I saw the tiny, potted, blue hydrangea sitting on my desk and it stole my breath away. I felt my heart hurt a little as it seemed to pump slightly thicker blood out and through itself. There was a living, breathing flower on my desk. I blinked and looked around, asking others who owned it. They all told me it was mine since you put in on my desk. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Huh. You were actually paying attention.
You asked it in passing, and I answered in passing, off the top of my head. I like flowers yes, but I would prefer potted ones. So they wouldn't die after a week. So I could keep watering it daily. And think of the person who gave it every time I pay it any attention. And I love blue hydrangeas. And now there it was, staring at me with accusing eyes.
Months. I've been ignoring the signs for months. We've eaten every meal together for months. You went with me from one classroom to the next. You have walked me to my bus stop. You have always saved me seats to everything. You've even bought me soup that one time I had a cold. And now this. Does that mean they were all right? Did you like me romantically?
They were turning off the lights. I gingerly held the small clay pot and walked with the group out of the room. I was looking out for you. I saw you at the top of the stairs. It was easy to spot you since you were a head taller than everyone else no matter how much you try to hunch over. You waved at me and I gave you a restrained smile, not wanting to seem too eager.
"Hey, you left your flower on my desk." I opened, wanting you to say the flower pot was mine.
"Oh uhm, it's your if you want it." Not quite there.
"Oh, Where'd you get it?" I wanted you to tell me you got it specifically for me. Or that you saw it lying in some dumpster somewhere and somehow you remembered I wanted one. Something.
"Somewhere." You were not cooperating. Sometimes these things seem like pulling teeth. With my bare hands.
"Where?" I was persistent.
"Around." You were more stubborn.
"Did you buy-" Suddenly the pot was out of my careful grip... and it now lay in the appraising hands of a mutual workmate. I wanted to yell at her. Hiss and scratch her eyes out. Mine. That potted flower was mine. Outwardly I stayed calm.
"Can I have it Red?" She asked you. "I will give it to my mom. Maybe she'd allow me to go on that trip with you guys!"
My hands hurt from the effort not to turn into claws. And I looked at you, waiting for you to tell her it was mine. To say no. Something. You looked at me.
"Hey Blue, is it okay with you if she takes it?" No. Nooooooooooooo.
"It's not mine to give is it?" I sighed inwardly in defeat.
The workmate walked away happily, leaving both of us there, staring into nothing. We walked home in silence that night.I felt more blue than that hydrangea.