This is a flower that seems to better fit the depths of the sea. That being said, I am not the kind of girl who should be talking about what fits where. The flower may look very pretty and has long petals that resemble seaweed, even though they are pink in color. The deep pink is preferable to a bubblegum pink, which attracts me to the flower much more than another color could. Purple would be better.
Nerine is a bulb flower, which sometimes turns people away from a flower. However, I find bulbs much more appealing than other types of flora. There is something nice about being able to plant something that seems to already be in the process of growing. There is more hope that it will survive.
On the subject of surviving, there is something to be said about knowing when to stay and when to go, both of which are skills in their own right. There was this girl I knew who was always willing to take as many risks as she saw fit, even though they never favored her in their outcome. She would brag about all the risks she took and the many various outcomes of them all. It was interesting, to say the least.
There was one time that she went deep sea diving. The key here is that she tried the version in which an oxygen tank is not given to the diver. This sometimes results in worse outcomes. Needless to say, she was very willing to do something that could be more dangerous. She loved adventure.
When she came back from having done the task, she told me all about it. There was this grand story about how she had almost passed out from lack of oxygen, all while she was still underwater. She seemed perfectly thrilled with the entire ordeal, but I didn’t see why she would seem so happy about it.
Yet, she never made more out of it than that. She saw that I was ready to jump out of my chair and call her insane. That may not have been what stopped her, but she knew much better than to go ahead and talk about her flirtations with death. It may have been fun for her, but it was not fun to hear about.
When I was talking about destroying the room of a stranger, I never had expected it to become about not having found enough instead of having torn apart a room. It will always be strange to me that he cared more that I hadn’t found some grand secret of his friend’s instead of making a mess. He was something strange, always caring about the funnier aspects of the event. The details seemed to amaze him.
It was, of course, not something that I cared to ask him more and more about. I wanted him to know that there was more to me than just asking him a bunch of random questions. I had to make sure that he felt more at ease when telling me things. But I’m going too far into a completely hypothetical situation.
“So,” I began talking to Ricky. We had found ourselves at some café. It was a small place and likely a family owned one. I liked that he found somewhere so seemingly simple. There were tables covered with blue and white striped tablecloths. There were wooden chairs at the rounded tables. Old newspapers adorned the many walls. Waiters and other staff were dressed in black. It had a nice atmosphere.
“What do you know about Mason Gray that you’re willing to tell me?” It was a loaded question to ask him, and I knew it. Then again, there was a chance that he would be on board with it.
“There’s a lot that I can say about him. Is there anywhere you’d like to start?”
“If there’s anything you know about why he adores snowflakes, then that would be great.”
“That’s not such a simple topic, you know.”
“I gathered as much when he went on a tangent telling me the story.”
“I’m surprised that you even got that far. He normally won’t go even there.”
“What, is this some sort of large secret that he’s trying to hide?”
“If it were a large secret, then you would know he’s hiding that.”
“So there’s not something that he’s trying to hide?”
“No. There is something, and he’s much too good at hiding things.”
“You don’t think that I would know how to ask him about what I wanted to know?”
“I just think you don’t care enough to push him until you get what you need to know.”
“I pushed him far enough to get him to tell me that much.”
“That was impressive, I’ll admit, but it may have been because you’re beautiful and not because you know how to get people to open up to you. You’re lucky, you know.”
“So you don’t think he was telling me things because I told him things, too?”
“That’s not what I was trying to say. There is something else there.”
“I think that you don’t want to believe that I can talk to strangers.” At that moment, the waitress threw down menus on the table and Ricky and I both reached for them at the same time. I didn’t know that we thought that similarly to each other. I barely knew the guy and I was now finding out that he and I thought about what to do in ways that are comparable. It was funny to think that he and I were in sync.
“So,” he said, looking up from the menu with large scripted font, “I think that you just don’t like to talk to people. There’s no reason that you wouldn’t strike a good conversation with someone, but there is something more than just being able to have a conversation. You have to know what to say.”
“And you’re so skilled at coming up with topics to converse on?”
He stopped me and ordered something for himself and something for me. I was a little insulted that he didn’t ask me what I wanted. “Sorry that I didn’t know what you like, but it’s easier this way.”
“Anyhow, there has to be something more that you can tell me.”
“So, I’m sure you got far enough to know that he had a relatively terrible youth.”
“I did get that far. He then cut himself off when telling me the story of snow.”
“Of course he did. He got an audience and then didn’t want to scare you away.”
“That’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t have sacred me off just by telling me something like that.”
“He wouldn’t have known that. He would have thought that you would be scared away.”
“It becomes something more than the words themselves. I thought I was getting to know him as a person, and then he just stopped. I was intrigued with what he was saying and then he just went ahead and went on a stupid tangent about his house and snow on trees.” I felt bad for saying that the tangent, which he passionately talked about, was stupid. “I mean, it wasn’t stupid. It was just bothersome. He was going around and telling me about his family and then he just completely stopped. I wanted the whole story.”
