Peace Lilies
Bill stands in the kitchen doorway, rocking nervously on his heels. Inside, his mother is preparing something on the stove (chicken-centric, he can tell by the smell of the seasoning.) She hums along to a classical song on the radio.
Humming is a good sign – it usually means she isn't in one of her bad moods.
"Hysterical" is what his father calls it. But his father seems to lump everything from audible sniffling to laughing too loudly under that descriptor, so Bill is pretty sure he doesn't know what he's talking about.
Bill has to listen to his old man at church, and when they're out doing "man's work," and, well, pretty much everywhere else too. But, at least in his own head, he lets his mother name her own emotions.
Come on, what ya waiting for, ya big baby!
It's just one stinkin' question, a single-sentence ask – two sentences at most!
Can I go to the movies today?
Bill wrinkles his nose, finding even his hypothetical voice unconvincing.
The neighbor invited me to the cinema. May I please go?
Still no.
Remember that neighbor kid who came to our door the other day – is it okay if I go to the theater with him? We'll stay together the whole time and be safe, I promise.
Why is he hesitating this much? Obviously Bill is anticipating a no, given his mother's track record. He just isn't sure why that prospective no feels so devastating…
Maybe it's because he knows Frank will stop inviting him to things if Bill isn't ever allowed to go. In fact, he probably won't even want to be friends anymore when he figures out that, for Bill, even the churchyard next door is a significant outing.
Taking a deep breath, Bill finally eases himself into the kitchen.
Here goes nothing…
CRASH
Bill all but jumps out of his skin, startled by the sudden, loud clatter a room over. His mother wheels around, equally spooked, holding her ladle like some sort of weapon
"What happened?!" She looks at her son critically, as if trying to figure out how he'd caused something far out of sight.
Bill opens his mouth to speak, but he's unable to make a sound, much less provide any explanation. So, he settles for a shrug and shake of the head.
After a moment of paralysis, Bill backs out of the kitchen and pivots in the hall to peek into the mudroom. To his abject horror, he finds Frank knelt on the ground, gathering pieces of a shattered pot.
It feels just like one of Bill's nightmares… The surreal blur of dark soil and long leaves painting the ground, speckled with remnants of the handmade clay pot and obscured white flowers.
Oh no. The peace lilies.
If there'd been even an inkling of a chance of his mother letting him go out today, it's long gone now. She'd nurtured those lilies for the past five years; they're her favorites and now they're ruined.
"I… I told you to stay outside."
Frank looks up, teeth gritted in an awkward cross between a grin and a grimace. He's started digging the lilies out with his free hand and laying them atop the surrounding soil.
"I'm r-really sorry! It was an accident." The neighbor boy's eyes are lit up in apologetic agitation.
"You came inside by accident?!"
"No, I… the flowers, I didn't mean to knock them over."
"Why would I think you did that on purpose?!"
"I… don't know, um…"
Bill shuffles aside as his mother steps into the mudroom. She looks from Frank to the mess around him, her lips pursed. Bill feels his heart sink, and he bows his head in preemptive defeat.
He's not sure what to expect – limited experience having friends "over" and all – but he's certain it's going to be bad.
"Oh dear. What happened here?"
His mother's voice is surprisingly soft and inquisitive, nothing like the accusatory tone she'd had in the kitchen. Bill glances up in slight confusion – she doesn't look angry, or even upset; just concerned.
"I'm so very sorry ma'am. I was supposed to wait outside, but I wanted to see your flowers up close and…well…" Frank lets out a breathy, nervous laugh, "I didn't realize the lilies were so close to the door."
If his mother's calm demeanor wasn't already surprising enough, her response certainly catches Bill off guard.
"That's okay honey. They were nearing the end of their lifespan. Are you hurt?"
Honey?!
"No, I'm alright." Though his voice is unwavering, Frank looks down at his hand in a way that suggests otherwise.
"Why don't you put all that down and come inside? Just so we can make sure."
Frank chances a glance at Bill, and then looks back at Bill's mother, uncharacteristically hesitant. He allows the shattered clay to fall from his fingers. "Okay."
As he stands, Frank brushes the soil from his jeans best he can. Bill watches Frank cautiously, noting the thin streaks of red his palm leaves behind on his left pant leg.
"William, grab the first aid kit from the hall closet, would you?" Even as she addresses her son, she's still looking at Frank, a weary smile on her face.
Silently, Bill ducks into the hallway and heads for the closet. What is it about Frank that makes him so damn likable? After pretty much breaking and entering, and obliterating his mother's favorite flowers, somehow he’d still gotten an invitation inside.
Once he's collected the first aid kit, Bill returns to the kitchen. Here, he finds his mother rinsing Frank's hand under the faucet and speaking to him soothingly, "There we go, almost done."
Frank is sitting on the counter, legs dangling. His nose is wrinkled in apparent discomfort, but he doesn't complain, nor does he pull away.
