The aroma of freshly picked peppers filled the air, dancing around and tickling my nose. I had picked each and every one of them from my garden. The cherry red bell peppers had filled my basket to the brim, as they were my favorite. The burst of sweet flavor blended in with a spicy, earthy taste, forcing my stomach to rumble at just the thought of my favorite snack. I had sat in the course dirt for a moment to examine the peppers I had previously picked. I had felt worried that maybe the bugs had gotten to them before I did, or maybe the boys from down the block thought It would be funny to tamper with them. Alas, they were in almost perfect condition. I smile inwardly with a sigh of relief. Those damn boys with the nice clothes and fancy cars had always been causing trouble for me and my garden. I'm just happy they've left it alone for once.
"Hey," a voice calls out to me "hows the gardening going?"
I lift my head and wipe the sweat from my brow. Shielding my eyes from the hot Tulsa sun, I look to see Mrs. Curtis' son. He was leaning over the white picket fence that wasn't so white anymore. The paint had been chipping for years now and I haven't quite gotten around to painting it. Now, I can't quite put a name to the face, but I definitely know a Curtis when I see one. "Quite hot actually." I stand up and dust the dirt off the knees of my pants, giving the Curtis boy a quick look. "Now, not to embarrass myself, but I can't seem to remember your name."
"Oh, Mr. West, you've got to be kiddin' me." His pale blue eyes rolled jokingly, smearing a snarky grin on his face. "It's Darrel,"
"Now, Darrel, you know not to be callin' me, Mr. West." I smiled, plucking a ripe cherry tomato from my basket and tossing it towards him. "Afterall, I am younger than you."
"What are you? Sixteen?" He teased, squishing the tiny tomato between his teeth.
"Eighteen, turning nineteen next week. Mark your calendar!"
He wiped the juice that spilled from the corner of his mouth with the collar of his greasy shirt, stained with hard work and the smell of coffee. He chuckled to himself and I felt rather confused, but I enjoyed his company. He kept me on my toes, kept me smiling, even if I couldn't remember his name. He seemed to keep checking up on me more and more after his mother's death. Mrs. Curtis felt almost as if she was my best friend, if not my own mother. My parents had ditched me to go explore Las Vegas and they kept promising me that they will be home soon, but with each promise, I hoped they didn't. Days have turned to weeks, and those weeks turned to months and they still haven't come back. They keep mailing me money to pay for the house, which I guess is nice. It could be so much worse, so I'm happy for what's been given to me. That's something Mrs. Curtis taught me, to look for the good in everything.
"How've you been holding up, Mr. West?" He began inspecting the chipped paint on the fence, picking at the peeling strands.
"Please, call me Sage," I insisted "but things have been good, until those boys from down the block like to eat and destroy everything I've been growing." I huffed. It really had been bothering me. It didn't bother me that people liked to eat from my garden, it bothered me that they would do it without asking. I always have food to spare, but it wasn't cheap to repair the damages they brought. My garden was my pride and joy. This little six-foot by six-foot square was where I went to deal with all my problems. I pulled weeds like they were the people prying at me to open up. I came here to be happy, and every time I did, I was.
"The Socs are botherin' you too, huh?" He focused hard on paint chip he picked off the fence, twirling it between his fingers. His brow twitched in agitation, seemingly lost in thought. He crushed the chip in his hand and let the dust float slowly to the ground. I had walked over and placed my callused hand on top of his and gave him a concerned look. Something was bothering him, or something happened, either way, he wasn't happy. "Johnny, one of Ponyboy's friend, got caught up with one." His lip quivered, but I couldn't tell if it was out of anger or sadness.
"Is he okay? I mean, I know he's not okay, but is he alive?"
He nodded slowly, closing his eyes. His jaw was tense as he clenched his teeth together. "Happened last night," He paused, breathing slowly "he's really hurt."
"Do you want me to go look at him? I want to make sure nothings infected. I can make dinner while I'm at it." I gripped his hand slightly. I can tell he was hurt, though he was never one to show it. His mom told me about how much he was like his father, so stubborn and cold, but yet so sweet. I was better friends with their mom than I was any of the boys. She would always stop by and help with the garden or bring me some lemonade from the DX down the road. We would sit and talk about her sons and how each one brought a different sort of flavor to her life, kind of like my garden. I met them each once or twice, each time she introduced me as "Mr. West" to teach them manners. I always thought it was strange considering I was around their age and not much younger than Darrel. Darrel had been stopping by more frequently since she had died. I think he knew it hurt me as much as it hurt them, but it was their mom, not mine, so I can't say that.
