He walked without a destination. It became dark and difficult to see. Neither his anger nor sadness subsided. If he had been more focused and less agitated, his death could have easily been avoided.
A car, making a blind turn, over-steered and jumped the lip of the sidewalk. Leo rolled over the safety rail, missing the bumper by only a few inches. His momentum was so great he slid down the embankment into a pool of muddy rain water. The driver, nervous and new to driving, convinced herself a deer had grazed her hood, not a man, and so did not bother to pull over or inspect the road. Once home, she would find a long scratch along the front and side of her car. Using finger nail polish, she would do her best to hide the damage from her parents, who still owned the vehicle. She would eventually forget the incident and years later, when selling the car, have no explanation for how the strange discolorment came to be there.
Leo Darling would never learn of these events, nor would he have much time to ponder them for he would die moments later. Soaked in mud and feeling as if a second chance had reached him, he wished only to return home to a warm shower and the love of his life, Rose Fox. He would, however, do neither.
While climbing up the steep embankment, his fingers, failing to grip a patch of grass, slipped and his head, colliding with a rock, sent him back into the muddy water, unconscious. His body would be found four days later by a pair of joggers.
The news devastated Rose, and her heightened emotions induced labor. She was rushed to the hospital and, despite the death of Leo Darling, the birth was as safe and uneventful as it could have been. Rose, expecting a boy, planned to name him Leo in honor of his departed father. When the nurses laid a beautiful baby girl in her arms, she was overjoyed, but uncertain what to call her. She decided on the name Daisy, thinking it to be the name of Leo Darling’s mother.
Daisy Darling was a healthy and happy baby. Her early childhood, like her birth, was safe and uneventful, which was, most certainly, attributed to Rose’s careful precautions. After Leo’s death, Rose silently promised that Daisy would never have to endure the misadventures of her parents. Less than a week after leaving the hospital, Rose sold all their trivial possessions and relocated to a small and quiet suburb where Daisy could make lots of friends and avoid the pitfalls of loneliness and deviancy.
Rose, now a single mother and no longer employed at the tattoo parlor, was forced to work three jobs to support her daughter. The first two jobs, data entry and outbound sales rep, were done from home. The third, a part-time receptionist at a dental office, was within walking distance. The receptionist job guaranteed Daisy would have health insurance – the data entry job guaranteed enough money to hire a babysitter. Collectively the three jobs, though time consuming and mindless, provided enough money for Rose and her daughter to live comfortably. Rose, however, purchased only the necessities, placing all the extra money in a savings account for her daughter. Once Daisy was old enough for kindergarten, Rose quit the first job and began taking classes online. Within three months, she had acquired her GED and considered attending a nearby junior college. She would postpone these thoughts when the school informed her that Daisy had contracted chickenpox. Holding her motherly duties above all others, Rose took two weeks off from the dentist’s office to care for her daughter.
One night after a bath and bedtime story, Daisy gazed at her mother’s tattoo with wonderment and awe. She was old enough to recognize the images, but still too young to understand them. Each night Daisy asked her mother many questions about the beautiful peach tree tattoo, but each night, to Daisy’s dismay, Rose answered only one. Daisy became obsessed with the peach tree tattoo, filing down a whole box of crayons trying to recreate it. Though she was passionate and eager, she had no proficiency for art. This sad fact she realized months later while finger painting with her fellow classmates. She excitedly covered her construction paper with greens and blues and reds, which resulted in a brown and purple mess that was neither pretty nor interesting. Somewhat discouraged but still eager, Daisy glanced at her classmates’ work which displayed a wonderful array of colors and shapes far better than her own. With a pouty scowl, she took the small containers of paint and emptied them all in the sink – an act that would keep her in timeout for the rest of the afternoon.
Though Daisy quickly gave up her short-lived art ambition, she never lost interest in the peach tree tattoo. Each night she asked her mother a new question and each night her mother provided her with a complete and unapologetic answer. The one and only question Daisy never managed to ask involved the identity of the artist.
When she hinted at the tattoo’s creator, Rose was incapable of letting his name escape her throat. She felt that if his name ever parted her lips, it would part from her soul as well and so, when she learned he had left this life, she swore to never say his name again. This was particularly difficult at the funeral and the months that followed.
Sometimes, late at night, when the infant Daisy began to cry, Rose would lean into the adjacent pillow and almost whisper his name. She felt foolish and depressed when she remembered he was gone, but she did her best to keep the sadness far from her daughter.
Daisy knew the artist was a man who had been close to her mother. Over the years, she had developed a number of theories about his identity. Perhaps he had been a stranger that saved her mother’s life, or a relative that had died, or a lover that had gone to war, or perhaps he was a rapist that had mutilated her body with beautiful art. The more Daisy thought about him, the more bizarre and vivacious her theories became. Soon, she began to fantasize about him. In each fantasy he had a different set of attributes; sometimes he was tall, sometimes strong, sometimes short, sometimes skinny, or alternating combinations of each. His skin type and age differed as well. Sometimes he even turned out to be a woman. Daisy began to study the figure in her fantasies, trying to understand his behavior and the variables that influenced it. Eventually her fantasies transformed into case studies that she applied to living people.
