The Garden of Voices

A Story by TwinSpirits

Some say they speak for nature, because it doesn't have a voice of it's own. What if nature really does have a voice? What if we're just deaf to it? What if nature can speak for us as well?

It was a day like any other, the day that changed my life forever--the day I met him. Nothing was really out of the ordinary. The sun was shining, the bees were buzzing, and the school was bustling with students who were eager to learn. We were paying to go there, after all. You’d have to be an idiot to be paying to go to a school if you didn’t want to learn--but that’s beside the point. What I really want to tell you about is how we met. I want to share his story. I want to share our story.

It all started with a simple encounter. I was running late, and the bell was just about to ring to signal the start of first period. I was sprinting through the hallway, holding tightly to my one-strap backpack. By chance, he had been running late as well, but his class was on the other side of the school. Neither of us were expecting such a simple thing to start what it did--but... it did. We collided in the hallway, entirely by accident, sending his books and papers flying from his arms, scattering them across the white tiled floor. I didn’t really think about what had happened. All that I knew was that it was my fault--at least, that was how I felt at the time--I had to help him.
As I collected his papers, which everyone else seemed to be ignoring as they stepped on them and swept them further down the stretch, he sat up on the ground and began rubbing his lower back.
“I wasn’t watching where I was going.” I explained quickly as I helped him back up onto his feet. “I’m so sorry.” I begged for his forgiveness--but he said nothing. He just smiled at me and grinned the goofiest grin I had ever seen in my entire life. It was so infectious. Just seeing someone that happy could brighten anyone’s day. You’d have to be made of stone not to grin just as wide after seeing that big, goofy smile of his. I didn’t just smile back--I began giggling, which quickly escalated into a full-out fit of laughter.
He just... sat there...with that adorable, goofy smile, looking as if he too were about to burst into a fit of laughter. It was great, but our lighthearted moment was not meant to last. The bell for first period chimed throughout the school--echoing through the hallway. Great... they locked the doors from the first bell until the end of each period. Neither of us were getting to class that day.

Neither of us were smiling anymore either. If anything, he seemed more upset about the situation than I was. I wondered why, but that was until I took a good look at some of the papers I had in my hands. He was supposed to take a test that day in class. Great. Because I couldn’t take the time to just walk through the school earlier, he would get a failing grade. Just wonderful. It was all my fault. Why couldn’t I have just walked to class like everyone else?

Before I could drill further into the subject, I felt a gentle, warm hand on my shoulder. As I glanced up, my eyes rested upon his face. He didn’t seem upset anymore. No. He was just looking back at me with that big, goofy smile of his--which coaxed one from me as well. How could he do that? How could someone I had just met do that? As I looked into his eyes, those sensitive, leaf-green eyes of his, I noticed it. There was something there.

I was so silly to think it, but I couldn’t help myself. I was young. I was foolish. I believed in those stupid fairy tales that always ended happily. To me, it looked like...No...I felt like I knew him. I felt like we had known each other forever--but in reality I knew absolutely nothing about the boy. All I knew was that he had the biggest, goofiest grin I had ever seen and that he could make me smile. That was all I felt like I needed to know at the time.

From that day forth, we grew closer and closer. He was my best friend. I could tell him absolutely anything, and he’d never criticize me for feeling the way I did, or acting the way I did. In fact, I don’t think I ever heard him criticize anyone for anything--I had never heard a word come from his mouth, not even once. According to his few friends that I had met, he just didn’t have much to say about anything. When I asked if they thought it was weird that he chose not to speak, they just smiled and told me that someday he’d tell me exactly how he felt. They told me that someday he’d finally open up and speak to me; that he’d open up to me when he knew I’d understand, when he knew that I wouldn’t judge him--when he knew that he could trust me entirely.
I thought that he already trusted me? Did I do something to prove to him otherwise? Admittedly, I didn’t think about it much--I just assumed the worst. He didn’t trust me. He thought that I’d make fun of him. When I recalled that I had asked his friends if they thought he was weird...guilt began to consume me. I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. I was just curious. I had to know why he didn’t speak at the time, but now...I just wanted to know why he didn’t trust me. I could understand...kind of. Maybe I could do something to make him trust me? No... I wasn’t exactly the smartest girl back then. My rash decision? I would walk right up to him, and demand to know why he didn’t. And so I did.