Bill sets the first aid kit on the counter and opens it up. His mother switches the faucet off and dries her hands, extending her arm to ruffle Bill's hair, "Thank you, baby."
As she pulls her hand away, Bill looks up and watches her dig through the kit. He isn't quite sure how to feel about any of this – Frank's less-than-graceful entrance, his mother's sudden attentiveness, the question of the cinema still lingering in the back of his mind…
It isn't as if his mother is normally cruel or distant. Quite the opposite, really – she agonizes over her son in a way that hinges on overbearing. Even so, tender moments like this are few and far between. Bill can't remember the last time she'd ruffled his hair or called him a pet name.
When he was little, she'd done it all the time. Not anymore though, not since he was seven. Not since–
The thought ejects itself from his mind. There are some things too painful to think about in the company of other people; thoughts reserved for late at night, when the daylight is no longer there to keep them at bay.
Bill's mother finishes bandaging Frank's hand. She pats him on the head with a fondness Bill has seldom seen her express to anyone.
"Thank you." Frank smiles politely and hops down from the counter, wiggling the fingers of his bandaged hand. "Can I use your broom?" He motions to where it hangs on the opposite wall.
"No no, that isn't necessary."
Bill takes the broom and dustpan down from the wall, figuring it's his responsibility now. If he hurries, maybe he can still save the lilies.
–
Frank trails Bill back out to the mudroom, intent on being of help somehow. He watches as the other boy kneels down and, careful to avoid the shattered clay, collects the lilies with what's left of their roots.
It's funny – Bill isn't a small kid by any means, with his broad shoulders and surprisingly-built arms, and the remaining baby fat which fills out his cheeks and torso. But he handles the flowers with such care, Frank can only describe the action as dainty.
And Frank wonders if Bill touches everything and everyone that way – with strong, attentive fingers. It's a fleeting thought, lasting only an instant. Yet, it leaves a residual warmth in his cheeks.
"Hey. How can I help?"
Bill does not look up, or properly answer, for that matter. Instead, he murmurs something under his breath, quick and sharp. Frank doesn't know for sure, but it sounds like, "You've done enough."
"Come on – your mom has to keep extra pots and soil, right?"
While he still doesn't look up, Bill does pause at this. Frank cracks a smile, "Tell me where to find them! You and I both know it'll be quicker if I get their new home ready."
Bill seems to contemplate Frank's offer, cradling the lilies in cupped hands. Finally, he sighs and caves, "The shed outside, bottom left shelf."
Frank grins wider and turns on his heel. As he flies out the door, Bill calls out after him, "Don't touch anything else!"
–
Before Frank is even out of sight, Bill immediately regrets sending him to the shed. What if he breaks something else? Surely his mother wouldn't be so charitable a second time.
Bill sighs and tries to reign in his catastrophizing. Unless he’s planning to go over there and watch Frank’s every move, there’s no use in getting preemptively worked up. Besides, if he was gonna do that, Bill might as well have gone to the shed himself. (He should have just gone to the shed himself.)
Setting the lilies off to the side, Bill begins sweeping. His eyes wander outside way more than necessary, but he really can’t help it.
Worrying about other people sure is distracting.
What is taking so long?
Frank emerges from the shed seemingly right on cue, squeezing a bag of soil in his spindly arms. He’s secured an upturned flower pot on top of the bag, molding the soil within to keep the pot in place.
Frank takes his time getting back to the mudroom, eyes tracking every step. Bill meets him at the door – “I’ve got it.” – to take the bag of soil, careful not to move away too quickly. He’s met with no resistance; Frank simply releases the bag and pops the pot off the top.
–
It takes the two of them a good fifteen minutes to get the lilies repotted, between Frank’s bandaged hand and Bill’s general particularness. But no amount of fussing and readjusting can stop the lilies from drooping. Frank watches Bill droop with them.
"Hey, don't give up. I bet the morning sun will perk 'em right up!"
Bill looks up. His eyes are large enough that he almost always looks doe-eyed, even as doubt disrupts his features. He also kind of looks like he wants to cry, but that may just be Frank's imagination. "How would you know?"
"Well, I don't know for sure – I'm not psycho or anything!"
"What?" Bill cocks his brow, frowning.
"You know, I can't tell the future with glass balls or tea, or anything!" Frank elaborates, as if he knows exactly what he's talking about. "But, we did our best, so hopefully it worked."
"Mm." Bill grunts back, unconvinced.
Frank thinks he ought to change the subject.
"Did your mom say anything about the movies?"
-
Bill freezes at Frank's question, because what is he going to say? It's way too embarrassing to admit he hadn't even asked her yet, given that he was inside long enough for Frank to knock over a pot.
But he doesn't want to pretend his mother said no either. And he dare not leave without actually asking.
"Uh…"
Frank seems to suss him out without any effort at all.
“Wanna go ask her now; together?”
Bill blinks. The offer is unexpected.
But then, Frank is quite possibly the only person he’s ever met where unexpected doesn’t always mean bad.
“Okay.”