Bow at Her Feet
o f F l o w e r s & S u n g l a s s e s
......The backroom of the flower shop is reverberating with some one-hit wonder’s second song, and I rub the bridge of my nose in annoyance. Ms. Maple is sitting beside me, humming along to the atrocious song slightly off-key, a small smile on her face as she arranges a basket full of flowers. I finish wrapping ribbon around the bouquet I’m currently working on and knot it before setting it on the metal table next to my stool. I stop for a moment to admire the soft pink of the Sahara Roses and the white clusters of the Baby’s Breath. Although obnoxious to wrap, these bouquets are truly beautiful. As if voicing my thoughts, Ms. Maple speaks.
...... “Those look lovely, Shiloh. You did an amazing job making those bouquets. Sarah has such an eye for flowers, don’t you think?” I nod, and I had just begun to gently untangle some Baby’s Breath from the large pile sitting next to me when the bell at the front of the shop rings.
...... “Don’t get up, I’ll get it.” I stand to my feet, seeing Ms. Maple’s nod of appreciation out of the corner of my eye as I go through the swinging door that leads to the front of the shop. I stand at the counter, watching the woman that just entered browse the fresh flowers display, hearing snatches of the song as the door swings to and fro. She is young, maybe in her mid-twenties, with a mess of brown hair running to her waist and a navy-blue summer dress on. But her beauty is not the most interesting thing about her, no. The most interesting thing about her is that I have never seen her before. I open the gate from behind the desk and exit, going to stand beside the stranger.
...... “May I help you?” She smiles at me.
...... “Thanks, darlin’.” Her words are lilted with a Southern accent, honey smooth and gentle on the ears. Not the ‘new Southern,’ the diluted way of speaking that the schools try to enforce, but the twanging, musical kind of half-talking, half-singing. “You can. I’m lookin' for some flowers for my Mee-maw. She’s in the hospital, and I don’t really know that much about pickin’ out flowers. I’d appreciate if you’d help me. I’m fixin’ to go half-crazy just tryin’ ta keep track of my brother who my Mama sent ta live with Mee-maw just as she went inta the hospital. I can’t get my mind straight enough ta figure this out too!” She laughs, and I am surprised she isn’t gasping for air after her explosion of words. I look at her, noting the sadness and exhaustion that is lightly coating her smile.
...... “Alright, then. Does she have any favorite flowers?” I smile at her, and her own grin widens in response.
...... “Yeah. She always loves her irises and I’m pretty certain she’d like some daisies, too. I think somethin’ bright’d work. Not bland. Her hospital room’s so bare.” Her grin is still on her face, and I’m beginning to wonder what it would take to wipe the smile off of her face- it seems almost bolted into place.
...... “Well, today you’re in luck. We happen to have a flower basket that has both in it. It’s in the back, I can go get it I you want to see it?” I turn, going back through the gate after she nods. Upon reaching the door, I hold up my finger in the universal ‘one minute’ sign before disappearing through it. I go to the table full of the flowers we are going to put on display in the afternoon. I search through them until I find the basket of flowers Ms. Maple was working on when I left the room. It is a wicker basket with yellow and white daisies, irises, lavender carnations, and solidaster in it. I don’t risk picking up the handle that is hidden somewhere in the spray of flowers, instead carrying it by the bottom. This, however, results in the flowers blocking my eyesight and using up both of my hands, so I do my best to look through them. Upon reaching the door, I push it open with my back, backing into the room in order to protect the flowers from the possibility of the door swinging back on them. I turn so that I am once more facing the normal way as I reach the counter. I hear the door ding as I set the mahogany-colored basket down on the black countertop.
...... “Will these work?” My words are interrupted by a male voice.
...... “C’mon Jane! I’m bored, and I told David I’d meet 'im at the diner thirty minutes ago!” I look up upon hearing the still-Southern but much more diluted voice, and it’s all I can do not to laugh. The owner of the voice is a guy, nineteen or twenty, with a mess of brown hair, leather jacket, and black sunglasses even though it’s only 10AM. He’s shifting from foot to foot, looking increasingly uncomfortable in front of a stand of baby-pink tulips. She, Jane, sighs.
