I don't even know what happened, but something told me it was going to be a good day today and it was so somehow a 4,000 word ficlet happened. So here, have my Granny Evans feels!
He loved her like the orchid that sat on his grandmother's windowsill.
They planted that seed when he was six. His grandmother was never like mother and father. They brought upon him curses, and she was a blessing. A glass of ice cold milk and warm chocolate chip cookies. An escape from a world that demanded his destiny be predetermined when he desperately ached to create his own.
He found himself able to breathe in her presence, whereas his own home labored to suffocate him. The younger Evans didn't want what his brother had. He didn't want to be rich. He wanted a real mommy and daddy. He wanted to be loved. Grandmother loved him.
Grandmother's garden was a worldwide wonder, and to him a personal sanctuary. As far as the eye could see, rows of exotic flowers flourished and blossomed under her watchful eye. That's all he remembered her spending her portion of the family fortune on anyway. She just wanted to grow them in her garden, flowers of all kinds from every place imaginable on the earth.
Some days, he would simply sit by a patch he found particularly colorful and observe the flowers in their habitat, occasionally petting their petals between a forefinger and a thumb when grandmother was knitting at a sweater in her rocking chair, one he hoped he wouldn't have to wear next Christmas at the dinner table. A bee came by to admire the flowers once, and he grew jealous of its presence, attempting to swat it away. Earned himself a nasty, angry lump on his forehead to say the least.
He didn't know grandmother was watching him closely every time he surprised her with a visit. It seemed he had taken a liking to a sole patch of flowers growing near the roots of a very young ash tree. It piqued her utmost interest.
"You like these flowers, cubby?" she startled him with a voice like sunshine, bubbly, bright and aged. That was the nickname she called him whenever she thought he "resembled a baby bear," whatever that meant. Red started to form on his pudgy cheeks from embarrassment, and he begrudgingly nodded a yes. She'd caught on to his little secret, and he wasn't all too thrilled about it. It just made her chuckle heartily.
"It's not funny, Nana!" he scrunched his face into a grumpy pout, fists balled up at his sides. At her "baby bear's" tone of voice, her laughter stilled and she sat down next to the grumpy little boy who had his back turned to her. A few pregnant moments of silence sat between the elder and her grandchild, but the air seemed fresher the more she breathed it in. It had to be a sign.
"Of course it's not, Soul," she spoke softly while ruffling his snowy white hair, noticing by the tenseness in his muscles, he was being stubborn in accepting the apology. She smiled. Kids.
"Want to plant one?" she whispered.
He didn't smile or answer when he looked back at her, but she could tell he was brimming over with excitement. It was written all over crimson irises. Soul's eyes had this habit of telling vast stories his mouth wasn't always capable of.
That was the day he learned how to properly plant a seed, and take care of it. Grandmother said it would give him a reason to visit her more often, and at this he beamed. She laughed it off, but knew how overbearing her son and daughter in law could be on the boy. Every other day, he came by Nana's to help care for the plant. Soul often stayed longer than he needed to when there was a promise of red velvet cake and strawberry-mint lemonade, his favorites. Sometimes, she'd lift the top off of the creaky, ancient behemoth in the corner of the common room and teach him a few tricks and melodies. Even to this day, he'll admit that the only time he ever really enjoyed hearing the echo of piano keys, was when it was followed by his grandmother's voice.
She called the flower an Orchid, said out of all the flowers in her garden, he had to go and pick one of the most fussiest to pot. He frowned greatly at that, but listened carefully to her instructions. Words that he never knew would resurface fifteen years into the future.
"Ah-ah, cubby, not too much water! You'll drown the poor thing. If there's anything that will kill an orchid faster than you can blink, it's letting it sit in a water-logged pot. Without enough air and room for it to circulate, the flower could suffocate and die. You don't want that."
He met her by the river, on the stone and concrete structure that served as an overpass. It was pouring rain that day, and he was thankful his memory of the weather kicked in enough to bring his umbrella with him to work in the morning when the sky seemed clear. It was funny how things could change so abruptly, and no one would expect it.
She was alone, dressed in a black coat, hugging her knees to her chest soundlessly as water continued to plummet from the grey sky, catching on to her threads and seeping into her ashen-blonde hair. He was so deep in thought walking across the bridge, he almost didn't notice her until his ears caught the sound of a warbly hiccup.
Time stood still for a moment when he turned around, and all he could hear was the rain pounding onto concrete, dropping with thuds into the river he hoped wouldn't overflow like it did four years ago during a flash flood.
All he could see was an orchid, drowning.
He cautiously stooped down next to the soaked woman, hovering the green umbrella over them both. She must have sensed the change in atmosphere, because immediately, her face shot up, hot tears flowing freely down smooth pale cheeks, and an eerily familiar feeling washed over him. Her eyes were a viridian green, green like fresh tea leaves, but they were full of hostility, embitterment even, and he was taken aback when she spoke.
