Featured Student Writer: Grace Anderson
Please enjoy the short story, "Of Ribbons and Bouquets" by Visions In Education's student, Grace Anderson. "Of Ribbons and Bouquets" is published in our student collection of poetry and prose, Paper Wings.
Of Ribbons and Bouquets
Grace Anderson
The first time he can remember is really the fourth. He is helping his mother in the shop when a large woman with orange hair comes in. He’s never seen her before. He is five years old.
The fifth time he’s a little more daring. When the woman with the orange hair comes in he says hello and she crouches down at eye level. She asks all sorts of questions and when she asks how old he is, he says he’s six because it’s the truth. She smells like apple pie.
By the sixth time he begins to notice the pattern so he asks the lady that smells like apple pie why she keeps coming in. She responds by opening her wallet and showing him a picture of a little girl. She has the same orange hair but it’s wilder and curlier and pulled back in ribbons. He wonders if she smells like apple pie too.
Three more times pass without incident. Apple pie lady comes in each year, buys a dozen daffodils, and leaves.
The twelfth time he’s working because mother has a cold. He gets the flowers himself. The apple pie lady smells a little less like apple pie and has lines under her eyes. He thinks she looks sad.
The fourteenth time is different. It’s earlier and it’s raining outside and when the apple pie lady comes in the little girl from the picture is with her. She’s not very little anymore. He almost doesn’t recognize her because now her curls are tamed and she has two white ribbons in her hair and he doesn’t say it, but he thinks she’s just about the prettiest person he’s ever seen.
Apple pie lady comes alone the fifteenth time. She has glasses now.
The sixteenth time the girl with the ribbons comes alone, except now she only has one ribbon in her hair. He tells her this and she smiles a big toothy grin that shows her gums and makes his stomach do flip-flops. She smells like daffodils.
The seventeenth and eighteenth time it’s just him and her, and he couldn’t be happier. She smiles easily and sometimes her hair is curly and sometimes it’s not but it’s always orange and there’s always a ribbon there.
The nineteenth time she doesn’t come.
The twentieth there’s no sign of her.
The twenty-first he’s alone.
He’s surprised to see her on the twenty-first-and-three-fourths time. Her hair is up and she’s not wearing a ribbon, and this time she doesn’t get daffodils, she gets roses instead. She keeps rubbing her face like she hasn’t slept in days.
The twenty-second time her eyes are red and she’s wearing black. There’s still no ribbon in her hair. He asks her what’s wrong and she says she’s going to a funeral. She says that apple pie lady was sick and that’s why she bought the roses. She looks like she’s going to cry so he offers to come with her and she hugs him. She still smells like daffodils.
The twenty-third time he takes the day off and brings her a dozen daffodils. She gives him that same toothy grin.
The twenty-fourth time he brings her the flowers and they go to a park. She kisses him about a thousand times and he feels like his cheeks are going to fall off from smiling.
The twenty-fifth time he brings her a diamond ring instead. She has two ribbons in her hair and cries when he gives it to her.
The twenty-sixth time they’re moving boxes into their new apartment. She tries to scold him when he brings the flowers but she kisses him instead.
The twenty-seventh time he almost forgets and she looks a little sad when he brings the flowers, but she smiles anyway. There are no ribbons in her hair.
The twenty-eighth time she tells him and they both cry.
The twenty-ninth time her hair is all gone and she can’t wear her ribbons anymore. She still smiles that same grin when he brings the flowers. She tells him not to forget and he says “never.”
The thirtieth time it’s dark and he’s been putting it off, but he gets in his car and goes to the cemetery anyway. He leaves a dozen daffodils at a fresh grave.
The fortieth time he brings three bouquets. One for Her, one for the Apple Pie Lady, and one for his mother.
The fiftieth time he takes the day off work and looks at pictures at a young woman with orange hair.
The sixtieth time he goes early because he has a backache.
The seventieth time he tells the nurses a story about a girl with ribbons in her hair and a dozen daffodils. They say it’s a miracle he still remembers, but he doesn’t listen.
The seventy-second, and last, time the nurses take him to her grave and he smiles. That night he welcomes sleep.
When he opens his eyes there’s a girl with orange hair and ribbons. She smiles her toothy grin, gives him a dozen daffodils, and says “thank you.”
Grace Anderson is an overemotional sixteen-year-old who is not overly fond of writing autobiographies and does not know whether or not "tall" is an accurate descriptor for her anymore. She spends a copious amount of time on the Internet thinking about fictional relationships because she can’t be bothered to make one of her own, and she fancies herself a writer on occasion. She wrote “Of Ribbons and Bouquets” because she thought of the sentence, “The first time he can remember is actually the fourth” once while she was in the bath and decided to write something that would make her mother cry. She succeeded in this endeavor, so the piece has very much lived up to its potential. If she has any piece of advice for young writers it is, “Make sure to write about your science teacher with the bushy mustache in a less than flattering way because there is no better way to work out your unresolved anger.”
