The blossoms of spring were what Franklin liked best, just as they were blooming, without a care in the world. Once he felt that way, but the years had long since jaded his outlook on life. He kept this garden as a reminder of the innocence he once had and as a safe haven against the horrors of the world around. If he could, he would spend every moment in that garden, but winter always came. He hated winter for killing his garden. He would retreat into his house and stare out at his garden. Every year he thought the winter would kill him too, but spring would eventually come again revitalizing his spirit to carry on. Someone had to take care of his garden, as he knew his children never would. His children had been trying to get him to move into a smaller retirement place. They said they worried about him since his beautiful wife had passed away and that he was spending too much time in the garden. They said at the retirement home he could make new friends, but he had all the friends he wanted, most of whom he knew had passed on, so he made the flowers his friends. He knew she would understand. She had loved this garden even more than he ever did. He would hear the muttering of his children behind his back every time he spoke to his garden. He knew they thought him crazy, but he didn't care. Franklin knew he was sane, saner than they. He had seen their crazy world in all its insanity. It was what killed his wife. He knew the last sane place in the world was his garden. Perhaps there were other havens, but he never found any before. His children would have to drag him out of his garden before he was ever ready to leave, and he knew that would kill him... and her, as it was the only thing he had left of her. Their children corrupted everything else.
"Today was a good day," Franklin thought as he strolled out into his garden. Perhaps a little too many clouds in the sky and a breeze a little too chilly. A good day just the same, if only the faint stench of a factory would get out of the air, but he knew that was only a momentary thing as the factories started in the morning. The rains of the past few days had stopped and the plants were in their glory as they were sucking up the water. A perfect spring day. The last remnants of the winter chills were getting out of his bones. They had almost made him leave this place last winter, but every time he looked out into the snow-covered garden, he knew that life still grew there, to be reborn. It was the hope that kept him alive. It made him happy to see his hopes realized as they were today. He could live another year.
In the background he could hear the phone ringing. He had no time for it, though. If someone wanted to speak with him they knew where he was. At times like this he often wondered why he kept a phone at all, even though he knew in the back of his mind that it was for the winter when he was actually in the house and needed some distractions from worrying about his garden. It seemed to him that the phone had been ringing a lot this morning. He never realized he knew so many people anymore. Still they knew where to find him.
It wasn't long before he heard a car in the lane. All this was starting to get annoying, the smell, the noises - all taking away from his enjoyment of the day. Franklin wished they would all go away and leave him in peace. A car door opened nearby. He knew he wasn't going to get his peace.
"Dad, are you there?", a voice cried out from behind the hedges. His son, Richard, of course, who else would disturb him on a day like this? A grunt of aspiration was his only reply, as he continued digging out weeds with a small, garden shovel.
A long angular man came up the dirt path to the garden in hurried panic. "Dad, what are you still doing here? They are evacuating the city. Didn't you hear?"
Finally getting up and laying the shovel on the ground beside him, Franklin turned towards his son, "Why would I leave?"
"Dad! There has been a train wreck and it's spilling some sort of gas into the environment. They don't think they can contain it. We can't stay here. We got to go until they can deal with it."
"The trains are on the other side of the city, it won't get here."
"Dad, they are not evacuating the city for fun. This is serious."
"So am I. I'm not leaving!"
"Don't be silly. I'm not lying to you or anything just to get you out of here."
"Never said you were."
"It's been all over the news since 6 a.m. this morning. I've been trying to get hold of you ever since they gave the evacuation order. I figured when you didn't answer that you had heard and left. We only stopped by here on our way out of town to make sure."
"I already told you I'm not leaving!"
"Dad, don't be stupid! You will die if you don't leave."
"You don't know that. These governments overreact, and I have long since given up playing their games."
"I will drag you if I have to..."
The old man stepped back and clinched his fist. "Try!!"
"Dad! I'm not going to fight you. If you want to die, then do so. Just don't expect me to bury you."
"Never did. You never buried your mother."
"I was nine years old, for godsake! I never knew what was happening. You never told me."
"Excuses, that's all you ever had."