"Go away."
"I could you know," he responded, a low rumble. For a minute, it seemed that she was scared of what she saw. It wouldn't have surprised him if she was. White hair and red eyes don't speak normality and friendliness to everyone. But in an instant the glimmer of fear disappeared and fire replaced it.
"So do it! I don't need your help or anything you have to offer. A couple of men came over, wanting to "help" me too, but hell no. All they want is to mess around with me. Just-just do yourself a favor and leave me alone, please. I'm fine."
A couple moments of silence passed until he let out an exasperated sigh. Fussy one.
"Did any of them offer you coffee?"
She let out a tiny gasp, but frowned afterward, shifting her gaze to anything other than his. He allowed a small smile, not daring to scare her even further with his abnormally sharp teeth. The smile faltered when he noticed her trembling.
"Listen, ma'am," he spoke gently. "If you stay here any longer, you'll catch your death. There's a little place just a few streets down. I'm only trying to help you. Don't think it would sit any kinds of well with me if I left you out here in the rain, alone."
He stretched out his hand, startling the woman. She stared intently at it, but made no move.
"Please?"
Her eyes slowly shifted up to his, as if she were trying to detect any trace of a lie in those words. She groaned when she found none, hesitantly letting his strong hand help her up from the damp floor and motion her under the umbrella.
"The soil we planted this baby in has something called fertilizer, cubby. Orchid's need a lot of it to grow strong. Some of the best fertilizers out there for flowers are liquid ones."
After that rainy day, he found himself visiting the little diner almost every morning, company in tow.
Her name was Maka Albarn. She worked at the local library a couple of blocks past the elementary school across the street from his apartment, a place that well suited her "nerdiness" as he'd jokingly, but fondly come to call it.
"She loves her tea, that girl," their frequent waitress would say, but that didn't quite cut it. Maka, the smarty-pants librarian lady, ate, breathed and slept tea. At some point, she had him able to distinguish over fifty different blends solely by scent or color. She had a favorite, vanilla-chamomile. He though it smelled wonderful, but tasted absolutely rancid, and for a while he considered just sticking to his black coffee. She told him the more bitter the tea was, the healthier it was for the inside of the drinker. He kept her company long enough to learn that important bit, and develop an appreciation for bitter tea.
Her company in itself, Soul thought, was a complete miracle. The day he walked her home in the rain, he expected to never see or hear from her again after they parted. After all, she had said clear as day that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with men. He gave her his number anyway, said if she ever needed a friend to talk to or have tea with, she could always call. To say he was overjoyed to pick up the phone three days later and hear her voice, was an understatement. He also heard a couple of girls giggling and cooing in the background, but paid it little mind.
He never once questioned her about the cause of her being out there in bad weather, and he could tell she was grateful for that. When the time came, Maka would reveal those things to him. Personal things. He might have personal things of his own to offer in turn, but for now he reveled in the fact that they could have a warm drink in each other's company.
Like she drank her tea in multitudes, he drank her in just the same. Up close, and at a distance.
"This particular orchid is a demanding one, but soil suits it nicely. Sometimes, these guys like to lift out of the ground too, so don't be surprised when you see little roots poking out. Don't worry Soul, it's not going to sprout legs and run away! Remember when we were outside and you found some by a tree? Well, sometimes they like to grow onto trees, if the tree has food it needs."
When bitterness showed her bitchface in a house, breaking shit everywhere, it meant healing was soon to follow after her footsteps.
It happened when movie night turned into some sort of a heated argument on who had the worst childhood. None of them knew how it started, but they damn sure wanted it to end. Voices rose in octaves from both parties, shrills and shouts that would've made the devil himself quiet.
" Well at least you had a damn mother! Ever thought of that, hotshot?! Did you ever in your life consider that you were lucky, that there were people without parents? Parents that they needed the most, but only disappointed them by not being all there and messing shit up for fucking life!?
She ended it. She always ended it for him.
"You ungrateful son of a bitch!"
Maka reprimanded him for using foul language all the time, loathed cursing. He could feel the presence of the red demon standing between them, at the center of the common room, waiting for the worst to come so it could snicker at the aftermath, but Soul would not let that happen. Her words cut deep across his chest, but his love for her ran deeper than any black could ever cloud his vision.
He loved her like the orchid that sat on his grandmother's windowsill.
"Maka."