One afternoon during high school algebra, Daisy observed a boy in the seat across from hers. She memorized his physicality, mannerisms, and as much of his personality as could be observed. That night, in the safety of her room, she fantasized about him – not for pleasure, but to test her skills of deduction. Based on her observations, she fictionalized the size and decoration of his room, the contents of his dresser and desk, the personalities of his parents, the type and color of his pets, the number and type of his siblings, his hobbies, and his reactions to different situations.
The next day, after school, she introduced herself, being friendly and somewhat flirty. Unaccustomed to the attention of a pretty girl, the boy happily led her to his room where she discovered almost every one of her theories to be accurate. She was wrong on two counts. She guessed he had two sisters and one brother when, in fact, he had only one sister and no brothers. She was so excited and pleased with herself that she made out with him for the rest of the afternoon.
To avoid any unflattering rumors, she called him boyfriend for the remainder of the school year. Their relationship would end that summer when he discovered Daisy and his sister kissing in his bed. Daisy would explain that their actions were purely scientific which he would not believe, or even hear over his own shouting. His sister, Jaclyn, would be just as surprised by Daisy’s dry and logical explanation. For though Daisy had described the act as an experiment, Jaclyn assumed it was an experiment of the heart, not the mind, and agreed to kiss only because she hoped Daisy’s heart would be a mirror to her own. Out of embarrassment and heartache Jaclyn would keep her affections a secret and instead pledge her loyalty in the form of friendship. Her desires would sometimes spill out in subtle ways – an embrace lasting too long, a casual kiss, cuddling during movies or sleepovers, and other small forms of physical affection that not even Jaclyn was aware of.
Daisy’s inquisitive mind and personal experimentation gave her a keen awareness of the human condition, but she failed to apply this knowledge to the
people closest to her – her mother, Jaclyn, and, later, the men that speckled her sex life. This blind spot got her into trouble more than once. On one occasion, while studying the effects of alcohol at a party, she stumbled into the arms of a man she had never met and remained there almost the entire night as he slowly peeled off her clothes. He was about to take her to a secluded room and remove the few clothes she had remaining when Jaclyn punched him in the face twice and carried Daisy to the car. Jaclyn managed to get Daisy into her own bed and then, motivated by worry and sexual desire, she curled under the sheets next to her. The next day, Daisy’s only regret was the loss of her green tank top and the slight hangover that lasted well into the afternoon. She did not, nor would she ever, thank Jaclyn for providing her with protection; instead, she would immediately move on to her next experiment while Jaclyn remained her silent and unacknowledged sentry.
When Daisy was accepted to a university on the other side of the country, Jaclyn followed her, ignoring the scholarships she had earned for several Ivy League schools. The truth was, since the moment they had kissed, Jaclyn could not imagine loving anyone except Daisy Darling. She was attracted to other women – even had a few short and secret relationships, but none of them could ignite her heart the way a casual glance from Daisy could, and did. Daisy, slightly self-indulgent and always occupied with thought, had not noticed Jaclyn’s affections, nor had she even hinted at them. She was too enveloped by the wonders of college. She had discovered there was a name for her passion – psychology, and she committed herself entirely to it. She snuck into upper division classes and sometimes eavesdropped on professors and TA’s. She read everything she could find within the differing curriculums, and then searched for ideas that were newly published.
Jaclyn had taken an interest in botany, specifically its uses in medicine. Though she had little passion for it, she minored in psychology in the hopes of having a few extra classes with Daisy. This plan would have been successful if Daisy had been a normal student, but Daisy’s passion took her far beyond the entry level classes that Jaclyn was forced to take.
After sneaking into a particularly difficult post-graduate class, Daisy made the error of correcting the professor after he had misquoted the book. The professor had been known to fail or embarrass students for far less – a fact Daisy had yet to learn. He commanded her to stand up and proceeded to bombard her with questions. She calmly and correctly answered each one. His final question was not in fact a question, but a trick for it had no solution. Daisy scrunched her eyebrows in thought, but could not divine an answer. The professor, smug and smirking, asked for her name and grade. She said both and he was astonished to learn that she was merely a freshman. He allowed her to audit the class. Then he scolded the rest of the students for being so lazy and stupid.
The first case study involved the mental state of trauma patients during and after their rehabilitation. Each student was responsible for a different subset of patients. Categories ranged from burn victims to suburban abuse. Daisy’s case study was focused on cancer. She followed the recovery of five patients ranging in age from thirty-four to sixty-five. She carefully observed their physical and emotional reactions and then, later, the expectations of their children and spouses. Daisy realized early on that if she was to remain objective, she must also remain distant. Instead of referring to each patient by name, she referred to them by number. #1 – thirty-four, married eight years, mother of two, breast cancer. #2 – forty-one, married twelve years, father of three, testicular cancer. #3 – sixty-three, divorced, mother of three, grandmother of seven, melanoma. #4 – sixty-five, divorced, father of one, lung cancer. #5 – seventy-one, married forty years, five children, eleven grandchildren, died before treatment could be administered.
