Lilacs in Bloom - Part 1
For each fallen petal, a seed grows anew,
And it takes a little rain for the lilacs to bloom.
The clouds weigh heavy as sky prepares to weep;
A summer glow follows the release.
Winter returns, guided by autumn;
Darkness arrives from an endless bottom.
Then the heart calls out, suddenly aching,
And the lilacs bloom for another taking.
***
Everything began with the death of Amy Murray, wife of Samuel Murray, former businesswoman, piano player, tennis enthusiast, friend of wealthy housewives, and victim of cancer.
Samuel Murray, frequently called Sam, watched the funeral attendees converse with each other quietly as her coffin was lowered into the ground. It was late June, though the air had the heat of mid-August, and the sun shone bright overhead in the cloudless blue sky. Many people had shown up- all friends and family of Amy. Sam was an only child with both parents no longer alive, and with little other family and even less friends of his own. He found it difficult to interact with all of these people, many of whom he hardly knew, none of whom he supposed he had a relationship with. With Amy, he had been part of a crowd that he would have otherwise been alienated from. He sensed that he would never talk to most of these people ever again.
Sometimes they came up to him to give their condolences. He thanked them but never held a conversation. His desire to be left alone was evident to everyone.
He resented himself, on and off. Even with more than enough money at his disposal, it still wasn't enough to save Amy. But even if he had saved her life, he couldn't have saved their love.
A bird fluttered overhead and landed in a tree less than twenty yards behind him. It was a cardinal, its redness standing out in bright contrast to the emerald leaves. Sam watched it for a while, mentally absent from the wrap-up of the funeral. Another cardinal hopped along the branch into view. The pair danced around each other before flying off.
There was a child talking. Sam searched for it and saw a small boy from a distance, likely about seven years old, nearly hidden behind several pairs of legs. His heart ached even more now, not just for Amy but for what he sacrificed for her...
His legs wanted to give out. He would fall to the ground, next to where she lay. But he was strong- always had been. He would persevere.
Several more people made small talk with him. When they were finished, Sam left.
Once in the car he loosened his tie and sank into his seat with a deep sigh. What now? He had nothing to drive him anymore, no goals, no motivation. Just working out and working on projects.
It was time for a drink.
He drove. No music filled the car, nor did the clock receive a glance. He arrived at a popular local spot just outside of town: Russo's, known for its pizza and bar. Sam parked and headed inside without much thought.
Not many pizza restaurants in town were busy at two o'clock on a Saturday, Russo's included. Sam was one of three patrons; two older men sat at a booth, deep in conversation. Sam went straight to the counter and plopped on a stool.
A blonde woman wearing a flour-covered apron walked out of the attached kitchen and threw a small towel on the counter by the register. He had seen her before on occasion, as he had come here for pizza many times. She smiled at Sam briefly before removing her apron, hanging it on a hook by the passage. Underneath she wore a black blouse with a hint of more flour. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, and when she let it free it fell all the way down to the small of her back.
"How can I help you?" she asked him. Her voice was soothing and sincere.
"Whiskey, please. Neat."
"Coming up."
While she did her job, Sam closed his eyes and listened to the news coming from the television. Something about a new hotel that was just completed downtown, then something about politics. He lost interest.
The server returned with his whiskey. "Thanks," he said.
"You're welcome." He felt her eyes on him for a moment. "Have I seen you around here?"
"It's been a while- a few months."
"Hm. I feel like I just saw you this week."
"Maybe on the news. My wife just, uh, died."
"Oh my god... I'm so, so sorry." She was at a loss of words but did not leave him, clearly wanting to say something else.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to be so blunt."
"No, no. Please." She looked at him with concern. "Samuel Murray, right?"
"Yeah. Sam."
"Sam. Nice to officially meet you, in spite of the circumstances."
"You too... Miss?"
"Stephanie Russo. My mother and I own the place."
"You think you could get me another whiskey?" he asked her, having finished his. She nodded and soon returned with another.
"Do you want to talk?" she asked him. "I mean, I understand if you don't... hell, I don't even know you, but... you know, sometimes it helps."
Sam said nothing. He wasn't used to people talking to him like this. Instead, he just looked at the TV, his eyes glazed.
"I'll take that as a no. Well, let me know if you need anything, okay?"
Sam nodded before taking another drink. Stephanie was nice, and he considered talking... but God, he felt awful. It was only what, two-fifteen, and it felt like nine? He stood up abruptly and made his way back to the car.
Once home, the rest of the day was spent in bed. As the night arrived, he fell asleep from exhaustion. It had been a long several months.
***
Four months ago, during the first week of February, Amy's cancer had reached stage four. They had just gotten home from the hospital, and the only thing Sam would really remember afterwards, which would stick with him for a long time, was one of the most heated arguments they had ever had. It was about something that they couldn't change.