The Watering Can

The day I first met Matthew Bellamy was an amusing one. However, if you asked me at the time if I felt that it was amusing I most certainly would have said no. Meeting him definitely changed my life; his music was such an inspiration to the world and his voice made me melt inside. Whenever he opened his mouth to sing I would feel myself go weak at the knees and I can’t reiterate enough how much musical talent he has. I guess I should tell you how we met, that is the only reason you came here after all. The thing that brought us together was a simple household object and I never thought it would let me meet one of the most influential men in my life. That object was a watering can.

It was a hot summer day and I was stuck taking care of my parents flower shop, again. I sat crossed legged on the hard seat at the cashier, nonchalantly flicking through a magazine. Not many people came by the shop during the day, especially not a beautiful summer day like this one. I sighed and attempted to fan my clammy body, the heat was seeping through every nook and cranny in this decrepit building and I couldn’t go outside to enjoy the light breeze. Why had I tripped over the fan and broken it? It would have been so useful now but my parents felt that we didn’t need a new one. How wrong they were.

“Honey go out front and give those hanging flower baskets some water, they look parched,” my mother demanded, walking into the shop swiftly.

“Oh but mum! I’m busy and those flowers are high.”

“Hence why they’re called hanging flower baskets, they’re meant to go up high.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to water them.”

“Autumn we are trying to make a business here, you need to make the outside inviting in order to lure the customers. You’ve got to work with me here, oh and that’s my magazine,” she said taking the magazine from my hands.

“I was reading that.”

“Well now nothing can distract you from those hanging flower baskets, now shoo, do what your little old mother tells you and water those flowers. The ladder is in the back, you can even use the big one,” she said sardonically.

“Fine. But only because I’m being forced against my will.”

“I’m your mother, that’s what I do,” she joked. I sighed and took the watering can that was placed in the far corner of the room, I dragged my feet like a bear drags its paws as I went to the back room, taking the smaller of the two ladders we owned. I trudged my way through the flower shop and quickly exited, muttering profanities the whole way; I filled the watering can and set out the ladder. I felt the full force of the suns rays and I wished for a cloud to come over when I stood at the top ring, no such luck.

You know that superstition; if you walk under a ladder you will have bad luck? Well I think people just said that to make sure they didn’t fall off the ladder when someone felt inclined to bump into it.

I stood there innocently, performing the task I was ordered to do by my mother when I suddenly felt a jolt beneath me. As the ladder is small, it doesn’t need to be pushed very hard for it to fall, unfortunately for me this push was strong enough for it to do just that. I squealed and grabbed onto the hanging flower basket, dropping the watering can in the process. I heard a cry from below me and although I told myself not to look down I felt I had to look, the sight that met my eyes would have made me smile to myself if I wasn’t in the situation I was in right now. Lying, on the ground, was a man, drenched. He was clearly not a very tall man and he held his head in pain, the discarded watering can lying nonchalantly next to him. There was another man standing next to him looking up at me, squinting due to the light.

“Nice view,” he said.

“Shut up,” I retorted, still hanging onto the basket.

“That hurt you know!” the man on the floor complained.

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have shoved the ladder and I wouldn’t have let go.”

“How is it my fault that you can’t hold onto your stupid watering can?”

I was about to think of a witty comeback when I felt the basket split, my weight too much for the feeble straw basket. I fell, straight onto the man who lay on the floor. I heard him groan under me as I whimpered in pain.

“You know you two sound like you’re doing it,” the man standing up said, watching us amusedly. The man underneath me glared at him, believing it would get his message across. When he opened his mouth to speak, he barely made a sound and I knew that if I wasn’t lying on him I wouldn’t have been able to hear him.

“Can you please move your elbow,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“You’re leaning on my balls.”

I practically jumped off him and looked at him apologetically, he smiled forcedly and sat up. I offered him my hand; he didn’t acknowledge it and got up slowly, wincing. His friend leaned over and grabbed my watering can by the neck, swiftly offering it to me. As I took the can from it I felt him softly stroke my hand with his fingers, letting go of it and smiling at me. I looked at him but didn’t smile back; I wasn’t interested in him although his green skinny jeans did make him look really good, surprisingly. The man looked himself over and groaned loudly.

“I’m soaked. Look what you did!”

“Like I said before I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t knocked the ladder.”

