The Colour of Broken

by Amelia Grace

‘GRAM!’ I CALLED. She was outside Flowers for Fleur, fussing about the blooms in the basket of her bicycle. She was the colour of blush pink—acceptance and calm. Her presence at the store was totally unexpected. ‘Gram!’ I called again, but she still did not respond.

  I dismounted my bike, stopped beside her and touched her shoulder. ‘Gram. You’re here!’ I smiled a double smile if that was at all possible—one smile for her being here at the store, and the other was because I could hear Grampapa’s singing: E lucevan le stelle.

  She turned her head towards me. ‘Oh, Landi. I didn’t hear you. How are you?’

  ‘I’m well ... and you?’

  She turned her body, holding her head still and faced me. ‘It’s a good day today. I’m feeling much better after my short stay in hospital.’

  I put my hand over my heart. ‘That makes me happy.’ I kissed her on the cheek. ‘Is that what I think I can hear?’

  Gram looked at me with furrowed brows. She turned her head to the left, listening with her right ear.

  Her face relaxed and she smiled. ‘Yes. It’s E lucevan le stelle. It’s magnificent.’ A tear ran down Gram’s cheek, and my heart broke a little. She had most definitely lost some hearing, if not a lot. She wiped her tear away and took a deep breath. ‘Now go inside and start on your job list, Yolande. We have a busy day!’

  ‘Yes, Gram.’ I wanted to add that every day was busy here, but I didn’t. I opened the door to the store and Grampapa’s voice poured out, loud and clear. I put my bike in the office, then went to Gramps and gave him a long hug. He was the colour of tawny brown—reliability and endurance.

  ‘I didn’t think Gram would be here today ... should she be here?’ I asked.

  ‘No, she shouldn’t. But you know Gram. I can’t stop her, so I have to support her and be there for her when it all crumbles.’

  ‘We’re all here for her, Gramps.’

  I found my apron and put it on, checked that my scar was covered, then got on with my list of jobs. I opened the front doors at 8.30am, then made my way to the sales desk. I looked over to my right at Gram. She was working at the workbench of flower imagination with a beaming smile on her face.

  ‘Flowers, tea, coffee or books?’ All four words rolled off my tongue, as Gram insisted on me saying. The older gentleman was the colour of pineapple yellow—optimism and joy.

  ‘Flowers. For my wife.’

  I smiled at him. ‘Are you celebrating?’

  ‘Well ... my wife is having her cochlear implants turned on today. She’ll be able to hear again after twelve long years. It’s such a ... a ... miracle!’

  I swallowed. Hard.

  ‘It’ll be the first time she will hear her grandchildren’s voices.’ The man looked down and smiled, then wiped his eye. It was a big moment for them.

  They needed to commemorate with the most beautiful flowers we had. This called for the “Flossie”—the Roman Goddess of Flowers. ‘Let me organise an extraordinary gathering of blooms to honour your grand celebration. Please enjoy a complimentary hot drink at the café. Tell Darcy that Andi sent you.’

  ‘Really? Thanks,’ he said, and ventured to his right, over Darcy’s way.

  I approached Gram and stood by her left side. ‘Can you create a “Flossie” please, Gram.’

  She looked at me. ‘Bossy? Have I been too bossy?’

  I berated myself after forgetting that she couldn’t hear so well with her left ear. Maybe she needed a cochlear implant? I walked around the work bench and faced her. ‘No, Gram. I have an order for a “Flossie” bouquet. You know ... in your special book, the Roman Goddess of Flowers.’

  ‘Oh—of course! I’ll get on to it right away!’

  ‘Thanks, Gram.’ I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Her hearing had deteriorated. It was like she was guessing at what I had said. I returned to the sales desk.

  ‘Good morning. Flowers, tea, coffee or books?’ A young woman stood before me. She wore an emerald green empire waist dress that matched the colour of her eyes. Her red hair was tied into a high pony tail. She was striking. I looked at her a little longer to see her colour. She was a gray blue, that gray with an “a”—deep sadness.

  ‘Flowers.’

  ‘For?’

  ‘Why should I tell you that?’ She was defensive.

  ‘So I can organise the right type of flowers for you. It’s no good giving you roses when I should be giving you sunflowers?’

