This flower is related to the Buttercup. The petals form on top of each other in an overlapping fashion when viewed from the side that increases circumference and adds volume when the flower is looked at from a birds-eye view. The Ranunculus has a vibrant yellow color and the stems shoot out from side to side. The flower itself looks like a masterpiece. The leaves and other assets are mundane.
I love the fact that I cannot fully comprehend how this flower’s name should be pronounced. There is a way to pronounce it, but that would be a pain of time to find out and perfect. I prefer to sound the name out as it is written and to not make a bigger deal out of it than is necessary. Sometimes I wonder what people with “common” names do when people cannot pronounce them. Surely people whose names are something like “John” or “Jess” don’t experience that pain I do when others say their name.
I have had many an experience in which people skimmed over my name and gave no care when attempting to pronounce it. Sure, the last name is just fine. Everyone can pronounce Duffy without any issue and try only once when getting the letters perfectly said on try one. Yet, the name Elvira throws absolutely everyone off. I fail to see what’s so difficult about my first name. It’s actually quite simple to say; it’s rather phonetically written. El-vi-rah, is the way to say my name, not El-vera, or Elve-era, which are both commonly said mispronunciations, both of which make me burst out boisterously.
My best friend in the world loves to call me by every single incorrect name I have ever been called over the years. I know that she means well. If she cannot poke fun at me for such a minute detail of my existence, then there is no one who can. People have now created many nicknames for me. Some of the better ones I have gotten are “Elle” and “Viv,” although I cannot understand how “Viv” is relevant.
Anyhow, people using a terribly chosen nickname is preferable to having to correct them each and every time on how to say my name. That annoyed me so much. It is simply a name. Why can’t these people comprehend this? I can pronounce their names just fine. I don’t fail miserably with theirs.
For instance, when I went to get my picture taken every year at school for those terrible portraits they force me to give to the yearbook, which is edited by people who can’t really write. It is written by the school newspaper staff, all of whom cannot write or come up with real stories of any merit for which an actual story could be written. They love to write about the sports teams and the star players. They write about what they think are commentaries but are simply just a terribly composed op-ed.
The time from 12 A.M. to 3 A.M. had not even managed to elapse and still I went back to Ricky’s, since apparently it was now my destiny to know all there was to know about Steven Bender and his life story that led to him becoming the famous town artist. He was their main attraction.
The house with a busted doorbell and a door that was never locked was staring me down. The shutters on the windows stuck out at me and the anamorphic solid of the glass refracted the light back towards me and I was willing to do anything it took to get a look inside of his house. There was more to the house, I hoped, than met the eye. The door was a bright color and I was ready to take the door just to see if a home renovation store could match the color. It was hideous. But I wanted gallons of it.
There was the likelihood of me banging on the door. Then again, I did have his phone number and I really did not want to run the risk of him yelling over the phone and wondering if he was sleepy or annoyed with me. I wanted to know exactly what he thought of me. But I did not want to be introduced into half-asleep Ricky right now when fully-awake Ricky was still a large unknown by me.
There was only one way to avoid him accusing me of breaking in and entering. Of course, I would not care if he called me one of those again, but I would like him to understand that leaving a door open is a literal open invitation for people to come in at will. He should be able to comprehend such an incredibly simple notion. But, then again, he is a guy, and many guys are not the most intelligent beings or the holders of an incredible amount of common sense. For those reasons and many others which will soon come into greater light, I was not expecting Ricky to logically assess the situation to come.
The one option that remained was for me to call him. Of course, there was no way that I actually was going to do so. I may have greatly wanted to, but I genuinely detested the idea of calling up someone when I had the perfectly good option of scaring the person readily available and waiting for me.
I knew that I would have many more opportunities to scare the guy and make him jump in fright as he sees me there. I decided to take pity on him and call him. As the phone rang, I hoped, and crossed by fingers as an act of good luck, that he would not answer and I could barge right through the door. It was certainly a thorough option. One that required me to leave a voice message for him to open so I could at least honestly say that I tried, and a second phone call to confirm that I was not just trying to look good.
Minutes passed and several phone calls were within those several minutes. Ten phone calls in ten minutes and still there was no answer from him. I suppose that he may be fast asleep right now. Then again, it was not late at night. Or was it? I looked behind me and craned my neck up just enough to view the many constellations, none of which I could successfully name when asked what they are called.
There was something quite lovely about being alone underneath the stars. Tonight they were a little bit more dim than usual, but I could live with that. I was tracing the stars with my finger when my phone blared at me. I was furious. Who on earth could possibly think that it’s okay to call me at this hour?
“Who is this?” my fury could be heard for miles. I was almost screaming my lungs out.
“Ricky. Who are you?” I was ready to find this boy and murder him. He is incredibly crazy.
“Have you been up for a while?” I knew it seemed like a strange question, but he’ll deal with it.
