The next three nights we were together—that is, we slept in the same bed. Each night, I woke up to her crying.
And on that third night, my mind drifted to a time when I lived with Patrick; we had a neighbor who loved to garden. He planted beautiful flowers on his balcony, so many that it was filled with an assortment of colors dripping over the railing like an oil painting. It was quite magnificent to stare at from my window or from the street.
One day, he invited me to join him; we drank a beer while we sat on chairs and stared out to the ocean. The balcony smelled lovely as well; the whole package seemed heavenly.
“I planted some jasmine for that nice smell,” he said.
“It really is great. It feels like we are somewhere different. It feels like a vacation up here,” I said.
It truly was an experience; I breathed in the fresh, flowery scents and let myself become ensconced in a colorful beauty—my mind slipped into a reverie reminiscent of lands existing only in early childhood fantasies.
We sat in silence for a few minutes; I presumed he was enjoying it as much as I was.
“Here is the interesting thing,” he said breaking the silence. “I’ve had many guests to my balcony, and like you, they have expressed wonderment at the beauty. But after some time goes by, they all seem to have a similar reaction. You haven’t had it yet so I’m just going to tell you,” he said and paused, waiting for me to break from my trance.
He continued, “After some some minutes have passed, when they’ve had enough time to enjoy themselves, they start paying closer attention to the flowers. And when they do that, I’ve practically memorized the look on their faces that comes next. They start to notice that the deck is swarming with bugs—bees, wasps, spiders, beetles. Their demeanor changes slightly. I notice them tighten up. I notice their smiles fade. I notice them paranoically looking around, wondering if they are going to get bitten or stung. And right then, I know they want to be back inside where it is safe.”
I looked closely at the flowers and noticed them—bees and wasps buzzing about from flower to flower, some of them hovering close to our heads. I noticed a spider walking along the back balcony rail toward us. I had the sudden urge to smack my leg or frantically brush out my hair with my hands.
“See, at about this time with the others I offer that we go back inside. I pretend that I didn’t notice their faces. I don’t want them to think that I am offended. But for me, it’s still beautiful here on this balcony everyday. It’s still beautiful to me because I learned to share the beauty with these bugs. And then I thought about it. Beauty is not always as perfect as we imagine it to be but it can be damn close if we learn to accept the scary parts or the ugly parts. We have to compromise a little bit. We have to share. But most people never come to visit my balcony again. I figured you’d be the type of guy to appreciate a story like that,” he said.
I nodded as I watched the spider get closer to me.
-A tiny excerpt from my forthcoming novel: Isn’t It Pretty To Think So?
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