Daisy was so focused on the work that when she was not at school, she was at one of the patients’ homes or at the hospital closely following their treatment. One morning, shortly after the case study began, patient #4 fell out of his bed and injured his leg. Daisy met him at the hospital just in time to hear the doctor order an x-ray. She followed #4 to radiology, taking notes about his behavior as a nurse pushed his wheelchair. He was nearly finished explaining, for the second time, how he had fallen when the nurse told Daisy to wait in the adjacent room. With a slight scowl and a huff, Daisy did as the nurse commanded, but as soon as the nurse turned her head, Daisy snuck back into the room. Before she could congratulate herself, a man, no older than thirty, pulled her aside. He motioned for her to sit and she did as he asked almost without thinking. She could not explain the quiet hold he had over her, nor could she stop gazing at him. He smiled and nodded at her before adjusting the x-ray console. For the first time in her life, Daisy felt embarrassed and speechless. Her cheeks turned red and she bashfully looked away.
She later learned that he was a radiology technician by the name of Jack Dassow and he had worked at the hospital a little over two years. She had to acquire this information from a nurse because her nerves had blurred the events of that morning.
It would take Jack and Daisy exactly four dates to realize that they were meant for each other. The forth date occurred on a Saturday evening at Jack’s apartment. Over the course of his bachelor life, Jack had developed two passions: fishing and cooking; and while he excelled at the first, he failed at the latter. He was, unfortunately, oblivious to these facts. Though he had the skills to calibrate complex medical equipment, he had never been able to transcribe that knowledge to his oven or stove. His finest meals were usually black around the edges – a feat some of his friends described as a miracle.
That particular evening, while Jack and Daisy sat nervously next to one another, the smell of burnt lasagna punctuated their silence. Jack rushed to the kitchen, pulling his scorched and burning meal from the oven. He patted the fire out with a pair of oven mitts and shamefully scraped the food into the garbage.
Daisy, attempting to be a polite guest, had brought a bottle of wine and a loaf of freshly baked garlic bread, which Jack handed back to her. He cracked two windows and turned on a fan, which he had become accustomed to doing, and led Daisy out of the apartment. He was almost certain he had ruined the evening and, more importantly, his chances with Daisy, so he decided there was no harm in being himself. He joked and laughed without reservation, told embarrassing stories, and attentively listened to hers.
They spent the evening walking through the city without a destination or a plan, sharing the bottle of wine and the loaf of garlic bread. They did not realize how long they had been talking until they saw the sun rise over the eastern skyline. Hand in hand, they walked back to Jack’s apartment and spent Sunday morning lying in bed together – their hearts too excited to sleep. Jack wanted to propose that afternoon, but out of decency, he waited another four months. Daisy of course accepted, wondering why it had taken so long for him to ask.
Jaclyn cried at the news and embraced her dear friend. Her tears were not a result of happiness as Daisy assumed, but instead owed their origin to a knot of sadness tied around her heart. Jaclyn’s embrace was not meant to congratulate. It was meant to say goodbye. She knew Daisy would never love her the way she wanted to be loved and she could not stand the thought of watching her love another. She agreed to each of Daisy’s requests with the intention of ignoring all of them.
The next day Jaclyn would take an internship in South America studying plants for a pharmaceutical company. She would inform Daisy only after the plane had landed in Argentina. She would spend the next six months rummaging through jungles and forests, collecting specimens with her particular focus being fungi. When she returned to America, Jaclyn would neglect to tell Daisy and, in fact, do her best to never think about or mention her again.
Daisy would never learn of these events, nor would she begrudge her best friend for she was happy that Jaclyn had finally found a passion for her life. The planning and wedding continued on schedule – Jack’s oldest sister taking the place of Jaclyn as maid of honor. Daisy had no other close fri
ends and only a little family, but Jack’s large sum of relatives easily made up the difference and warmly welcomed Daisy into their lives.
After the wedding, Rose embraced Daisy and presented her with a gift – the last and only possession of the departed Leo Darling. Daisy unwrapped the small present. It was a framed photograph of a man and woman standing outside a cabin. The woman was pregnant and smiling. Daisy did not recognize the woman or the man, but she felt a strange connection to them. The photograph was faded, with warped edges, and a small crease near the middle.
They were family, Rose explained, but that was as much as she knew for the young Leo Darling, who had been silently homesick, had spoken very little about his past – a trait Rose equally shared.
Daisy held the photograph to her chest and kissed her mother. Later that night, after making love to her husband, Daisy would take the photograph from her suitcase and examine it. She would be mesmerized by its contrast and framing. She would wonder about the camera and photographer used in its making. Then she would think about the two people affectionately holding onto one another. She would contemplate their names and how they came to be there, but Daisy Dassow would never learn of these events, nor would she think much about how the photograph came to be in her possession, except to admire its fidelity and smile at the beautiful woman that seemed so familiar to her.
About the Author
I'm an indie author writing on the west coast. I love to create dark and devious characters in all sorts of genres. I’ve written a novel, Chewing on Pen Caps, a book of poetry, The American Idlers and a handful of short stories. To provide feedback or get information about current and future books go to:
www.cloudbuchholz.com
I hope you enjoyed this story and all the stories still to come.
The Last Darling Page 8