...... “Hang onna sec’ Jake. I’m just gonna be a tad bit longer.” Her face and tone brighten as she turns back towards me. “These are gorgeous, hun, thanks! I’ll take ‘em.” She pulls out her credit card as I ring her up, and I shake my head.
...... “Sorry, but we only take cash. And it will be $47.38.” ‘Jake’ is now tapping his foot impatiently, hunched over, and glancing out the window every few seconds, as though afraid someone might see him.
...... “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, Jane!” He groans impatiently. I can’t help myself; I snicker. His head whips from the window to me. Jane is fumbling about in her purse, looking for enough money to buy the flowers. His eyebrows furrow, and I get the feeling he is glaring at me from behind his dark sunglasses. “What’re you laughin’ at, carrot-top?” It is my turn to glare at him.
...... “First of all, you might want to take those sunglasses off if you want your glare to be even remotely effective. Second of all, look behind you.” He looks behind himself, and sees the pink tulips for the first time. He growls.
...... “Forget it, Jane. I’ll walk.” He growls as he swings around on the heel of his foot and crashes out the door, the bell shrieking in his wake like a bird being pounced on by a cat. Jane sighs once again as she hands me the money.
...... “Sorry ‘bout him, sugar. He’s a pain in the nether regions, has been all his life.” It’s not her fault to apologize for, so I shrug and gave an ‘it’s okay.’ “You’re a dear, but’s not okay. The boy needs a whuppin’ but there’s no way I’d be able ta give it ta him.” She sighs, and picks up the flowers. “Thank ya’, dearie. These are real beautiful.” The door dings after her, and the room is suddenly devoid of any sentient life besides myself. I realize several minutes later that, apparently, Jake is the wrench that can take her bolted-on-smile off.
...... “Those look lovely, Shiloh. You did an amazing job making those bouquets. Sarah has such an eye for flowers, don’t you think?” I nod, and I had just begun to gently untangle some Baby’s Breath from the large pile sitting next to me when the bell at the front of the shop rings.
...... “Don’t get up, I’ll get it.” I stand to my feet, seeing Ms. Maple’s nod of appreciation out of the corner of my eye as I go through the swinging door that leads to the front of the shop. I stand at the counter, watching the woman that just entered browse the fresh flowers display, hearing snatches of the song as the door swings to and fro. She is young, maybe in her mid-twenties, with a mess of brown hair running to her waist and a navy-blue summer dress on. But her beauty is not the most interesting thing about her, no. The most interesting thing about her is that I have never seen her before. I open the gate from behind the desk and exit, going to stand beside the stranger.
...... “May I help you?” She smiles at me.
...... “Thanks, darlin’.” Her words are lilted with a Southern accent, honey smooth and gentle on the ears. Not the ‘new Southern,’ the diluted way of speaking that the schools try to enforce, but the twanging, musical kind of half-talking, half-singing. “You can. I’m lookin' for some flowers for my Mee-maw. She’s in the hospital, and I don’t really know that much about pickin’ out flowers. I’d appreciate if you’d help me. I’m fixin’ to go half-crazy just tryin’ ta keep track of my brother who my Mama sent ta live with Mee-maw just as she went inta the hospital. I can’t get my mind straight enough ta figure this out too!” She laughs, and I am surprised she isn’t gasping for air after her explosion of words. I look at her, noting the sadness and exhaustion that is lightly coating her smile.
...... “Alright, then. Does she have any favorite flowers?” I smile at her, and her own grin widens in response.
...... “Yeah. She always loves her irises and I’m pretty certain she’d like some daisies, too. I think somethin’ bright’d work. Not bland. Her hospital room’s so bare.” Her grin is still on her face, and I’m beginning to wonder what it would take to wipe the smile off of her face- it seems almost bolted into place.