At lunch, I slammed my tray down in front of him, instead of setting it down gingerly like I usually did, which caught his attention. He jumped back with wide eyes before looking up at me curiously--yet cautiously. His eyes... those eyes of his. They seemed to be speaking for him. They were asking me--begging me--why I had startled him for no apparent reason. As he began to relax, the question they held changed. He wanted to know who, or what, had upset me so. My heart felt like it was sinking by then. I couldn’t do it, I thought. It was rude... but then again, I had never done anything to make him doubt me in any way. Without really thinking about the words that came from my mouth, I blurted out:
“Why don’t you trust me?!” His only reply? An up-turned eyebrow.
“Your friends said that you don’t trust me enough to talk to me! Why don’t you trust me?! It’s not like I’m going to make fun of you for your voice! I don’t care if it’s high pitched like a bird, or low like a bass guitar, TELL ME WHY!” I demanded viciously. He kept his mouth shut. His only real response made my heart sink further... I had crushed him. He avoided all possible eye contact with me. Only once did he look up at me, but it was such a quick glance that I couldn’t have read the hidden message in his eyes--even if I wanted to.

Without a word, he scooted his chair back and briskly walked away from the table--from the lunch room--from me... I tried to follow him, but I eventually lost track of him in the mass of bodies that engulfed the hallways between classes. What had I done? I had crushed one of the nicest guys I had ever met in my entire life--one who I could talk to about anything. I had lost my best friend.

Believe me, for those of you who have never felt that pain, it hurts. Oh, believe me it hurts. It feels like a bee has stung your heart, but the pain doesn’t feel temporary at the time--it feels like it could last a lifetime. Maybe you could pull the stinger out? It’d still hurt...it’d make it worse. Instead of just letting the wound heal, you’d be letting it bleed out all over the place. The best thing to do is just let the wound heal--let it fix itself. That doesn’t mean you can’t apply ointment--just don’t get rid of the stinger, or you’ll regret it.

Being young and foolish, not following my own advice...I ripped the stinger from my chest. I just ignored him--like he ignored me. We didn’t eat lunch together anymore. We didn’t study together. We didn’t do anything together. We just... went our separate ways. Even though I was sure we both felt as if it were necessary at the time... I couldn’t help the feeling that it wasn’t supposed to be like that. We were supposed to talk. We were supposed to joke around. We were supposed to be near one another. I know I shouldn’t have thought it...I know I shouldn’t have felt it--but I did. We were soul-mates. We were meant to be friends. That’s why we had gotten along so well without even getting to know one another at first. It was meant to be.

With that feeling--that wonderful, happy feeling--healing my bleeding heart, I took a chance. At lunch, I approached him again--only this time, I was careful not to slam my tray down, or to startle him in any way. At first, when I sat down, he didn’t even look up at me. That didn’t last long, however. With a simple “hi”, his head snapped up with that big, goofy smile of his. It felt like we had never been apart--like we hadn’t fought, even for a moment.

Before I could even apologize, he stopped me by holding out his hand. While keeping me quiet with that hand, he rummaged through his backpack with the other one. When his eyes lit up, I knew that he had found whatever it was that he had been looking for. ... ... ... I just wasn’t expecting it, was all.

If this happened to you, like it happened to me, you wouldn’t have believed it, would you have? Young men weren’t known for being romantic--let alone boys in High School, like him. What shocked me so much? What took me by utter surprise? ... Without any warning, he, my best friend, pulled out a puffy golden flower. How did I know it was for me? For one, I was the only other one at the table aside from him, but I guess someone could have given it to him now that I think about it--but that’s beside the point. How did I really know it was for me? It was obvious when he handed it to me--virtually forcing it upon me. For once, I was the one who was speechless. Not a word escaped from my mouth--not a single one.