“No. I just woke up after hearing so many calls from someone who seems to not want to even talk to me anymore. So, why did you call me anyway?” there was tiredness prominent in all he told me.
“I was told that you would tell me more about that Steven Bender guy.”
“I said that I would tell you more later. I guess I should have told you I meant tomorrow.”
“That sounds exactly the same to me. It is tomorrow. It is later.” I did not care.
“Let me be even more specific. Tomorrow in the afternoon. When there is sun out.”
“The sun is always out.” I was being foolish, but I hoped he would go along with my ruse.
“Yes, but is it easily viewed right now?” his questioning tone was rather rude of him.
“If you were somewhere else, then I’m certain that you could see it just fine.”
“That may be a fair point, but there are other places where people cannot see the sun either.”
“That doesn’t make a difference. There are places where they can.”
“And, in some places, they can’t tell that the sun is out. Right now, neither can I.”
“That’s not what I was saying and that was not my point.” He and I sighed at the same time.
“So, if you wanted to ask me, why didn’t you just come in through the door?”
“I thought that you wouldn’t like it if I ‘broke in’ to your house again. You didn’t last time.”
“So now you care? Why did you decide to barge in last time when right now you’re being a lot more precarious, which you should have been when you knew less about me? It makes no sense.”
“There was less you knew about me then, too. I didn’t know anything about you and so I didn’t care if your first impression of me was terrible. I knew that we would have time to fix things later.”
“So that makes it okay to barge into someone’s house?”
“I have done it to lots of other people. Your door wasn’t locked. What did you expect?”
“I figured that if you were going to do that once that doing it again wouldn’t faze you in the least once more.” We were fighting with each other and it was more problematic. He was actually fighting with me as if we were truly friends with one another and had been for a long time before now.
“So it’s now a problem that I decided to be courteous to you? Real mature of you.”
“Just come on in.” His finger tapped on my shoulder. I turned around. “What, so I can’t want to scare you? That doesn’t seem very fair.” His eyes were glimmering and I went behind him.
Then he stopped and I ran right into him, not caring that he had now become an obstacle which I was determined to push through. “So, why can you come right on here and then stop suddenly?”
“You came here. I came out because you left the doorstep. I would know because I went to find the culprit of the many calls and found that there was absolutely no one there. So I went looking.”
“You could have just called me back right then and there.” It was at this point that I realized I not actually hung up the phone and felt incredibly stupid. I then hung up the phone officially. It felt good.
“Yes, but then you would have been annoyed at me for not letting you call me several times. Then I would have responded too quickly. That would be an equally large problem.”
“No, it wouldn’t have been. Then we could have alleviated these problems much quicker.”
“Then we could have determined that we cannot determine if you should barge in or not.”
“Then we could have decided that I should always choose to barge in at will.”
“So, will you just come right on in and then we can decide what to talk about.”
“Why don’t we just talk about the artist outside? It’s much nicer out here, anyway.”
“I think that we should go inside so that we don’t have to see the bright sunrise.”
“That wouldn’t be too much of a problem then. The sunrise is not going to happen for a lot longer, anyway. We’re deep into the night. Sunrise won’t come until the morning hits. We have quite some time before there’s a chance of that happening. Let’s stay outside and talk.”
“Fine. That sounds just fine. What about you just ask me everything right now?”
“Sure. That sounds peachy. So, why do you trail off when telling about how you and the acclaimed artist virtuoso of this town? There must be something that you actually can tell me.”
“You were asking about the house he bought, or I was at least talking about it.”
“Then what about we go from there?” It was boring, but at least it was something.
“Well, the two of them, Denise and Steven, were apparently cousins or something along those lines and so she helped him get the house. He was sharing it with some friends of his. They were all going to sell their own art at a gallery which they were going to open up together. And they were about to.”
“So they went to school together and wanted to go into business together. How’s that special?”
“Get a group of wildly talented artists and then you can see what happens for yourself.”
“That’s not exactly the same thing as people opening up a store. Lots of friends open up stores together and many end up being wildly successful.” I wished I had known those friends who were wildly talented artists and then wanted to become something together. “Of course, too many artists are caught up with being better than each other and will only work to be the best and not to help out each other.”
“That’s not how they were. There you go again, assuming that all people who are a certain way must all act like each other. If you had been there and met them, then you wouldn’t be making such ridiculous sounding accusations and assumptions about them. Why don’t you meet them first?”
“Well, the closest I have to meeting them is only what you’ll tell me about them and that’s not exactly a very cohesive bunch, now is it?” He liked to do this, and I was in the mood to argue with him.
“This was a bad idea. You shouldn’t have come here.” He looked sad, all of a sudden.
“I’ll just leave. Maybe tomorrow? When the sun is out and shining too brightly? Does that work for you?” As I said more and more, a slow, but present nonetheless, smile spread across his face. At least something I had said worked. At least we were now back on the level we needed to be to talk to each other at least in a way that could seem friendly to people who were not aware of the conflict.