...... “Well, today you’re in luck. We happen to have a flower basket that has both in it. It’s in the back, I can go get it I you want to see it?” I turn, going back through the gate after she nods. Upon reaching the door, I hold up my finger in the universal ‘one minute’ sign before disappearing through it. I go to the table full of the flowers we are going to put on display in the afternoon. I search through them until I find the basket of flowers Ms. Maple was working on when I left the room. It is a wicker basket with yellow and white daisies, irises, lavender carnations, and solidaster in it. I don’t risk picking up the handle that is hidden somewhere in the spray of flowers, instead carrying it by the bottom. This, however, results in the flowers blocking my eyesight and using up both of my hands, so I do my best to look through them. Upon reaching the door, I push it open with my back, backing into the room in order to protect the flowers from the possibility of the door swinging back on them. I turn so that I am once more facing the normal way as I reach the counter. I hear the door ding as I set the mahogany-colored basket down on the black countertop.
...... “Will these work?” My words are interrupted by a male voice.
...... “C’mon Jane! I’m bored, and I told David I’d meet 'im at the diner thirty minutes ago!” I look up upon hearing the still-Southern but much more diluted voice, and it’s all I can do not to laugh. The owner of the voice is a guy, nineteen or twenty, with a mess of brown hair, leather jacket, and black sunglasses even though it’s only 10AM. He’s shifting from foot to foot, looking increasingly uncomfortable in front of a stand of baby-pink tulips. She, Jane, sighs.
...... “Hang onna sec’ Jake. I’m just gonna be a tad bit longer.” Her face and tone brighten as she turns back towards me. “These are gorgeous, hun, thanks! I’ll take ‘em.” She pulls out her credit card as I ring her up, and I shake my head.
...... “Sorry, but we only take cash. And it will be $47.38.” ‘Jake’ is now tapping his foot impatiently, hunched over, and glancing out the window every few seconds, as though afraid someone might see him.
...... “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, Jane!” He groans impatiently. I can’t help myself; I snicker. His head whips from the window to me. Jane is fumbling about in her purse, looking for enough money to buy the flowers. His eyebrows furrow, and I get the feeling he is glaring at me from behind his dark sunglasses. “What’re you laughin’ at, carrot-top?” It is my turn to glare at him.
...... “First of all, you might want to take those sunglasses off if you want your glare to be even remotely effective. Second of all, look behind you.” He looks behind himself, and sees the pink tulips for the first time. He growls.
...... “Forget it, Jane. I’ll walk.” He growls as he swings around on the heel of his foot and crashes out the door, the bell shrieking in his wake like a bird being pounced on by a cat. Jane sighs once again as she hands me the money.
...... “Sorry ‘bout him, sugar. He’s a pain in the nether regions, has been all his life.” It’s not her fault to apologize for, so I shrug and gave an ‘it’s okay.’ “You’re a dear, but’s not okay. The boy needs a whuppin’ but there’s no way I’d be able ta give it ta him.” She sighs, and picks up the flowers. “Thank ya’, dearie. These are real beautiful.” The door dings after her, and the room is suddenly devoid of any sentient life besides myself. I realize several minutes later that, apparently, Jake is the wrench that can take her bolted-on-smile off.
♠ ♠ ♠
So, in case any of ya'll are wondering (although you're probably not) yes I live in the South, and yes I (unfortunately) have a Southern accent. Especially when I get extremely emotional. So, even if the way I wrote the accent is wrong, I wrote it off of the way I or, in same cases, my Mee-Maw, yes, that's really what my brother and I call her, and yes, that does mean grandmother. Anyways, She has this deep South, country accent that just oozes into your ears. Of all the voices I have heard hers is definitely my favorite. Augh! Off topic again! O.O ANYWAYS. I wrote it off of the way it sounds when I/Mee-Maw talks. So, it is correct. I'm not being all fake Southern. Plus, different parts of the South speak different ways, so Julia and Jake's accents are based off of Georgian accents. Jake's accent is exactly the same as mine. In fact, I've used the “What’re you laughin’ at, carrot-top?” line before, I think. Any questions about Southern accents, go to this link. Augh. I'm rambling again. Lovely. As always, comments and subscriptions makes the sun shine brighter, the crickets chirp happier, and the sky bright blue. :) OH! And the bouquets look like this. The basket looks like this with these fanning out along the bottom and mixed in among the daisies. 