"That'd be great," he smiled "pack what you need." His cold as steel eyes met mine with genuine warmth. It was unexpected from him, especially after being so lost in dark thoughts.
I nodded and picked my basket up off the ground, and rushed inside, the wooden steps weeping under me after each step I take. Right as I enter the door, I'm immediately greeted by the aloe vera plant to my right. The moment I see it, Mrs. Curtis' words run through my head. "Aloe vera is a very nice medicinal plant to have! It helps with burns and rumors have it that it helps with disinfecting cuts! The boys often get sunburnt and little scratches, so I keep a little plant in the house just in case!" I nod at the quick flashback and rip a single, fleshy stalk from the pot. Quickly after, I grab a large, paper bag and start shoving food in, the cabinets screeching with each one I opened.
My kitchen was small but filled to the brim with things I've grown. Tomatoes and garlic hung in wire baskets in front of the window near the sink, while a bowl of bell peppers of all colors sat nearby. The vegetables had taken over my life at this point, piling around the kitchen and inside the refrigerator. Bushels of green onions and spinach sat inside the refrigerator, along with various juices that I've picked up from the grocery store. It seemed like everything I've ever grown was actually grown inside the kitchen instead. I often rotate what I grow because the same thing tends to get boring.
"You must really like your greens." I heard the deep voice behind me. My heart leaped out of my chest and the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. I felt like a frightened cat in the worst way possible.
"Jesus, Darrel, you scared the shit out of me." I began picking up my bag, careful not to squish any of the fragile foods. He chuckled as he examined the kitchen, his boots clunking against the black and white tiled floor. He paused for a moment, staring at the countertop where a lone picture frame sat. In the frame sat a picture of Mrs. Curtis and I sitting in the center of my garden, overloaded with pumpkins that I planted in the fall two years ago, hugging two of the largest from the patch. We both smiled gleefully, leaning into one another. Her rusty hair was pulled back into a ponytail, sporting a cream, knitted sweater that accentuated her hair and the fallen leaves around her. She looked so young and full of life, so ready to take on the world. I was only sixteen then, but It feels like decades have passed since that picture was taken. It still hurts to remember that she's gone, but she wouldn't want me to be upset whenever I thought of her. "I miss her." I murmured.
"I do too," he pulled his gaze away from the picture, focusing it on my bag. "You ready?" he grabbed the paper bag from my hand. I nodded slightly, making my way to the door.
The walk there was quiet. The hot sun was beating down on us the whole walk there, stirring up a major sweat on my forehead. Whilst continually whipping the sweat from my forehead, I found myself lost in thought. I think we both were just thinking of his mom and how much we missed her. It had only been three months since they passed, she and her husband both. I try to shrug it off, but the dread tends to come back. It's inevitable, it's horrid.
"How close were you with my mom? I know you guys were friends so I figured I should be checking up on you, but who was she to you?" His gravelly voice broke the silence. I wasn't prepared to answer a question like that. What am I supposed to say? We were close friends? Best friends? I don't want to be insensitive and say she was like a mom to me, but she was. She meant the world to me, but I'm not her real son, but she treated me like I was. She cared for me more than my parents had ever led on. It still hurts to know that she is and was the only person who truly cared for me, and now she's gone.
"She was my best friend," I said slowly, tasting every word as it came out. "She meant the world to me, the mother I never had," I admitted. I couldn't lie to him. I think it would've meant more to him for me to be honest than hurt him with some generic response. He needed to hear how much she meant to other people to possibly help get over it.
"Like a real mother is," he smiled inwardly "as much as I was best friends with my father, I admired how soft and sweet she was. She treated everyone like they were her own kids, and everyone treated her with the respect of their own mother." He smiled up into the sky, visibly reminiscing of his mother. It was sweet to see, especially his smile. Something about his smile was so radiant and jubilant, I couldn't help but smile myself. He reminded me of her, though I've been told he was a cookie cutter copy of his dad, but I can still see hints of her in him. It was comforting to see everything she taught him, has cultivated and began to grow inside of him.