Purple Hydrangeas

        The sweat in his palms accumulates. Some pelt the ground like bullets while the rest build, loosening his grip on the bouquet. His tux is freshly pressed and his slacks smother his legs, he feels for the diamond ring in his pocket as he reaches towards the door. Today he’ll propose to the love of his life.

Knock, knock, and—knock.

        It was a regular graveyard shift at Joe’s Grocery. The fluorescent fixtures flickered overhead and the smell of the freshly mopped floor filled the air. My coworkers fought over whose playlist would take over the loudspeaker while I manned my usual post, slouched over with my head resting on register three waiting for either Paul Taylor, Paula Abdul or a stray bullet to rescue me from this job.

Oh! How they will love me! I will stand before the crowd as they scream, “ENCORE! ENCORE! MORE PAT! MORE!” Even if the stage lights blind me, I will look at the crowd with eyes full of love and dedication. I Patrick Ca—

“Excuse me!”

        The stage lights dimmed, the audience fled and the smell of Clorox filled my nostrils once again. A large man with an unkempt beard stood before me, back to reality.

        “Get your hands out of you pants you creep!” The large man continued. Well if I don’t perform my prostate check who will?

        “Good Evening and welcome to Joe’s!” I smiled sheepishly. Swipe, swipe, swipe, bag it. “Alright, have a great night!”

        I watched him walk out, the man refused to turn his back towards me so we had a staring competition until he entered the lot. He drove a royal blue Ford F-150, license plate number: 34H2DR. He could be a family man or a bachelor. Maybe a businessman? Well with a beard like that he must be an entrepreneur. I wonder if he too conducts his own prostate exams Maybe he knows Paula Abdul! I returned to my slouch, placing my head on the corner of the cold, aging cash register. Its keys felt as if they could give way at any moment. I stretched my hand into my trousers and continued to search for lumps as dreams of Broadway waltzed me away.

Oh! How they will love me! I must make all my fans feel appreciated! If not then I’m no better than my fellow stars who can’t manage to stay out of the tabloids.

        Then like a slow tide she came. Her beautiful dark brown hair bounced as she walked down the aisle. Her blue jeans perfectly caressed her legs and her slightly oversized flannel draped gracefully down her back. Her face was youthful, yet her eyes were full of wisdom. And she was heading in my direction.

        My heartbeat deafened me. I gulped; she smiled and began to place her items on the belt.

        “Slow night?” the gracious tempest said with a smile.

        A nervous laugh, “Why do you say that?”

        She chuckled as she studied my face, “Nothing, nothing, I just know a slow shift when I see one.”

        “Yeah—I mean, I get off at dawn so it’s not too bad.” She looked up at me, shook her head, and continued to load the belt. I snuck a look the time on the register monitor—it was only midnight. I’m an idiot, with a whole shift plus ahead of him and she knows it. Swipe, swipe, swipe.

        His father’s cufflinks and a bold, silk bowtie accent his tux. His fresh shave reveals his chiseled jaw—a jaw that’s tightly clenched…another knock. He rolls his shoulders back and puffs out his chest, forcing his spine to be erect. Fireflies dance around him as the air thickens. Slow and steady he breathes.

        She looked around the store as I scanned her items. My tongue was locked in my mouth but I forced it to move and stuttered out,

“I seeeee— I— I see you went for some hydrangeas.”

She looked up from the belt,

“Yeah, they’re for my mom. Purple hydrangeas were her favorite.”

        “Mmmm, such a diverse species. They’re beautiful but they wilt fast as hell.” I chuckled as I tried to maintain eye contact while typing in the hydrangeas’ item number. She looked away and continued loading the belt. I continued,

        “I mean they literally die as soon as you touch them. They’re like the mayfly of flowers… here then they’re gone, leaving you with nothing but stems, an empty vase and a longing.”

She places her last item on the belt,

        “Well luckily, no matter how wilted they are, she shouldn’t be too disappointed. She passed away about a year ago.”

        “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—”

        “No worries!” she looked at me with a reassuring smile. “There’s no way you could’ve known.”

I nodded then proceeded to ring up her remaining items in silence. Swipe, swipe, swipe…

        “Patrick…” she reads my nametag, “You should try napping before you pull a night shift.”

I laughed sheepishly.

        “I don’t follow.”

She reached towards me and touched my forehead. Oh her touch was like butter! I felt known, there was such warmth to her touch. As she eased down towards my brow I felt a tug. She smiled and pulled her hand back; it was the register’s equal key.

        “And stop staring down my shirt.”

        I could feel the blush consuming my face. It appears as though my eyes had trapped themselves in the bosom of this majestic being.

        The chandelier lights up and Patrick’s heart begins to race. He can smell his sweat through the cologne. His hands stiffen on the bouquet of hydrangeas. The sound of the footsteps of his beloved approaching the door fills his ears.

        She smiled at me and tried to continue with the small talk but like a witch in Salem I had already accepted my fate. In silence I finished the transaction. She looked back at me and said goodnight as she left. I am unworthy of her salutation. Her image stained the insides of my eyelids, tantalizing me. I could see her pearly white smile brightening up my grim existence. Her beautiful lips ordaining me with good morning kisses. I needed to rid her image from my mind, so I looked up and watched the flickering fluorescent fixture above me strobe itself to death. It’s on its last limb. It was then I saw them. The bouquet of purple hydrangeas had been left in the bagging section.

“Wait!” I looked to the entrance but she was gone. I grabbed the bag and ran out the door just in time to see her enter her car.

        The doorknob begins to turn, his heart follows suit. He breathes in, trying to maintain composure. The door swings wide and she stands in awe. His heart forces a smile without his consent; she takes a step back. He steps forward, his grip tightening on the bouquet and on the ring in his pocket.

        I ran after her car but she sped out of the parking lot. No! The hydrangeas had already begun to wilt. No, she needs these now! I reached into my pocket and grabbed my car keys. It was a Tuesday night so the empty roads made it easy to spot her sedan. A yellow Honda Civic, tag number: 56EQ3R. Should I try to flag her down? No. I didn’t want to frighten her. I maintained my distance and trailed behind her. I eased slowly at the stoplights; the road was too empty for her to miss me. When we entered her neighborhood, I turned off my lights and parked about a block away. I grabbed the hydrangeas and opened the door but stopped when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The imprint of the register keys were still on my forehead and I was unkempt to say the least. It would be an insult to approach her like this! I watched as she entered her house, 1824 Mulberry Court.

I rushed home and headed straight for the bathroom. Straight razor, pomade and Listerine! I grabbed my father’s tux from my closet and polished my loafers to a sparkle. I ripped out a couple of hydrangeas from the bouquet and grabbed some spare twine. A beautiful corsage and boutonniere for my betrothed! I pinned the makeshift boutonniere to my lapel and fished my grandmother’s engagement ring from the drawer of my nightstand.

I walked over to the mirror and rehearsed, “You have caused my heart to come into a full bloom. From the very moment I laid eyes on you I knew our love would be immortal.”

I crossed my fingers, baptized myself in cologne and deodorant, and hopped back in my car—off to see the woman of my dreams.