  She looked away and held her breath. I knew exactly what she was doing. She was stopping her tears from falling. I had lost count of how many times I had done that in the last three years, after that terrible day of scars.

  ‘They’re for me ... for my broken heart,’ she finally said, her voice breaking.

  I wanted to go and hug her. I wanted to tell her that it gets better, but I couldn’t. I was still waiting for the pain of my broken heart to lessen.

  ‘I’m so sorry ... it’s an indescribable pain, and a grief process. It’s okay to feel every emotion and express it, if you can. There’s nothing you can do to avoid what you’re feeling. It’s what makes us human.’ She needed nurturing. She was feeling the colour of broken. Fractured. We needed flowers for “fractured”. ‘Let’s walk around in the flower garden and create a unique bouquet, just for you.’

  I took her hand in mine with a gentleness, like a sister would. The same hand that once held Mia’s. Together we looked at flowers, lifted them and smelled their perfume, and collected them in a basket. I took her to the workbench and gathered the palest pink ribbon and a clear jar-like vase, and together we added the blooms, tending to the flowers with care, like tending to her heart.

  Some people believe that flowers have magical healing properties. At this moment, I believed it was true. I wrapped the pale pink ribbon around the top of the vase, then added a thin wire of fairy lights into the creation and turned it on.

  A smile spread over her face. A happy smile that warmed my heart. Before she left the store, I gave her a hug. I waved away her offer of money. I didn’t help her because I wanted a sale. I wanted to help to make her heart feel lighter, to lessen her burden. And I think I did, because my heart felt full—full of glitter and sparkles. But ... would Gram approve of my generosity?

  I returned to the sales desk and sold a few bunches of flowers. I turned my head toward Gram to check on her. She walked toward Darcy with an unfamiliar gait. She didn’t walk with her usual grace. Her walk was unsteady, like she had had a few too many drinks. Did she? I watched as she ordered herself a cup of tea, then turned, keeping her entire body stiff as she did so. It was an odd thing to do. On her return to the workbench she stopped beside me at the sales desk and put her hand on my back.

  ‘The rain is coming, Landi. Put the umbrellas out.’

  ‘But it’s sunny outside!’

  ‘Trust me. It’s going ... to rain. My brain fog is back, and my ear feels full, the tinnitus is roaring, and moving my head is like doing it in slow motion, plus it makes me feel nauseous. The rain ... is coming.’

  ‘Oh, Gram. I had no idea the weather affected you like that.’

  ‘Just another wonderful part of this disease—the unique meteorologist ability it grants ... that was a lovely thing to do for that young woman, by the way,’ she said.

  Guilt rose inside of me. ‘I gifted them to her, Gram. I couldn’t take any money. Helping to ease her pain was more important than the money. If I took money from her it would have felt false.’

  ‘You have a heart of gold, Andi.’

  ‘Just like you, Gram.’

  ‘That’s why I have you here in the store with me.’ She smiled at me, but it didn’t reach her eyes. I watched as she continued to the workbench, where she stood motionless for a little bit, and took a deep breath. I shook my head. Gram shouldn’t be here. She wasn’t as well as she was pretending to be. She only proved one thing—it’s harder to fake being well, and it takes a lot of effort. She’s using up energy that she will need later.

  I
moved about the store in double time, replenishing flower supplies and restocking shelves. I did as much as I could so Gram would have to do little. She needed to conserve her energy.

  I waltzed out the front of the store to spritz the blooms for longevity, and looked over at the flowers in the basket of Gram’s bicycle. There was no note from Xander, not that there should be one. My heart sank. I returned to the sales desk and pulled out my floral notepad. I would write to him instead:

  Dear Alexander,

  I was going to give you a quote about dancing,

  but you would know them all.

  I must thank you for awakening my dancer soul from

  its eternal slumber. A new energy is flowing through

  me and I can’t wait to use it.

  What have you done?

  * Yolande *

  I folded the letter and wrote Xander’s name on the front. I walked out to the bicycle flower basket with a grin and placed it between the blooms. I looked up at the sky. Dark clouds had gathered overhead, just like Gram had predicted. I returned to the store and grabbed the umbrellas, and placed them by the flowers at the storefront for people to purchase.

