The Flowers

• Lukas Stevens, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2012

The Flowers

I always wondered what old Dave was doing here. He was a funny old man. His accent always amused me. It seemed so…..different from everyone else who was in my town. He had lived in America for many years, and then moved back to Australia in his old age, taking residence in an old weatherboard house down the street. He was always kind to us kids, especially me. He used to make us fresh bagels, and treat us to sweet vibrant lemonade, quite different in taste to the cans you buy in the shops.

We would often play in his backyard, and he would sit down and tend to his pretty flowers that lined his garden in neat order. These flowers lined the beach and cliffs as well, watching the sea with their single eye. But he seemed to attach special importance to them, caring for them day after day. He would watch us as we played, a happy smile tightening his features, those grey eyes lighting with a spark. But they were also tinged with sadness and longing, though we couldn’t figure why.

Time past, the years sped by. We grew older and Dave’s backyard grew quieter in turn. I would see him, still working on those flowers, but looking rather lonely sitting there all by himself.

Dave passed away and the flowers drooped with him, their scarlet petals floating away to shrivel on the ground, their time on this earth spent like his.

I started to wonder about those flowers Dave put so much love into. I asked my mother about them, and she told me.

“There once was a young American soldier, who came to our town during the war years. While here, he fell in love with a young Australian girl, and they intended to marry. He gave the girl a packet of flower seeds and told her he would plant them in their garden when the war was over. He re-joined his regiment the next day.

Never to return.

The girl, distraught over the loss of her love, tore open the packet of seeds and flung them along the beach. She died soon after from grief, and left her poor baby an orphan.
That baby was Dave.”

With that I realized the significance of those simple plants, and why they had been so special to Dave. They were his only connection to the parents he never knew.

The flowers are still there standing at attention to the rising and dawning of the sun. And seeing them, I always think of Dave, and the spiritual connection of the flowers to his parents. Like him, I hold those flowers close to my heart, in memory of the old man Dave, who was so kind to me.