Weeds and flowers (flash fiction)
It was a Tuesday and I was at Shari’s weeding behind her day lilies when it popped into my head that I loved him. I didn’t miss a beat with the trowel, but that’s not to say the realisation had no effect on me, because it did. From his crooked bottom teeth to the scar on his jawline that I’d given him during our handstand efforts at Mitchell’s Park when we were seven, he’d never occurred to me as a romantic candidate.
I edged over to the little patch of garden that I actually cared about – the patch around the statue Shari’s mom had chosen – and found I couldn’t dislodge the idea. It was certain that I loved him. But I never got to tell him, at least not so he could hear me. That weekend I just had to lay down my flower like everyone else and then walk away.