  I turned my gaze to Gram, looking through the windows. The glow of the store lights illuminated her. She looked like she was an angel while working on a magnificent, artistic flower creation. I placed my hand over my heart as it overflowed with love for her. A sad smile formed on my lips as I thought of all she was going through. In the next moment my breath stopped. Gram had dropped to the floor with a loud thud. I screamed.

  My breath trembled like an aftershock and I ran through the store and around the workbench. Gram was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. She swallowed hard and then her chin began to quiver. A tear rolled down the side of her face and disappeared into her hair.

  ‘I hate Meniere’s disease!’ she said between clenched teeth. ‘I feel like I’ve been cursed!’

  I knelt beside Gram. ‘Are you spinning? Is it the vertigo?’

  ‘No. It’s another symptom of this despicable disease—a drop attack ... I am so filled with the ugliness of hatred, and I don’t know who or what to hate. Do I hate me, fallen man, or the disease itself?’

  My eyes burned. Gram filled with hate? This wasn’t my gram. She was always the personification of grace, love and kindness. She was the epitome of the colour pink!

  ‘Are you hurt?’ I asked while I blinked fifty million times to drain away my hot tears. I placed my hands around her back to help her sit up.

  ‘I’m sure something will hurt in the coming days. Right now, it’s my ego that’s hurting the most.’ Gram put her hands over her face and sobbed.

  ‘I hate this. I so, so hate this!’ She lifted her face to the ceiling, her eyes closed, tears rolling down her cheeks. She placed a shaky hand on her forehead. ‘I’m at the mercy of this disease. I have no control over it and it does what it likes, mocking me in the process.’

  My heart cried for her. ‘I’ll be back with a stool for you to sit on, Gram. You can’t drop to the floor if you’re already sitting. It will be safer that way...’ I hope.

  I placed the stool before the workbench and helped Gram onto the seat. Darcy arrived with a glass of water and a look of concern.

  ‘Thanks, Darcy. Gram’s okay. The water is much appreciated.’ I gave him a small smile then turned my attention back to Gram.

  ‘Thank you, dear Darcy,’ Gram added and took a sip of the water.

  ‘Shall I call Charlotte in, so I can work here by your side?’ I asked.

  ‘Slide? No, I didn’t go for a slide. I fell, remember?’ Gram looked at me as if I was bonkers.

  I went around and stood on her right side—the ear she could hear with. ‘Silly me,’ I said. ‘Of course, you fell. I’d like to call Charlotte in to work, and I’ll stay at the workbench with you.’

  Gram looked at me. Her eyebrows crinkled, and tears filled her eyes. ‘Has is really come to this ... to Grammy-sitting me?’

  I put my hand over my mouth to cover my gasp. Yes ... I removed my hand from my mouth and swallowed, hard. ‘Gram, you are more precious to me than all the flowers in the world. Working side by side with you is an honour, not a duty.’

  Gram held my hand in hers and squeezed it. ‘Tactful, my dear. And I thank you for it. Let’s finish this flower work of art.’

  ‘Yes, Gram.’ I watched as she arranged the Japanese magnolias, camellias, kumquats, loropetalum, and bottlebrush—whites, pinks, yellows, dark pink, blues, orange and red—with greenery to set it off, all in a metal goblet vase with handles, humming while she worked. The fragrance of sweet candy flowed around the flowers. It was a breath of loveliness from the magnolias.

  ‘Does your humming add extra love into the creation?’ I asked.

  ‘Perhaps ... it’s more for me, to try and tune out the incessant loud tinnitus that haunts my ear non-stop. Five noises! It’s louder than anything else I can hear, even when I go to a live performance!’

  Oh ... how hideous to be afflicted like that. I looked down at the flowers, consciously trying to listen to my own hearing for any tinnitus. Nothing. ‘Do you have a name for this floral revelation by Fleur?’

  ‘Yes ... I’m calling it “Faith by Fleur”. It’s for those who feel they no longer have control over their lives as everything is taken away, piece by piece.’

  ‘Like you?’ My voice was soft as I felt my heart break for her. I looked up at the ceiling and widened my eyes to stop a deluge of tears.

