The Florist WORDS BY DENA EHRLICH
“Nasturtium, that’s a pretty name for a pretty girl,” the man says. You look up to acknowledge that he has said something, but you say nothing back. He is wearing the same plaid shirt he wears every day. You wonder if it is in fact the same shirt, or if he has one for every day. You are thinking about what kind of laundry detergent he uses when he asks you a question. “Say, what have you got there, little lady?” “Flowers.” “Pretty flowers for a pretty lady,” He looks down at your chest and sees your nametag. “Nasturtium, I could just eat you up.” The man continues to stare at your chest and then at 1
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the bouquet of dahlias you are building. You silently curse your parents for calling you Nasturtium, and then yourself for working with a florist. The man leaves without saying anything and you continue working. He comes back ten minutes later with a dozen roses from the other flower shop on the block. “Ma’am, you’re awfully pretty, would you like to go to dinner with me tonight?” You look up at him and see that he is grinning and holding a bouquet of yellow roses out in front of him, focusing on your forehead, never your eyes. “Oh that’s very sweet, but I can’t,” is what you usually say. Today is different. Today you say, “I’d love to,” walk up to him and take the roses. “I–I didn’t mean it,” the man stammers, staring at the ground. “Then, why?” You feel like an ass. “I, I, I just think you’re pretty. That’s all.” You give him back the roses and return to your post behind the counter. The man walks out of the store and you never see him again. …
You walk down the street and into a florist shop like you do every single day. The same pretty girl is standing at the counter arranging flower bouquets. You make conversation with her while you muster up the courage to ask her to dinner. You get flustered and leave the shop. You walk two blocks down the street and go to another shop. The man behind the counter is not pretty, but he says hello 2
and hands over a dozen yellow roses without you asking. The man shouts “Good luck!” as you leave the store. This makes you more nervous than you already are. You walk back to the florist shop with the pretty girl and you look at her face. A really tall and nice lady on the street once told you that girls like to be looked at up here and pointed towards her forehead. You hold out the roses and ask her to go to dinner with you. She says yes and takes the bouquet. You don’t know what to do. She usually says no. You don’t have enough money to give to the man behind the counter at the other shop. You panic and take back your invitation. She returns the roses and you go back to the other florist to return the flowers. “Maybe next time,” the man says. You leave without saying anything and go directly home. A nice lady in a powder blue outfit gives you a cup of pills and a glass of water. You tell her you don’t ever want to go outside again and you cry cry cry into her bosom.
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