The hurt in his voice made her immediately want to take her words back. He wasn't ungrateful, he wasn't anything near a bad person. He had his reasons for feeling the way he did about his family, legitimate reasons at that. She had no right to yell at him, no right to be angry at him. They were both a little fucked up, and it was neither of their faults. She made a move to get closer to the door, but two strong arms caught her shirt, spinning her around and lifting her off the floor. Maka found she couldn't quite protest against Soul's actions, because his grip on her was abnormally strong and he was incredibly warm. He sat them both back onto the couch, leaning backwards, never letting go of her a single bit. A single clap of thunder startled the both of them. He sighed.
"Figures you'd try to leave when a storm's approaching," Soul jested, voice still a bit hard, and Maka's lips turned downward, silent tears building up in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill. It's like the woman had the power to call upon the rain when she was distressed. A force to be reckoned with for sure. "Don't think it would sit any kinds of well with me if I let you go."
And he wanted the goddess to stay with him, the mushy idiot, forever.
The scale was tipped and the water spilled uncontrollably over her face. As soon as he felt the moisture hit his shirt, his eyes ripped away from the window and to her round face. Like that, all the lingering anger from their quarrel was gone. He frowned. Damn this woman with the oversized brain and the green doe eyes that held so much behind them. Someone that beautiful didn't deserve to cry so much, and he hoped what he was going to do next would stop the waterworks for good.
He kissed her.
He kissed her hard, tasting salt on her lips and her body froze. She didn't know what to do, but when his tongue ran across her bottom lip in a silent plea, she found that hers acted on its own accord in response. At that, Soul's kisses became softer, eventually leaving her mouth, journeying across her pillow soft cheeks, fluttering over her eyelids. Maka kept her eyes closed and took in the feeling of it all as their hands lay loose in each other's tresses. She sighed contently, and was rewarded with a soft peck on the nose.
"Look at me."
It was a demand, but there was no trace of harshness to it. Her eyes slowly fluttered open and landed on his own. For the years she had known Soul, Maka discovered he wasn't all that great when it came to words. So when he did choose to speak, it meant something he wanted to say was of utmost importance. She found what he wanted to say through those eyes.
I'm sorry.
She swore those damn red eyes were birthed from the color of his heart. The flames in them were slowly cooking her alive.
"Me too."
He swore her eyes carried with them a growing forest. He considered abandoning all society to start a brand new living in it. Little did he know, she welcomed the idea, but they each had a lot of old soil to make new.
"This particular flower is very light-hungry. That means it needs lots of sunlight. You may need to move it around the house a bit in order for it to grow happily. Got it, soul?"
So they picked up their tools and started working, started living together in their own imaginary garden.
The dates got more serious. The lovemaking simmered into something even more passionate each time they let it happen. People started to think they were already married. Soul thought they might as well have been as much as they seemed attached at the hip, inseparable, but he'd wait until she was ready for that kind of thing.
She told him about her father, how his lecherous behavior drove her mother away, how he spent his days drinking and gambling his life away while his daughter cried every time he told her he loved her and mama the most. How she had to start her life anew and away from him before she completely broke into pieces the way her family did.
The drunk bastard had the nerve to track his baby girl's whereabouts via a GPS and the police. He barged into their apartment one night while they were peacefully lazing about in a competition to see who could answer the most Jeopardy questions correct. They broke the damn door, and Soul screamed at the elder in a furious fit, handing his ass to him while Maka negotiated with the cops, telling them that there was no danger to be found and she was completely out of harm's way here. To Soul's dismay, he kept coming back every week, but when he visited there was no more yelling, only hard glares his way, and smiles with gifts for his little "angel." She groaned at all the visits and nicknames, but felt lighter in her soul when she noticed he wreaked less and less of booze and sex each time he came. One day, he dropped off a postcard from Maka's mother, and at her shocked expression and slowly growing smile as she read the scribble, Soul couldn't help but crack one of his own. Of course, this didn't mean all was solved. There would be many troubles to come of her mother's chosen lifestyle of distance, but at least it was a start. At least she was trying to regain her parent title.
Soul on the other hand had many demons he struggled with. The lack of positive attention he underwent as a kid, carried over into his adult years. The switch from rich family life to domestic life wasn't at all half bad. It was more eventful for sure, even it was stressful some days, but it allowed him an escape from the condescending eyes of his mother and father, and his over talented older brother, whom constantly served as reminders that he was a nobody. Here, next to his favorite person in the entire world, the girl he loved and cherished, he was allowed to feel like a somebody. She made sure he knew how important his presence was to her.
On some nights, he would awaken her out of slumber with pained moans and sometimes piercing screams, forehead sheeted with cold sweat. He suffered from night terrors, a thing he's fought with ever since he was a child. Maka has learned this over the years, he had explained to her all of his dreams, how all the insecurities he harbored from his past and present life resurfaced ever so often in the form of monsters that chased him through a maze of darkness. She urged him awake with her angelic voice, loud and strong, and rested his head against her chest whenever he refused resumption of sleep. Her heartbeat was what calmed every beast, made them panic and flee from his head.