  There was a pause before she spoke in a hushed tone. ‘Yes.’ Gram lifted her chin higher.

  There was an ache in my chest. ‘If faith was a picture, it would look like your flowers, Gram, the buds blooming to show their inner beauty, despite being culled from their life source of harmony and happiness, and opening, in the knowledge that someone was still watching over them with grace.’

  Gram turned to me, anguished, and looked into my eyes before she wrapped her arms around me.

  ‘I see them ...’ she whispered into my ear, ‘those suffering like me ... and I want to be the one to stop it for them. Nobody deserves this ... this ... manic, violent, debilitating, depressing, disgusting, deplorable, despicable, devastating, damaging, distressing, diabolical monster of a disease that makes you vulnerable and defenseless. It takes everything, everything, Landi, and never gives back ... it takes everything.’ Gram’s voice was tainted with a restrained anger.

  ‘Except your family. It can’t take away those who love you.’

  Gram started to sob into my shoulder, and I held her tighter. I wanted to take the Meniere’s monster from her. I should be the one with it, not her. I was the one who had done something unforgivable on that terrible day of the scars. Gram had done nothing but give joy and happiness to others.

  I handed tissues to Gram when she sat back on the stool. I looked over, and there on the bench were two teacups and a teapot. Darcy was an angel with a red beard. I poured the cups of tea and added milk. ‘Let’s find a cure, Gram.’

  ‘There is no cure!’

  ‘Where there’s life, there’s hope. Where there’s hope, there’s a will, and where there’s a will, there’s a way ... I’ll look into it for you.’ I sipped on my tea and watched as Gram lifted her teacup to her lips, her hand with a slight tremble.

  A shadow passed over her eyes. A very dark shadow. My skin prickled. Intuition. Dr Jones had spoken about it. Gram was in a dark place. I knew, because I had been there, and still hovered there at times. Sometimes I wondered if it was easier to go to that place and feel sorry for myself, rather than to step boldly, and live with courage.

  Darcy collected the teapot, cups and saucers once we had finished. I gave him a silent nod of approval and thanks. He raised his eyebrows, asking in silence whether Gram was okay. I creased my eyebrows together and gave a quick small shake of my head. He frowned with a sadness in his dark eyes, and backed away to return to the café.

  Charlotte and Darcy kept the store going while I s
pent the rest of the day “Grammy-sitting”, as Gram so accurately described. At 5pm, Grampapa took one step inside the store and scanned the space for Gram. He was the colour of dark blue: reliability, radiating security and trust.

  When he sighted her, he smiled, then walked over to her and kissed her on the lips. He then sat at the sales desk and started to sing, his tenor voice filling every physical object, vibrating at a resonance that felt like it penetrated the very essence of life.

  I took a calming breath and looked over at Gram. She was standing at the workbench with her eyes closed, and her hand over her heart. My throat tightened. Their love story would not end the way it started, with Grampapa’s singing. Gram’s hearing was being taken away from her, and one day, she would never hear his passionate voice again.

  I walked over to her and put my arm around her, then rested my head on hers.

  ‘La fleur que tu m’avais jetée,’ she whispered, ‘from the famous opera, “Carmen”.

  ‘Beautiful,’ I whispered back.

  ‘We need to talk, Landi. Let’s finish up with our closing jobs and sit together at the table to discuss things.’

  My muscles tensed. I didn’t want to hear what she was about to say. ‘Okay.’ My voice was too quiet, even for me.

  I left Gram, knowing that Gramps would be watching her, helping her, caring for her, and started the store closing routine, including preparing for the next day.

  At 6pm, I sat at a table by the window. I cast my gaze outside at the rain and tried to ignore the waves of dread that came and went. Gram and Gramps sat opposite me and held hands. It was like the calm before the storm to come.

  Gramps leaned over and kissed Gram on the forehead. ‘I want Gram’s to finish up at the store.’

  Gram looked at Gramps with wide eyes. She pulled her hand away from his. ‘No, Caleb. I can’t leave the store. It’s my life! It’s everything to me!’

  ‘Fleur, I want you better. What if it’s the stress of running the store that’s causing the vertigo attacks, and what if, you stop working here and the vertigo stops. If the vertigo stops, you won’t lose any more of your precious hearing.’