I didn’t go after him. It was my turn to watch him leave. From the other room, I heard my sister say something. I didn’t hear Father respond.
Dinner that night was very quiet. We sat and ate our rice without a word. Little Sis spoke once, asking for more. Father fulfilled her wish without a word.
Father did this sometimes. When he was really busy with work, he would talk less, as if he was thinking about something. However, this time, he didn’t speak at all. Even after we finished, he sat there, silent at the table, by himself.
Hotaru seemed to notice this kind of silence was different than all the other times. I didn’t know how she knew, but as we were falling asleep that night, she asked me what was wrong with Father. I lied, saying he had a lot of work to think about. “Really?” She would push further. I answered with a closed-mouth affirmation and told her to let me sleep.
The next day, it was sunny outside. Having nothing to do, I wandered outside. I didn’t want an awkward interaction with Father, either. The haze persisted still, though not enough to block out the sun. It still pierced through as if the haze weren’t there.
Despite this, the haze added some novelty to the scene. The forest’s edge was shrouded, not completely, but its darkness lightened. Almost enough to merge it with the white sky. It removed the wall that surrounded our clearing. It felt like we were in the clouds, our little island, with our house just sat in the middle.
This brought some excitement and fantasy to our plain surroundings. I sneaked around, as if I were an explorer, who had landed in a garden in the sky, forbidden to mortals who walked the Earth.
It wasn’t long before I stumbled upon the flower garden, however. I was kicked out of my suspended disbelief, reminded of the patch of dirt that had caused me so much discomfort. Yet, I couldn’t help but become enraptured with the new beauty that’s taken over from before.
The flowers were in full bloom now. It felt like they appeared out of nowhere, since I stopped checking in on their growth. I squatted down to observe them closer. Each head had a countless number of tiny little petals, curved at the tip like a hook. What gave them their true beauty was the way they wove themselves together with the rest, in a dancing spiral towards the center, where it bloomed yellow like the sun. Touching one of the heads, I could feel the weight these stems must hold by the way it bobbed. The weight of a thousand petals.
As I lowered my gaze to the stems, I noticed a familiar shape deep in the undergrowth. In between the leaves of the flowers, which were just as frilled as their heads, I saw a plant with leaves much simpler and a stem much darker. It was small and wimpy compared to the flowers that overshadowed it, but the stem looked menacing to touch. It was one of the garden weeds I had pulled up before.
Then, I saw another one. A larger one, further back. Still below the canopy of a thousand petals, but well on its way to overtake them. Then I noticed another, quite close to the others. And another. Then another. They were everywhere. Cleverly hidden within a blanket of brilliance. The garden of weeds were back to reclaim the patch they had lost.
I looked at them in dismay. There were so many of them. I felt like my home had been invaded by a stranger. No, a mob of strangers. Leeching off of the flowers. The life I had helped to flourish. But now they were threatened by an invader right beneath their noses, somewhere they couldn’t see. Not until it was too late.
I felt obligated to get rid of them. To reach in and tear them out by the stem. To throw their limp bodies on the ground and stomp the life out of them. But as my naked hand brushed along the leaves of the flowers, I was reminded of the lasting irritation I suffered last time, and I hesitated.
They looked manageable in their puny state, but their equally dark stems told me their bite would be just as painful as before. My hand retracted. I stared at the flowers. They shone back with oblivious chastity. They were perfect creatures rooted in an imperfect world. With no shield to guard them from the cruelties that lied below.
I remembered the gloves. I could use them. There was no one else but me. I got up, and thought about where Father put them. Just as I turned to leave, I saw a small silhouette creep up on me. I jumped, but quickly recognized Hotaru standing there, wide eyed. She was pale as a ghost. I wondered if the haze had spooker her, and opened my mouth to sigh. But she spoke first.
“There are scary people at the door.” Her voice was quiet and uneven. “They’re talking with Father.”