a nervous laugh, then turn my attention back to the loading maps.

Now I often think back to these moments, asking myself questions like, What if I never met her? What if my life stayed the same? What if I didn’t walk her to that shop? The truth is that night I realized Zinnia wasn’t a normal person. She was a flower who graced everything around her, dabbing the world with vibrant colors. However, I should’ve known that vibrant flowers from across the seas would be the death of me.

The following morning, although I could not sleep, I had never felt so refreshed. I sprang from my small pull-out sofa as if a kid on Christmas morning. I hardly acknowledged my canvas, and its malicious blankness. I hurriedly threw on my nicest pair of jeans, which contained only two paint stains. As I performed my morning ritual, typically reserved exclusively for my art shows, I thought of the previous night.

Zinnia had told me she was visiting from all the way in Hawaii, staying with her grandmother for a week, to visit the New York schools. Her goal was to come to school on the mainland and study Marine biology. Then take her degree and dedicate her life to protecting and studying the island's majesty back home. As I carried my excitedly groomed self down the steps and out of my building, I recognized something new. The city seemed a little less dull and a little more colorful. This revelation did not occupy me long, though, as I practically ran to the nearby flower shop I had visited the night before. As I stepped inside, a tiny chime played, causing a strange feeling of calm to wash over me. The smell of greenery and rich life fluttered in the air. Zinnia was placing down these small purple flowers labeled Hyacinth. Her eyes lit up as she saw me. I wasn’t sure if I had died on the way, but it felt as though I was in Heaven. “Kalus! You came to visit me!” Her smile warmed the entire shop. “I was just in the area,” I laughed nervously at the blatant lie. “ Aw, ok, come with me, I want you to meet my Grandmother!” She grabbed my hand and guided me excitedly behind a shelf of Chrysanthemums. Her Grandmother sat there gently spraying each flower. As she turned to look at us with a wrinkly kind grin.

Zinnia’s Grandmother praised me for my height and looks. This embarrassed Zinnia as she turned a deep crimson and laughed nervously. Her grandmother was a bit shorter than her, with a deep wrinkled face that was saturated in kindness and wisdom. Her long silver hair was put into tight box braids, which were entwined with different flowers from her shop. She wore a long, floral dress with vibrant colors that made the flowers she sold jealous. Her shop was filled to the brim with flowers of all kinds, from the conventional roses to the exotic venus flytraps. I would take some time to volunteer and help at the shop to maximize my time with Zinnia. Afterwards, we’d go for lunch or dinner and talk.

The week had gone by in a blur. My days of wallowing in my room, completely robbed of creativity, were replaced with lively days spent helping around the shop and spending time with Zinnia. Either taking a walk around the city or traveling with her to future schooling prospects, life with Zinnia seemed more mystical every. By the time six days had passed, Zinnia and I fell completely in love.

New Yorkers don’t own cars. At least, the average dweller doesn’t. I typically hated this aspect of city life. Having to walk everywhere, but on the evening of December 29th, I was grateful. As I walked with Zinnia to the airport, we talked about the shop and my art. “You’ll have to paint something for me for when I come back.” She smiled, studying the sidewalk. The day of her departure was dreaded by both of us, but I smiled nonetheless. “I will, I’ll take the month to perfect it for you.” We continued our walk laughing and smiling until we arrived at the airport. “Don’t look so grim, I’ll be back soon.” She smiled and kissed me gently on the lips. An electric surge flowed from my head to my feet. I brought her into an embrace before watching her drag her pink suitcase with sea turtles into the building. I walked home alone, but not lonely. The streets seemed a little less dull and a little brighter, as if someone had adjusted the color saturation of life. I passed the shop, which had long passed closed, but the warmth of Zinnia and her Grandmother burrowed deep in my head. Eventually, I arrived at my apartment. That canvas seemed like a blank and more of a well of opportunity. As I began the process of meticulously formulating shapes with diligent strokes. Blending colors and shapes to adhere to the image in my mind. After a while, I had finished the baseline. Satisfied, I sat on my bed after changing into my sleepwear and lay down watching the updates from Zinnia as she boarded the plane and said goodnight. I dozed off with a smile on my face, awaiting the longest month of my life.

Sleep never came easily to me, but that night I had rested completely. Maybe because I wanted the following days to arrive sooner. That morning, I was awoken by the buzzing of my phone. I scooped up my phone, sparked by the idea that it may be Zinnia updating me on her travels. My eyes hurriedly scanned the screen; however, the source of the messages was not Zinnia, but her Grandmother. Her rough English and absent technology skills caused her messages to be somewhat cryptic, but I was able to get the idea. I anxiously searched up the local news, and as my eyes hit the first article, my heart plummeted. ‘Local Hawaiian Airline Faces Major Malfunction,’ the title was already overwhelming. The few words like “no survivors-” and “crashed into Pacific-” made me shut off my phone and throw it against my wall. I walked solemnly towards my current piece. I began to work, dabbing paint and adding detail. It could’ve been hours or days until the painting was finished. As I sat in front of the picture, the world seemed to melt away. My eyes were dry and puffy as my tears had finally reached their limit. I stood up and examined the picture. The two Zinnias on the canvas seemed to be the only thing left in this world for me. That's when I knew those vibrant flowers killed me.