Yellow Flowers

By Katie Amen, Grade 9

Sunlight speckled the ground and made the leaves above me glow bright green. I sat in the hollowed-out space behind a massive bush, leaning against the old brick wall behind me. Minutes ticked by, each one agonizingly slow, as I waited. I passed the time by counting the little yellow flowers that covered the bush, and just as I reached forty-six, the leaves rustled and Alice’s face poked into the hideout.

“Finally,” I grumbled in my fake-angry voice.

“Hey, Lily,” she said, grinning at me. She held a small blue box, shaped like a miniature treasure chest, which she tossed in my direction before crawling into the space behind the bush. I fumbled with the box, dropped it, and picked it back up before she could see my clumsiness. Alice leaned against my shoulder, deliberately getting her wild black curls in my face. I pushed her playfully, and she poked my arm. I handed her a purple cloth pouch, and we both opened our presents. Our goodbye presents.

After three years as my classmate, my neighbor, and my best friend, Alice was moving away. Her mom’s job forced her family to pack up everything they owned and start somewhere new every few years. Alice’s suitcase was packed and her room was bare, and we had one last afternoon to spend together before she left.

I flipped open the tiny golden clasp of the box she had given me, then carefully lifted the lid. I almost started crying (for the third time that day) when I saw the contents—the inch-tall purple plastic cat we had found at the waterpark last summer; the stub of one of the sparkly rainbow pencils our teacher had handed out at the beginning of the year; a little snowman ornament from a Christmas party; a pink-and-white seashell from our trip to the beach; a carefully folded page of doodles that we had drawn last week, on the last day of eighth grade; and my favorite picture of the two of us, in a tiny picture frame made of popsicle sticks. In the photo, we sat together on a tree branch, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. We each held a popsicle in our free hand—lemon for me, cherry for Alice, as usual—and the juice dripped down our chins. We were both laughing at some ridiculous joke Alice had just told me. It was a box of memories. I closed the box and held it tightly as Alice opened the pouch I had given her. Inside was a little felt platypus—her favorite animal—that had taken me days to make, as well as a necklace that held a resin pendant I had made with the help of my older sister Nichole and one of her crafting kits. The pendant contained a single yellow flower from our bush.

“I have one too,” I said, pulling my own yellow-flower necklace from my pocket.
We spent the rest of the afternoon talking about insignificant things, hiding from the truth that this was our last day together.

We walked slowly home from the empty lot at the end of our street, where our bush grew. When we reached her house, number 32, I gave her a hug. Reluctantly, she turned and walked inside. The sight of the packed car made my stomach tight, but I continued on until I reached number 37. After unlocking the door, slipping inside, pulling on my old green pajamas, and collapsing into bed, I finally let myself cry.

“Bye, Alice,” I choked out at six a.m. the next morning.

“Bye, Lily,” she replied tearfully, sliding an arm out the car window. I grabbed her hand and held on tight, as if I could stop her from leaving. When I gave her one last hug, our matching necklaces clicked against each other.

“Alice, honey,” her mom said gently. “We have to go.” I felt Alice nod, and I forced myself to step back.

“Don’t forget…” she began, then trailed off.

“What?”

“Don’t forget to be careful with spaghetti,” she warned, referring to a little inside joke she would never let me live down. We had met when I tripped over my shoelace in the cafeteria and splashed her with pasta sauce and noodles. I laughed through my tears, gently shoving her shoulder. She poked me back. It was a familiar routine, but this time it was a little halfhearted, its simplicity overshadowed by our sadness.

“Lily, that was in sixth grade. Like, forever ago.” I complained. She made a face at me, then looked down at the road.

“Bye, I guess.”

“Bye.” I tried to stay calm, for her sake and mine, as her old white car drove off and disappeared around the corner of the street.

Summer slipped away, one day after another. My family went to the waterpark and Nichole spilt soda all over her new swimsuit. A little brown bird built a nest outside my bedroom window. A new family moved into Alice’s old house; two women, a five-year-old boy, and a three-year-old girl. They were nice, but neither of the kids was even close to my age. Mom took me to the mall for new shoes, a few pairs of jeans, some notebooks, and a pencil case. Before I knew it, it was the first day of high school.

Up the steps. Down the hall. Into the classroom. A flash of dark skin and curly hair caught my eye and I turned, Alice’s name forming on my lips, before I realized it wasn’t her. I sat down sadly, wishing she was there with me. I didn’t want to start high school with her. I had other friends, of course, but Alice was the first one I talked to when I had a problem, the first one I shared funny stories with, the first one I texted every morning.

Every Saturday, Alice would call me. She had a new school, new friends, a new house. She even had a black-and-white cat named Oreo, who she had adopted from a shelter. I hated myself for the jealousy I felt every time she talked about her new friend Julia and everything she loved about her new town.

Weeks slipped away into months, the trees on my street covered themselves in the fiery colors of fall, and our calls became less and less frequent. Halloween came and went, and I spent the night trick or treating with Nichole—we both agreed that, even though we were both in high school, we were never too old for candy. As Christmas came closer, I went to the mall with my friend Paige to look for presents for my family. When we passed a store where Alice and I had gone together, not long before she left, I stopped so suddenly that Paige nearly crashed into me.

“You ok?” she asked.

“Um, yeah,” I replied, continuing on. “Sorry.”

“I’ll be back soon,” I told my mom as I slipped out of the house, a few days before the end of winter break.

“Did you finish your homework?” she asked. I nodded, zipped up my jacket, and stepped out into the snow.

Once I reached the bush, I slipped into the gap behind it. I wrapped gloved hands around two of the thickest branches and shook the snow off of them, ducking my head so that I didn’t get any in my eyes. When I looked back up, I frowned. The yellow flowers had all died, leaving behind nothing but a few limp brown remnants, frozen onto the bush. I should have known the flowers wouldn’t last through the winter, but… I guess I had hoped something would have stayed the same from my last day with Alice. At least I had my necklace, with one flower preserved in the resin. Still, it was nothing compared to the countless spots of yellow that covered the bush in the summer, and I would give up the peaceful winter silence in a heartbeat for Alice’s loud laughter.

It was a warm, bright day. I dropped my phone into my pocket and ran outside. Behind the bush, I pulled a watertight plastic box out of a hole in the brick wall. Inside sat the blue chest Alice had given me, all those months ago. It had been weeks since I last opened it, but now I gently lifted the lid, hinges creaking. I laid out my little treasures on a flat, horizontal branch—the cat, the snowman, the pencil, the seashell, the page of drawings, and the photo. I hesitated—it had been a long time since we last talked—then I pulled out my phone and video-called Alice.

“Hey Lily!” she said. I grinned. Oreo stuck his little face in the camera, and Alice gently pushed him away.

“Hey Alice, how are you?”

Half an hour later, my phone buzzed and a text popped up from my mom. Come home and have some lunch. We’re going to the movie theatre in an hour. I smiled, then frowned because I would have to hang up.

“Sorry, I have to go.”

“Ok, but call we call again soon?” Alice asked. I nodded.

“Of course.” I hit the ‘end call’ button, packed up my memory box, and tucked the box into its hiding spot. Before I went home, though, I sat there for a moment, head tipped back, sunlight warming my face. I knew that no matter how far apart we were, Alice and I would always be friends. I took one last look at the yellow flower buds that once again covered the bush, before taking off down the street.