Velvet Petals

The inflorescence of the orchid emits a glow, all the way through the ruptures of life. Chaos sits quietly as the inviting aroma of the blossom soothes him into a serene place. The exquisite orchid is life, a mystifying, extraordinary creation full of spirit. It curls up and ceases to exist when the sun turns away and the water no longer flows to it. The orchid opens up its pedals one by one, letting love slip in.

His youthful face was distinguished from his brother by the oval scar etched into his tender skin. John's energetic, mocha eyes darted away from the beaming sun as it highlighted his dimples. His straight back slackened as his sculpted calves relaxed into the chair. Sipping iced water loudly with one hand, he pushed the vast amount of hair that covered his eyes to the left side.

"Just hold on. I'll do the rest" his eyes assured mine as his well-built shielding hands placed a helmet on my head. No, not the motorcycles ride. I'll probably fall off the back.

My white knuckles relaxed into his black leather coat as I wave of comfort and excitement rained on me. As I carefully rested my chin on his shoulder, my wind-chapped lips grinned. 'What is he on a scale one to ten' my friends will ask me in two hours. 'Stop it' my quavering voice would say as butterflies flew around euphorically in the pit of my stomach.

"What are you thinking about?" John turned slightly before we got off the bike, so that I caught a whiff of his distinctive, charming smell.

My bronzed summer skin transpired into a cherry red color as I intertwined his hand into mine.

"He died on the spot..." My aunt's once-comforting voice fades away into the immense black hole.

Sitting in Mrs. Colsbed's bland-decorated biology class I played the conversation over and over again in my head. It's about John. Last night he was hit by a van. He didn't suffer at all. They were coming from the temple. I'm so sorry. I know how close you were. It just had to be him; Not anyone else. Why, why, why! I wanted to scream out to the world. I feel almost greedy wishing it were one of our other friends. My eyes want to let go of all the burden it's been given.

The cooling, ruthless wind burned my ears as my feet hit the pavement from the bus steps down into a treacherous world. Rushing to my room was an instinct; it was my temple. It would now contain the saddest feelings I would ever pour out.

"He's in a better place" my sister thought she could convince me.

"What are you talking out? He can't leave. It's not true! It's a mistake" I ran to my bed seeking safety from this cruel world.

I sat rocking myself to comfort my tired body, waiting. I wanted that ringing noise so bad I heard it even though it wasn't real. Maybe it was the wrong person. This doesn't happen in real life. He was too good to be true. They must have misidentified the victim.

His soft mocha eyes penetrated through mine, with heat so strong it resonated with me hours later. Throughout the nights in my aunt's miniscule guest bed, I re-played every moment spent with him. A smile formed as quickly it disappeared.

My tears were no longer existent. Maybe my heart had no heartache left to spare for John.

Feet trudging to my aunt's gate, my luggage fell with a thud against the coarse pavement I haven't stepped on in over two years.

My heavy eyes rested on the grave. Scanning the typical carved writing more closely, it faintly glimmered as if to remind us he's still around. The world around me spun in circles into it was moving so fast it was only me, standing on the freshly watered soil in front of John's grave. How I longed to melt into his familiar arms, become one again. I just hope he can hear me right now. What a person you were, deserving of all the love and bliss we could possibly give you. Lighting the wind-blown out candles, love and warmth hovered over my shoulders.

The out of the ordinary silhouette of ease and joy fill my eyes with emotion as I graze my fingertips along the vibrant flowing clouds she releases from her palms. The velvety, lighthearted petals of her dress was the gentle breeze of a summer night caressing my face. As I look into the broken eyes of a John's mother, I hand her the painting.