White Irises: Eyes to See by Sandy Brannan
They were all looking up at the sky soaking in the warmth from the sun when the young boy arrived with his family. Soon the deep voice of a man was mingling with the soft voice of his wife as she struggled to be heard above the happy laughter of their two children.
The irises were happy it was springtime again, happy they were above ground where they could see again. Today they were happy the boy was back, a little taller than last year but still the same young child who took delight in everything around him.
Blake bent down close to the flowers, so close they could smell his little-boy scent. Looking right at one of them with brown eyes that seemed almost too big for his face, they watched as he gently lifted a ladybug off a snowy-white petal. Wondering what he would do with it, the breeze seemed to stop as the flowers collectively held their breath waiting to see the fate of the tiny insect.
When Blake gently held the tiny red and black creature on one finger as he watched it until it finally flew away, the irises seemed to all nod their approval. Yes, this boy was special, and they were all glad he had come back.
Year after year the boy came to the park with his parents and younger sister. And year after year the irises watched him grow up. He never failed to stop at them, bending down to examine their delicate blooms, and sometimes whispering his secrets to them. They fell a little more in love with him each year.
One year, after an agonizingly cold winter, some of the irises didn’t make it above ground. The ones who did weren’t surprised that the boy, who by all rights should now be called more man than boy, noticed. When he bent down to examine them, he called out to his mom, “Why do you think there aren’t as many this year?”
Hearing the weariness in her voice as she answered that she didn’t know, the irises wished they could answer for her, wished they could reach out more than they could, but they, as always, stayed silent.
When the boy walked away, they noticed the family had grown somehow. There were three children now, but the new one seemed to be the same size as the boy. They quickly realized the new one, a girl, wasn’t the same. The boy seemed to like her in a different way; his voice seemed more gentle when he spoke to her. It reminded the irises of the way he sounded when he shared his secrets with them.
The next year, soon after they had bloomed, the irises were surprised by all the activity around them. They watched as row after row of chairs were set up. They listened and grew more and more concerned by what they were hearing. They tried to shrink back when they saw someone carrying a giant pair of shiny silver scissors getting closer and closer to them. They struggled to let their cries be heard as they felt themselves fall, released from the ground that had tethered them to this place for so long. They wondered at their fate as they were carried away, only to find themselves together, much closer to each other than they had ever been before, tied with some kind of lacy string they didn’t recognize.
When they saw the girl they thought she might be there to untie the string, to help them go back to the garden where they belonged. The irises were shocked when she held them close to her face and whispered words of love and gratitude.
They felt wet tears hit them a few minutes later as their boy came into view and, leaning over them close enough to let them smell his scent again, kissed the girl. They soaked in his tears, tasting his happiness, opening up a little as they heard him whisper his happiness to this person who had come into his life.
Later, when the irises found themselves seemingly discarded, they started to shrivel up a little. Day after day they found themselves getting smaller and they wondered what would come next for them.
It would be weeks before they would hear the familiar voice of their boy again, weeks before he gently held them in his hands, weeks before he lovingly placed them on a shelf in a room he would visit again and again.
The irises no longer lived outside, no longer lifted their heads toward the sun soaking in the warmth and happiness that had been theirs for so long. No, they now lay quietly on a shelf and listened to the boy’s life, marveled at how happy the girl made him, noticed when new voices joined theirs, voices of young children that sounded so much like the boy’s own voice from many years ago.
The irises found that they were happy just to be near him. One day, when the girl had moved them to a new shelf with a tenderness that let them know she was the same as the boy, they saw the sun shining through the window. They soaked up its warmth in a different way and surprised themselves with how happy they had become.
Sandy Brannan, author of Becoming Invisible, So Much Stays Hidden, Masquerade, and Frozen in Time, teaches middle and high school English. She also is a contributing writer for The Real Deal of Parenting and Her View From Home. Sandy's idea of a perfect day is one spent creating memories with her grandchildren. This usually includes coloring and reading a lot of books. You can read more of her work on her blog at sandybrannan.com.
Sandy is also active on social media at facebook.com/sandybrannanauthor and instagram.com/sandybrannanauthor. You can follow her on Amazon at amazon.com/author.sandybrannan.