I couldn’t think of what to say. I thought that I had made it clear to him that I wasn’t looking for anyone--that I wasn’t interested in him that way. He was my best friend--nothing more. We could have been more...but what if we had been, and we had broken up? At that time, I couldn’t have imagined my life without him. Just thinking about never being able to talk to him again made tears form around the rims of my eyes. Maybe he had gotten the wrong impression? Maybe he had felt this way all along, and that was why his friends had told me that he wouldn’t talk to me until he trusted that I wouldn’t judge him. That was it. He had had a crush on me the entire time! For some reason, instead of feeling happy... I felt my blood begin to boil over. I guess that’s what I got with my fiery temper back then.
“Really?” Was all I could say--all I could ask--before I stormed off with my backpack and the flower. At the time, I couldn’t help but hate him--oh, I hated him. I hated that flower, too. I hated everyone... Maybe I wasn’t mad about the flower... Maybe I was mad because he still hadn’t said a word to me, even after welcoming me back so quickly. Did he still not trust me? That, I would never really know.

I ignored him for days, which turned into weeks. I ignored him for weeks, which turned into months. It felt like a never-ending cycle. That was until, one day, I found a beautiful purple flower hanging from the side of my locker. It was absolutely stunning. At first, I questioned who had left it for me, but then I recalled the yellow flower. Even after months of me ignoring him, he still felt that way for me? How clueless was this guy? After picking the flower from the edge of my locker, the question changed. How heartless was I? My emotions immediately told me to just keep on ignoring him--that he would eventually drop it and that we could eventually be friends again. And so I did.

For the rest of the school year, I avoided him at all costs--yet the flowers still came, almost every day. Clovers, pink roses, verbena--at one point, just grass. Why couldn’t he let me go? Why couldn't he drop it? It was driving me insane! I no longer felt bad for ignoring him--now I felt angry. He was becoming VERY annoying. He was getting on my bad side.

I took it to another level. I switched classes so that I wouldn’t see him at lunch, or in the hallways. I wouldn’t see him at all, and he wouldn’t see me. That was how I wanted it to be. I thought the plan was fool-proof...but the flowers still came. Jonquils, hyacinths, ferns and red carnations. Why? Why me? Why him? Why did he not understand? I continued to ignore him.

Eventually, they stopped coming altogether. Only, now I wasn’t relieved. I was... sad. Why did it stop? I thought he wanted to be with me? Then, it hit me. Was it me? Was it my fault? I was too young, too foolish, to understand that it was absolutely my fault. ... Luckily, it didn’t take me long to come to the realization that it was entirely my fault--that I was the one who didn’t understand his gifts, or their meanings.

Unfortunately, it took me quite some time to find the right answers. I searched online--I searched everywhere. I tried to figure out if it meant anything. Usually, if a guy liked you, and if he was giving you flowers, he would stick with one kind--or at least with the cheap, but pretty kind. This guy was different. He brought a new kind of flower almost every other week. The inside of my locker was beginning to look like a garden of sorts, because of him.
The internet didn’t really help much. Anywhere I went, anyone I asked, I got the same answer.
“Oh, sweety! He’s clearly in love with you!” No. This was different--I could feel it deep in my gut. These flowers--they meant something. Finally giving up on the internet, I switched to my local Library, where I was almost immediately told to look in the back--near the cultural section. Cultural? Why there? Shouldn’t I have looked in the Gardening section? Shrugging it off, I went to take a look.

