Poetry Stories: Mildred's Garden
Chapter 1. Question mark.
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SAM
[june-july]
Mildred kept a garden.
And apparently a pretty serious one.
Sam leaned back into his deck chair on this sultry night and used his left thumb to deftly scroll through her Instagram feed.
Mildred, face half hidden by a honey-colored sunflower. Mildred, long-stemmed blossoms over her shoulder—walking away. Peeking from behind a huge golden flower. What in the world was it? He squinted in the dim light: Dahlia. Never heard of it. There she was, face buried in Chinese tangerine roses. Another with a daisy behind her ear. Rubbing noses with a tiny hound puppy, some kind of lacy white blooms crowning her hair.
A puppy! He scrolled through photo after photo of bright florals and vegetables: tomatoes, snap peas, radishes, pole beans. Mingled throughout were glimpses of Mildred. Mildred with her moon-face and that luminous smile.
He kept scrolling until he arrived at the picture of them.
The one time they’d met. It was at the Mountain Stage show in January. She and her friend Cindy were lingering at the merch table. Usually he didn’t mingle with the fans, preferring to slip away after finishing his set. But Mountain Stage was always different. It was his third time on the show and it felt like a homecoming. The Stage had a kind of family feeling—an artist’s village. Everyone celebrating everyone else. Making music and life.
It was good. And so he was feeling safe. He wandered out to the front while a bluegrass trio was doing their thing on stage. What was the name of that band? He couldn’t remember. They were talented—all about the three-part harmony. Cute lead vocal. But he was feeling like one more banjo and fiddle number would do him in. So he slipped out.
When Mildred saw him she froze, a vinyl copy of Another Time Around the Sun in her hands. Behind her, Cindy held up a T-shirt with the Oddbird album cover art on it. At Mildred’s sudden paralysis, she, too, looked up and in his direction.
“Oh, my gosh!” She tossed the shirt and tugged Mildred toward him.
He took off his hat and inclined his head at their approach. “Hello, ladies.” Cindy did all the talking. Mildred beamed.
We’re your number one fans. Well, Mildred has always been you’re your number one fan. She’s followed you since Paper Lanterns, how long has that been anyway? She has all your stuff, even when you were with The Robber Barons. We love Oddbird! Mildred says it’s a little more contemplative than your others ...
On and on Cindy chatted, while he—amused—nodded and smiled, until he looked up and was caught by Mildred’s almond eyes. Finally, Mildred—never breaking his gaze—pressed a hand on Cindy’s forearm. Then she reached out to him, slender ivory fingers extended. When she opened her mouth, all he heard was something like birdsong—a lilting melody that made his heart hurt. He took her hand and lifted her fingers to his lips, struggling to hear words in her voice but failing. Her skin smelled like apples, sweet in the sun. At the slight pressure of his lips, she blushed and dipped her head to the side—dark hair falling like rain across her shoulder. She smiled and a dimple appeared in her left cheek, making his breath catch. He blinked into the song of her voice. He felt like he was being sirened.
But he was bound to the mast of the ship of the show and when Paul, the stage manager, hailed him, the spell was broken.
“Gil! Time to warm up. You’re on deck.”
“All right, man, I’ll be right there.”
The women quickly snapped a couple photos with him and he returned backstage to get ready for his set, softly cradling against his chest the hand she’d held—reluctant to let go of the feel of her skin.
Later, Mildred tagged him in this shot: she, dimpling into the frame and he gazing down where her fingers encircled his. He liked the picture and impulsively followed her stream. When she requested to follow him back, he hesitated.
His Instagram feed was private. Facebook was for his fans but Instagram was the place he reserved for those who knew more of him than his music. It was the place he kept up with his nieces’ lives—gawked at Abby’s pictures of Peter the Oversized Rabbit and Della’s ballet poses. It was the one place his little sister Sher knew she could say what needed saying. Like, “It’s time to come home.” Or, “When was the last time anyone grilled you a steak as big as your plate?”
He didn’t post often, only when he wanted to share something specific with someone specific. There was the string of ex-girlfriends, and his posse from high school; his philosophy professor from the one year at University...and Heather. Of course, Heather. He’d only had to block a couple people he’d let in. Instagram was private. The place of the inside joke and the tired out reference.
But he accepted Mildred’s follow request.
Sam studied the picture, noting every detail already memorized. They could be brother and sister—dark hair, just a hint of the Far East around the eyes. For the millionth time he wondered about her story. She was obviously of mixed heritage, like him. Was she adopted too? Or did she grow up in the culture that gave her such disquieting beauty? As with his, there were no clues in her feed about her background.
He scrolled back up. Mildred’s pictures left him with a gaping hole somewhere inside. No, that wasn’t fair. The hole was already there. Her pictures only made him more aware of it.
Just then, a new post popped up in her feed. It was a black and white photo of Mildred standing barefoot in a sea of red poppies. The poppies were the only color in the image. Mildred was holding a plain poster-board with a large black question mark on it. Her head tipped downward to read the sign along with him. The accompanying comment said, “Big announcement coming soon!”
Sam breathed deep of the night air and studied the fast-appearing comments.
sologirl Is it what I think it is???
gregthebear About time!
taniaflorist Can’t wait!
mom2four Yay!
He thumbed a quick one. “@mildredsgarden Moonflower, what are u up to?”
Mildred rarely replied to her comments, but she almost always answered his. “@giltheguitarman you’ll just have to wait and see ;)”
to be continued…
Photo by Nathalie Stickelbaut. Used with permission.
