Hesperis

By Jessica Groves

Sixteen and crazy. That’s how I would describe myself all those years ago. The majority of my friends were boys, and that caused a lot of drama. Maybe it was a little ill-mannered, but it made me feel wanted when I made them jealous, telling one guy about another’s date proposal, listening to his excuses about why it was a bad idea....

But there was this one guy who I really liked. I found I could tell him most anything. I trusted him.  

But he didn’t feel the same way.  

“You’re a great friend,” he would tell me. “Nah, this is my little sister,” he’d tell others.  

But one day, things changed. He lost all his other friends in a fight, and we started spending a lot of time together. A few months later, when we were hanging out, he thanked me. “I would have never made it without you,” he said. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have gone insane. Something pretty bad would have happened, I think.” Then he said, “You are wonderful.” And then he left.  

As I was walking home,  I saw a small purple flower that caught my attention. Purple was his favorite color. I put it in my pocket and continued on my way.  I kept replaying the scene over and over again. Did he love me? Was I just imagining it? Did I actually mean that much to him? 

I was always a superstitious person. I resolved for some idiotic reason, to put whatever happens to however many petals the flower had. So, I took the flower from my pocket and I picked the first petal, “He loves me”, threw it on the ground, picked another, “He loves me not,” threw it on the ground. I did this several times, and then I got to the last petal. 

“He loves me not.”

Heartbroken, I threw the destroyed stem on the ground and ran home. He didn’t love me, just as a friend. Or worse, a sister. Those moments, our bond, they were gone. I would never be able to look at him again without realizing he would never love me, so I resolved to end the friendship.

I flung myself face down on my bed and cried. For hours. I didn’t know losing him would hurt so much, but there I was.  Looking back, I realize that it might have been a little premature to base his feelings on the petals of a flower, but in that moment, that meant everything.  

Finally, I sat up, wiping my eyes. I had plenty of other options, though I knew I wouldn’t be able to feel the same about anyone else. My hand idly went to the pocket I had put the flower in, trying to find my house key so I could finally put it back after my little episode. Instead, my fingers grabbed something else. Silky and smooth. I pulled it out. 

And smiled. 

There, in my hand, was another purple petal. 

He loves me.