“So he told you something about his brothers, didn’t he?”
“Why? Is that unusual for him, to get into his brothers? He seemed okay telling me.”
“It’s not that it’s unusual, it’s just a little strange. He hates talking about them.”
“You have to understand, he wasn’t easy about telling me. But he did anyway.”
“Someone else asked him once about it. He glared at that poor person and he ran away as fast as he could from Mason. There is something that Mason hates about telling people about himself. At least he didn’t scare you away when you asked him about it. He must really like you.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly pose the question like that. We just got to talking about it.”
“Do you expect me to believe that he just gradually got to talking about it?”
“Yes, I do, because it’s what happened. But you won’t, and so don’t pretend you do.”
“There is something else that you’re forgetting to tell me. Your story makes no sense.”
“Am I supposed to tell you everything just because you don’t like my story?”
“So there is something more! Why won’t you tell me what else there is?”
At this point, the food hit the table and there was nothing we said to each other that was a continuation of our previous conversation. I watched as the waitress, long brown hair swinging around while put up in a high ponytail held by a pink scrunchie, slid our plates across the table. I noticed how she was looking at us and her big, blue eyes dressed up with eyeliner and mascara followed every move Ricky and I made with one another. She almost seemed very jealous of us, which made absolutely no sense.
Yet, as she slid a white plate with blueberry pancakes the size of my face, scrambled eggs that looked the same color as an uncooked yolk, and hash browns that were perfectly browned, I noticed how she paid special attention to Ricky as he received his plate of food. I wondered if there was something that had gone on between them, but I knew that it was neither the time nor the place to ask him.
When she set my plate down right in front of me, I knew that she had only done so to get a better glance at Ricky. I could have been offended, but there was no use in getting offended over someone being jealous of me because she thought I had a very attractive boyfriend. Funny thing was, he wasn’t mine.
I noticed how the French toast was swirled on top with cinnamon sugar and there was a dish full of syrup on the side. I didn’t know how Ricky knew that I liked strawberry syrup, but that was what ended up being on my plate and so I was simply beaming at it. He apparently knew me well enough to ask for a type of syrup that very few people actually enjoy. Maybe he thought it would spite me, but he would be wrong.
I dug my fork into the French toast and watched as he devoured his pancakes. It was funny to me that he enjoyed pancakes so very much. I knew that many people enjoyed pancakes, but they had never been much of a favorite for me, and so it baffled me that he could enjoy them so much. Then again, I was also not a fan of scrambled eggs, and he had ordered those, too. Chances are that he doesn’t even like French toast, which would make perfect sense. We may as well both order what the other dislikes.
It was to my surprise when he leaned over across the table and tried to take some of my dish, which I had barely touched. “What, buttercup, you suddenly not a fan of a dish you like?” There he was, going back to calling me buttercup. It was nice to see that we were getting back to our old ways.
“No, I just happen to not be in the mood to eat toast.” It was a weird answer, and he didn’t call me out on it, even though I would have called him out on it if he had told me the same thing. I was full of stupid sentences and rationales, and he never bothered to tell me how ridiculous I sounded. I wondered it was because he was trying to be nice to be or if it was because there was something more behind him not picking on me for how I spoke. And here I am again, overblowing such a simple thing.
“Would you like any pancakes?” he asked me as he pushed his plate toward me. It made me feel inclined to push mine to him, almost as though we were swapping with each other. “I promise you, they make some of the best pancakes here.” I had no idea how to respond to him. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m really not a fan of pancakes and I’m allergic to blueberries.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to have an allergic reaction.”
“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know. Just take the toast, too. No need to risk it.”
“Should I get you something else to eat? It’s no trouble at all.”
“I don’t want you to go to all that trouble. There’s no need to do that.”
“So, what else shall we do, since I managed to ruin breakfast food?”
“Oh stop it. You didn’t ruin it. You just happened to order something that could kill me.”
“That’s practically the exact same thing.” He stood up. “Come on, follow me.”
“Where are we going?” I wasn’t opposed to following him, but I wanted to know where we were going before we happened to get there. “Ricky. Can you just tell me where we’re going?”
“Let me pay first.” He paid for the meal and I noticed him leave a sizable tip. “There’s this pie shop down the street. I’m confident that there is at least one pie type there that won’t kill you. And, if there’s anything else that you cannot have, you should tell me now. I know their best pies and, fair warning, I’ll get you what I think you’ll like.” There was something about the way he said it that made it friendly.
“At least this time I get a warning that I don’t get to choose. Anyhow, there’s nothing more that I know of that I’m allergic to. If there’s something else, then it will be a shock to us both.”
Although we weren’t dating, he grabbed my hand and we left the café, ready to find this pie shop which I hoped was one loaded with pies in containers that went all around the shop’s interior.