This woman had the ability to bring both the storm and the rainbow. His gorgeous, strong, blossoming orchid. He wondered if it was possible a flower had the ability to take care of its caretaker, or perhaps it was an equivalent giving of sorts during photosynthesis. Oxygen in exchange for carbon dioxide. Breathing and growing together in peaceful harmony through many toils and snares. She was his anchor, and he was hers.
"Nana, what do you do when it turns brown?" A little, worried soul looked desperately at his grandmother, holding up the pitiful looking excuse of a plant before her.
"Oh dear," she spoke quietly, carefully taking the pot from his hands. She plucked at the petals of the plant and they easily departed from the stamen.
"Nana, what are you doing!" The little boy's voice rose in fear. "You're hurting it!"
"No no, cubby," she laughed and ruffled his hair. "I'm helping it!"
The little boy looked thoroughly confused. At this she chuckled some more.
"Soul, flowers don't last forever. They wilt when their seasons are over. That means they-well, die."
The poor boy looked as if he was going to cry. He had worked so hard taking care of his little orchid. He made sure he listened to all of the steps correctly, but the flower still died. It seemed like everything the boy hoped for met this same fate.
"Why did I even care?" he yelled, startling his grandmother with the angry tone of voice. "Boys aren't supposed to care about flowers anyway!" With that he fled out the door, disappearing into the garden.
She found him in no time, under that same ash tree. He was crying. Crying because there were no more flowers. Crying because something he liked taking care of died and he didn't know why. Why he couldn't have anything he liked and keep it.
"Why Nana?" He sniffled, hiding his face.
"Because they make new ones."
The boy poked his head up to see four seeds resting on the inside of her wrinkled palms. He shot up and hugged the older woman tight, sniffling into her blue dress. She smiled when she spoke calmly unto him.
" You're different. You are not your mother, your father or Wesley. You are Soul. I told your mother to give you that name. Know why?"
He shook his head silently.
"It's because the moment I saw your little hands, I knew you carried your heart in them. You bring happiness to anything you touch. You give them a soul. That flower was happy, cubby. You two did a great job, and caring about flowers doesn't make you any less of a boy. On the contrary…
it makes you more of a man."
And a man he had become.
When he received a call from Wes one morning, it shouldn't have come to him as a great shock. They all knew she was old as molasses, and all things aged to a stop at some point. He didn't shed a single tear at her funeral, and Maka found it quite worrisome. She didn't know much about Cecily Ann Evans, or "Nana" as Wesley referred to her in a departing speech that made her cry many a tear. Soul never told her much about his grandmother, and she wondered just how much the parent meant to her fiancée.
It wasn't until she was given a tour of Cecily's house and garden after the funeral that she understood. He showed her around every inch of the modest, cozy home. For a woman with millions in the bank, the house only held the bare requirements, minus the large garden outback. 'The woman knew how to live', Maka thought, and wished she was alive to meet her in person. They probably would have been great friends. She mumbled this to herself, but Soul's ears, sharp as a tack offered her a smile at the endearing statement. When they got to the kitchen however, the smile completely dropped.
A draft wafted through the room, sending chills up Maka's spine. She believed in the supernatural enough to assume it could be a ghost's doing. Now alert, she tugged on the sleeve of soul's tux, but it seemed as if his eyes were trained on the little window in the corner. He wordlessly took small steps towards it, and Maka followed curiously behind, wondering what was going on his mind when he reached for the small terracotta pot on the window sill. He cradled the pot in his hands as if it were a baby bird, as if he could break it with one wrong move.
All of the memories came flooding in an instant to him. The day he and Nana planted the first seed, the days he would water the orchid and feed it drops of fertilizer while singing it a little tune. He remembered when it too seemed to perk up from the corner of his eye when she finished baking a fresh cake. He remembered when it died, when they planted new ones, when he told his grandmother to watch over the flowers when he was older and needed to move away and start his own life, like she always wanted him to. He remembered it all when he looked into the pot and spotted a tiny plastic bag of seeds. Orchid seeds.
Maka stood closer to him when she finally saw the dam break. Soul's emotions were often contagious, and she found herself crying with him in little time as she hugged him. She didn't know why she was crying, but trusted him to explain it to her later. He motioned for Maka's hand and gently placed the bag of seeds in the middle of it. She looked up, a little confused when he asked her,
"Want to plant one?"
She laid contently on the hospital bed a year later, wondering how one seed turned into two. He sat beside her, grinning like a mad fool, because he knew the answer.
He loved her like the orchid that sat on his grandmother's windowsill.
His flower was happy.
They both did a great job.