Hydrangeas and Passing Whispers

By: Loraine Valladolid

The hydrangeas were in full bloom under the September light. I still remember the roar of

mechanical ghosts –cars passing by the sidewalk where flower beds once sprouted five years ago.

The whispering petals –shades of blue, violet, and white –breathed softly against the blustering

chaos, their delicate presence contrasting the noise. Smarting pains flushed my childish body as the sun’s rays warmed every crevice of my skin.

I can barely recall the face of the man I see every day, yet every flawed detail of your face

remains clear –each imperfection amplifying your beauty. I doubt I’d say the same things back then as I do now, but every second felt like a year. I would clasp my hands and cry out to God again if it meant reliving the same playful joy, even if it meant my hands would bleed from clawing at a memory by the millisecond.

The cars you dreamed of then now seem like faint, distant obstacles in my diminished mind. I often wondered why they mattered so much to you, why your eyes sparkled at the thought of luxury when everything we had was already the epitome of indulgence. They were too fast, too swift, too fleeting for my youthful mind to grasp.

Years have passed, and while I understand your grand dreams, I still can’t fathom why what we

had wasn’t enough.

Maybe I’m still too small, despite my growth.

Years have passed, and I walk the same path we used to wander. I search for glimpses of you in

the places we frequented. With your passing came the thoughts of what could have been. As I trudge

along the sidewalk where the hydrangeas bloomed five years ago, I see that the flower beds have been

replaced with thick patches of cement.

Yet, amidst the cracked pavement, one flower buds defiantly where it shouldn’t.

It may not be a hydrangea, but it blooms in the same spot where your eyes once sparkled at the

thought of a better life.

Ma, I miss you!

I used to weep at the void you left behind, but seeing this flower reminds me that even in the

harshest places, something beautiful can still grow.