There it was--far in the back, covered in mold and dust--a book which had likely never been touched from the day it arrived in the Library, “The Language of Flowers”. I had found it! I had found what I was looking for, I just knew it! Without any hesitation, and without even looking inside of it to see if it really was what I was searching for, I ripped the book from the shelf and checked it out. Hardly five minutes afterward, I was at home, reading through the book--page after page. It was incredible. Each flower, each plant, had it’s own meaning--even trees and grasses! Grasses? My eyes widened at the thought. It didn’t take me long to dig every flower he had ever gotten me out of my backpack. Most of them were wilted and crushed, but I could still tell what they were.
I lined them up, just as the book instructed me to do, and began to read their meanings before forming them into sentences that actually made sense!

The first, the puffy, golden flower? It was an Acacia’s. According to that book, he was telling me that he really valued our friendship, and that he wished that we could stay friends. I felt horrible. I had crushed him not only once, but TWICE. I had ignored him for so long because of a stupid misunderstanding! I was an idiot! I was heartless! He didn’t deserve a friend like me... if I could even call myself his friend anymore after that.

Despite how much it pained me, I continued to read the flowers.

The beautiful, three-petaled, purple flower? It was a bee-orchid. He realized that I had misunderstood what he meant when he had given me the flower. He realized that I took it as a display of inappropriate affection--when in reality, he was just telling me that he just wanted to be friends.

Now, it was really starting to hurt--but I kept reading.

The flowers, from when I first started ignoring him, told me something different--they didn’t tell me that he wanted to be friends...
“I am afraid to show my feelings to you, but I feel as if I must tell you anyway. From day one, you had cast a spell over me, a spell which could not be broken--not even by the most powerful of gales, but I now understand the way things must be between us. We were only friends, and that’s all we will ever be...”

The flowers that he had given me afterward told an even more sorrowful tale, which had actually brought tears to my eyes.
“I didn’t mean to drive you away. Please, talk to me! This is unbearable!”
Tears streamed steadily from my eyes that night. I could hardly sleep after finding out about what he had been trying to tell me the entire time--what I had been ignoring. I had been causing him so much pain...it was all my fault. Then, it hit me. Right then--ever so luckily--an idea sprung into my head. I began flipping through the pages. If he could tell me something by using the flowers, I could tell him how I felt, too.

The next morning, I plucked a single daffodil from my mother’s garden--she wouldn’t miss it--and brought it to school, just for him. When I passed him in the hallway, I grabbed onto his shoulders and pushed him back against the wall. He wasn’t about to get away from me. I wouldn’t let him just walk off after everything I went through the night before. His eyes were wide with surprise, but they softened when he spotted the flower in my backpack. I nodded, letting him know that it was from me, to him. He reached back and plucked it from the side of the lace, smiling when he looked it over. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew what I was asking for. He knew that I was sorry--deeply sorry--and that all I wanted was his forgiveness, and for us to try to be friends again.

The day afterward, he handed me a Hydrangea--asking me why I had changed my mind so suddenly. I had a feeling that he would ask that, so I had made sure to pick an assortment of flowers to answer his questions that day--but the only one I needed to give him at that moment was a Peony. I was still so sorry. I wanted him to know how badly I felt for being so insensitive. Even if he did have a crush on me at the time, as his flowers told me. I shouldn’t have been so insensitive toward the way he felt for me--regardless of how he felt.
He had picked an assortment of flowers as well, which brought a smile to my face. He knew that we would have a lot to talk about--but instead of handing me a bouquet, he handed me only one flower--a Dahlia. He wasn’t sure what to say to me, or how to approach me anymore. I had been ignoring him for so long...he felt a little overwhelmed.

Again, I handed him a Daffodil, asking for his forgiveness once more. Instead of continuing on happily, like we had been for at least a couple of minutes...he just walked away. Whenever I tried to speak with him, he would avoid me at all costs--what was going on? I thought that we had made some sort of breakthrough? I guessed otherwise... he ignored me for weeks on end...almost a full month.

That was it, our friendship was over, just like that. It was my fault anyways... At least that was how I felt at the time, but that was until I went to my locker at the end of the week. There, I found a slightly wilted Daffodil--it looked exactly like the one I had given him before he left. With a heavy heart, I smiled and pulled it from the edge of the metal and stuffed it into my pocket before opening the locker.