"Dad, we don't have time to argue. We have to leave."
"I'm not stopping you."
"Dad..."
With that Franklin turned his back on his son, as if that would be enough to make Richard go away. For a while there was no noise. Perhaps his son said something else, but the words were now lost to him. He wasn't going to leave here. After a while he heard the muttering of an argument in the background, then a door slamming and the roar of an engine moving away. Finally, he would have peace and he turned back to his garden. It needed his attention today. With yesterday's water fall, the flowers were urging to rebloom to last summer's heights, and he would have to remove all the weeds to give them that chance.
He was on his knees softly turning the earth when he heard the shuffling of feet behind him.
"Dad..."
He should have known, but he wasn't going to let his insistent son stop him from his work. "I thought you had left."
"Mary and the kids left. I couldn't leave you here... alone to die."
"Who said I was going to die?"
"Dad. There is no one left in the city. We have to go too."
"I'm not leaving."
It surprised him when his son grabbed him and started dragging him to his feet. He could stand on his own, and when he regained his balance, he fought off his son's grasp to glare at the brat.
Franklin started pushing his son away, first almost casually, then almost instantly with the power of an ox. "Get away from here. I don't want to see you again." Richard was out of the garden by the time he bothered to stop pushing. Standing like a stone golem, he guarded the entrance to the garden, waiting for his son to leave. He noticed that the pungent odor he had smelled earlier had become stronger, but all he could think of was, damn factories, when will they start regulating them properly, the pollution was slowing killing the garden... and her.
"Dad..." his son started.
"You heard me." Seeing the small garden shovel he had dropped earlier, he picked it up to add force behind his threat, "If I see you here again, I will kill you."
It practically startled him when he heard his son say, "fine... die then... you have been dead ever since mom died, anyway." His son turned his back on him and started to walk away.
It infuriated Franklin to hear his son speak of his wife that way, Richard had no right to say even a word. He wasn't there. It was taking care of brats like him that killed his beautiful wife. Franklin was with them, and she died alone. He never forgave his children for that. Oh, he tried to raise them properly, for her sake, but once they were gone, they were supposed to stay gone, so he could devote his life back to her again. Why did they have to keep killing her?
It was several moments before he realized that his son had gone and left him alone. He almost smiled, for once today, he would finally have some peace. He could almost hear the garden beckoning to him to return and share in its joy of rebirth. He was determined, this would be the best year yet, all for her. "My love, your garden will be beautiful. See how I planted the roses, just where you like them.", he started muttering to the garden... to her.
Suddenly everything went black. When his eyes started refocusing, he saw that he was lying on a couch in his house, his brat of a son was standing in front of him.
"Sorry, I had to do it... it was the only thing I could think of to save you," his son said when he noticed Franklin was coming around. "I called for help. They said to stay in here until they could send someone around. So, I have the house insulated as best as this old house could get but it won't be good enough. I think the level is too high. I hope they get here soon."
The old man pushed himself to sit up to look out beyond his son towards the window that looked out towards the garden. A grey haze had replaced the sunny sky that had been out before. Something was wrong, he could almost feel the garden... her, crying out for help. Focusing all his will to his legs, he pushed himself off the couch and started running for the door.
Unfortunately, his son tackled him before he could get too far.
"What are you trying to do? Kill us?" his son said.
"The garden...," was all he said.
"Stop thinking about that stupid garden. You hated it when mom was alive. I don't understand why you like it so much now. If it matters so much to you, I will help you plant a new garden next year, when all of this is cleaned up and over with."
It was too late, she was dying and there was nothing he could do about it, again.
Soon, men in silvery white suits and helmets came in, giving the two of them oxygen masks and leading them out to a vehicle that awaited them. The old man turned his head to the garden again before leaving. She was dead, perhaps not now, but soon, alone to die with him left to keep care of the children, telling them that it would be all right. It wouldn't be all right this time. It was too long to wait for a new spring growth, assuming this cancerous world hadn't killed off any hope of that ever happening again. Like the garden and her, he would not survive the winter.
The End.
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Page created by Dave A. Law
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Last update: Oct. 24, 1997 |
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