I looked around and noticed the discarded ladder lying on its side, blocking the majority of the pavement.

“This was a new shirt as well.”

“Will you stop your complaining!” I told him, “I will give you some of my brother’s clothes if you need to change.”

“Yes I do.”

“Then come with me,” I sighed, taking his arm and leading him into the flower shop.

“I’ll leave you with flower shop girl Matt, I’ve got to go,” his friend called. I rolled my eyes, great I have now been branded as ‘flower shop girl’ how sickening.

“Fine Dom, leave me here!” Matt called back, fake sobbing, this guy was such a joker. I brought him through to the back door and placed the watering can on the floor once more, ignoring my mother’s curious gaze. The back door lead to my house, my parents had decided to make the top floor a home and use the bottom floor as a shop, what can you do?

We walked up the stairs and into the room that my brother and me shared. I walked over to my brother’s side of them room and he followed suit, I looked back at him, wondering why he was following me when I noticed I was the one holding his hand. I quickly let it go and muttered a sorry, going back to the cabinet filled with clothes.

“I think these will fit you, they’re kind of old because my brother shot up but they could be your size. Unless you want my clothes,” I joked. He chuckled and took the clothes from me; I quickly turned around so I would give him some privacy.

“Oh god, you bruised me! My head hurts like hell too,” he complained. I turned back to him and instantly looked down as I saw he was topless. I quickly made my way over to him, looking him in the eyes.

“Where’s the bruise?”

He indicated with his finger and I looked it over.

“It should be fine.”

“My head still hurts though.”

“Fine, sit on the bed.”

He gave me a knowing look; he thought I was trying to seduce him.

“I just want to look at your head, you don’t want that ‘wound’ to go septic do you?”

He shook his head and I pushed him down so that he was sitting on the bed. I looked at his head and noticed a small cut, I quickly went to the bathroom, our family aid kit still there after years of childhood cuts and bruises. I returned and set the aid kit by him, taking the alcohol wipes to remove the blood, separating his hair so I could see the wound clearly. He breathed in sharply as the alcohol stung him, he took hold of my leg and squeezed it, trying to deal with the pain.

“Come on it can’t be that bad.”

“Actually it is.”

I smiled and quickly took the antiseptic cream, soothing his ‘throbbing wound’. I turned to him as he continued to hold onto my leg.

“There you go, all done.”

He sighed and stood up, our bodies brushing against each other.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, but I think I have a bruise too,” I told him. A smile broke across his face and I quickly turned around so I could see if I had a bruise. I could just see a purple colouring form on my waist, it was small but it was still a bruise. I wasn’t going to complain about it as much as Matt would.

“Can I see?” he asked, looking over my shoulder.

“No!”

“Come on, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he said. He had a point there; I slowly turned to him and moved away part of my jeans, revealing the forming bruise.

“Yeah that’s definitely a bruise,” he said, prodding it.

“Hey! Don’t prod my wound!” I remarked, he scoffed and stood up again.

“My wound was worse.”

“That wasn’t even a wound.”

“Then neither is yours,” he said insolently.

“Fine but it’s still your fault that we have these wounds in the first place.”

“That was actually Dom’s fault, not mine.”

“Oh really? Are you sure you’re not covering up so you don’t get the blame?”

“No I’m serious he’s the one that pushed the ladder, he wanted to see how you would react.”

“What? That’s horrible!”

“I know but it was funny until the watering can fell on my head.”

I play hit his arm and grinned at him. He really liked to joke.

“Sorry about that by the way.”

“It’s not your fault, Dom seems to be the main culprit here.”

“I could kill that boy.”

“So could I actually, I’ve wanted to do that many times before but he’s still my best friend. Do you want to go find him?”

“Yeah, why not? You’ll get me out of taking care of the shop.”

“Oh yes! The flower shop girl owns a flower shop,” he joked.

“I have a name you know.”

“And what’s that?”

“Autumn.”

“Well then Autumn, I think you can drop your watering can on me any day,” he said, placing his arm around me and leading me back to the shop.

“I believe that’s an offer I can’t refuse watering can boy.”

“Please, call me Matthew, or Matt.”

“Well Matthew let’s go get Dom.”

“With pleasure,” he told me as we walked out the front door grinning. A smile playing on my mother’s lips as she watched us leave the shop.

We never did get Dom back.