Inside, to my utter surprise, was a beautiful bouquet. It consisted of Broom, gorse, bulrush and daisies--at least, according to my book that was what they were. Smiling wildly, I read the hidden message within the display.
“I am sorry for ignoring you...you’re my first real friend. I only wanted to share my happiness. I realize now that my expressions were uncalled for, but... truth be told, this is the only way I can talk to you. You see, I’m mute. I have no voice--so my flowers speak for me.”

It brought me to tears. Little did I know, he was standing right behind me. I didn’t figure it out until I backed up, sobbing, and ran into him. He embraced me, held me tightly, until the water stopped flowing--until I could finally talk to him. When I was able to, the first words that slipped from my mouth were:
“Let’s try again”.

Throughout the rest of the year, through the summer and up until Senior Year, we continued to speak in our secret language. Like our flowers, love began to bloom--and like him, it spoke for itself without any need for words. Like permafrost, it felt like it would last forever.

Even when we went to different colleges, separated by the states, we sent flowers to each other every day. Sometimes they were a little late, but that was to be expected with such a long road-trip--nonetheless, they were still beautiful--and needless to say, our love never withered. It never died.

On our first date, about a month after college, he dropped to the ground, on one knee, and smiled up at me with that giant, goofy smile of his. Tears formed around the rims of my eyes when he showed me what was held within the fragile box in his hand. Instead of a ring, he gave me a glass rose with a little, hand-written note attached to it. Just seeing that note made me sob uncontrollably. He had never spoken once--nor had he ever written anything that I could read--which made this even more special. On the note, it read:
“As long as this flower lives, our love will never die.”
On the back, there was yet another note.
“We’ve spent years together, though for the majority of them, we were apart... I’m tired of feeling like our love is withering. I want to plant soil around it’s roots and give it the purest water I can find. Though I can give it all of that... you’ve got the only thing that makes it worthwhile. You not only hold the sky in your eyes, you are the sun itself in my world. You are the only thing that makes my flowers grow--but enough with this sappy talk. Will you Marry Me?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, I threw my arms around his neck and planted the biggest kiss I possibly could have at the time on his lips. This time, I wasn’t going to be the one to talk. That was my answer. Yes.

For our Wedding, the Bouquet was made of White Roses and Cherry Blossoms--beautiful to all who saw it, and meaningful to the both of us. Our love was pure, and would grow with each day. Even at the altar, we spoke no vows--only exchanged a flower each. For him, a Dandelion. For me, a Buttercup. The future was ours, and all we had, we’d share with each other. Unlike any before us, our bond was sealed with the unification of a Cornflower and a Hibiscus.

Not even a year had passed before we learned that we had sown a seed of our very own--a product of our love for one another--a flower to speak for the both of us, even after we were long gone. She, just like our love--just like our flowers--grew a little each day. It didn’t take long for it to look like I had swallowed a Watermelon whole, which he poked fun of constantly--but I knew that he was just playing. We both loved our little daughter--we just couldn’t wait to meet her.

Upon the moment of her birth, he gave her a tiny, yet-to-be-blossomed tulip--the very tulip she grasped onto as if she knew what it meant--as if she knew what all of it was about--as if she knew how to speak in the Language of The Flowers. She was a gift from the very earth that had given rise to our many flowers over the years...
He turned to me with a gentle smile. I knew what the flower meant. In my eyes, he saw himself, but in her eyes, he saw his soul--our souls. What would we name her? It was obvious, was it not? Lily, a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.

Her name stood for many things, but to us, it stood for only one thing. She was the product of our love--of the flowers that bound us together--of Mother Earth and Father Sky. She was not only our lily, but a true lily--spiritual and pure.

Her arrival sparked a new outlook for him. An outlook we both shared...He started a garden--a beautiful garden full of the most exotic and common, beautifully arranged flowers I had ever seen. Not one species could have been missing, I believed. It was too large of a garden--too much care was put into it for it not to hold every possible flower there ever was.

Some flowers, I didn’t know their meanings...and so he helped me. After sorting the various kinds into small rows, he put what kind they were, along with what they stood for. It made me so happy to know that we would always have our language, and that we would never have to actually say anything to one another to express our love for one another.

Years passed, and Lily grew. Just like always, our love grew with her...but it wasn’t long before she, too, had to head off to College. It was an emotional time for both of us. Our little Lily had bloomed into a wonderful young woman--eager to take in all of the knowledge she possibly could. Eager to please. Eager to love, to laugh... to learn. It was time for her to start a life of her own.

When she left, we both fell silent for days...but we weren’t lonely. We had each other. We would always have each other--in sickness and in health. Little did I know that those vows of ours, those heavy, pure vows of ours, would be put to the test one day.

Less than a year had passed since Lily left, and he grew horribly ill. According to the doctors, he would not be getting any better. Whatever he had, it was terminal, and it would only get worse from there. Needless to say, it broke my heart--it broke my heart so much to know that such a wonderful, unique man--the same man which was the absolute cause of every happy moment in my life--would no longer be who he once was.

It didn’t take long for the Chemo to start. His skin turned a sickly pale green, and his skin sunk in deeply around his eyes. He looked tired... he looked as if he needed to rest, but we both knew that the only rest that would satisfy his soul, the only rest peaceful enough after all of this, would be the final rest. Neither of us wanted it to happen in the first place. I couldn’t stand to see him that way.

I remember when he began losing his hair in large clumps--how each morning he would wake up and more would be on the pillow, while less was on his head.

It broke my heart...

Each day, I brought him flowers from our garden to comfort him--to help him feel better--to let his soul rest. Even then, as he lied on the bed--which was likely the last bed he would ever have slept on--he gave me his big, goofy smile--the very same one he gave me the day we first met.
I had to leave the room. I couldn’t handle it. Seeing him in so much pain, but seeing him be so happy? That was impossible to bare. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Tears ran steadily from my eyes, and rolled down my cheeks. The only man I had ever loved, despite our differences at first, was there in bed...dying of some sort of cancer--something a man like him should never have gotten.

My sobs grew louder. He said that he’d always love me. He promised that he’d never leave me, yet there he was--with that stupid, goofy smile of his. Didn’t he realize how badly it was hurting him--how badly it hurt me? I stopped. I misunderstood... He was looking at life for what it was, not expecting it to be what it wasn’t. I sniffled. Seeing me cry wouldn’t help him at all.

With that, I entered the room confidently and kissed him on his forehead. Immediately, he tilted it up just enough to give me a big, goofy grin once more before handing me a small flower--one that he forced into the palm of my hand--one that he made me wait to see. His nurse told me that he didn’t want me to see what kind of flower it was until I left the room--but he wanted me to stay just a little longer.

As I looked into his eyes, as I saw that wonderfully infectious, goofy smile of his...I watched the life leave from them--though the smile remained frozen on his face. Immediately, I ran from the room and began to cry. He was gone. He was really gone. Just then... I felt the petals in my hand. When I opened it, ever so gently, I realized why he didn’t want me to see it before I was out of the room. The flower? A Forget-me-Not. Somehow, in that flower, I could see him--I could tell that he wasn’t really gone...I could tell that, no matter what, he would always live on, and that he never wanted me to forget him. And I didn’t.

Now, each day, I walk out into and tend to my garden with the same amount of care he always did. I use the soil he left over, and the rain water he collected in large towers over the years--the purest of water. The funniest thing is... no matter when I go out into the field, the sun is always shining--even on the cloudiest of days. I feel like he’s watching over me, even though he’s no longer with me in person--letting me know that I’m still his sunshine.

Every day, I look at the glass rose that I have always kept next to a picture of us together. And some days, when I go out into the fields... I can swear I hear his voice. That’s right... his voice--because whenever the flowers in the garden bend, I know it’s him talking to me in the only way he knows how.