Flower Widows

When the furry blue alien entered their lives, the four widows were comfortably ensconced in their favorite booth at the back of Demetria’s diner, waiting to be served the Early Bird Special. The Formica table was spotless, adorned with the usual ketchup and mustard bottles, salt and pepper shakers. These days you had to ask for sugar.

It was a pleasant autumn, so the air conditioning and the heat were off, and no one stuck to the blood-red plastic seats.

“Fuck this,” said Marigold, the oldest of the four. “I hate turkey burgers with sweet potato fries.” When the highlight of your day was lunch, you wanted variety.

The others nodded. Really, how many healthy Waldorf salads, western omelettes, or club sandwiches—not to mention colas, milkshakes, peppermint teas, or cranberry juices—could a person consume without losing her mind?

Something new had to happen.

The widows had met at the local senior center, bonded by a combination of flowery names, loneliness, boredom, and intelligence. Each hated the idea of being a “senior,” which implied lessened mobility and an idiotic terror of technology.

Though none of the ladies were poor, neither were they rich, hence the $12.99 Special. A bargain was a bargain, as Violet always said.

They had grown into their names. Marigold was now “blonde,” her thick black hair growing out so fast she had decided blonde was a better “look.” Violet’s eyes bordered on purple, and she occasionally mimicked the voice of Elizabeth Taylor, whose famous eyes had won the hearts of many—which Violet aspired to do, even in her seventies. Daisy had a sunny disposition, light-hearted and warm; Rose, plump and pink, turned a startling shade of crimson every time she was angry, embarrassed, happy, or actually for no reason at all.

The food arrived; they ate heartily.

When each had finished the last bit of egg and lettuce leaf of her Early Bird Special, they put down their utensils and sighed. Their waitress, Hessie, older than Brooklyn from the looks of her, asked if they wanted something else, knowing full well that apple pie and pound cake with vanilla ice cream would be ordered, since those desserts were included in the price of the Special.

They sighed again as they finished their desserts. Now what? How to fill up the day and not think about the past, or fear their shortened futures. Today was Tuesday. Nothing new on the horizon.

Yes, they had their volunteer work: the botanical garden needed greeters, a church committee needed used clothing sorters, the feral cats needed to be rescued, spayed, and fed. Marigold taught English at the community college part-time, and Rose babysat for harried mothers in her apartment building. But still….

Something remarkable happened.

A light, as bright as three dawning suns over New York harbor, shone outside the diner’s door, accompanied by a deep and soothing rumbling. Slowly, half inch by half inch, the door opened. In walked a large something, with long, fluffy blue and green fur and ears as big as pie plates. Its eyes glowed a ruby red. Its arms hung almost to its knees.

“It’s one of those furries,” said Rose, blushing. “You know, those people that like to dress up like an animal to feel good about themselves.”

“What?” said Marigold. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“My son is a furry,” retorted Rose. “He’s married with two kids. And he’s a doctor.”

“That’s not a furry,” said Violet. “I don’t see a zipper or anything.”

“Oh my god,” gasped Daisy, crossing herself.

The others did their own version of invoking protection, because the large something had taken the six-person booth right across the narrow aisle.

Hessie shuffled over and offered the creature a menu. Then she shuffled away and came back carrying a carafe from the counter in one hand, a cup and saucer in the other. “Want some coffee?” she asked the blue-green thing.

The creature nodded.

Hessie poured. “Sweet and Low? Sugar? Milk? Half and half?”

The creature shrugged its shoulders!

“I’ll bring it all. Take what you want. I’ll be back in five to take your order.”

The widows leaned forward over the table, looking back and forth from the creature to each other, waving hands, whispering loudly.

“What is that?” said Daisy.

“Are they making a film on Third?” asked Rose.

“That would explain that bright light,” said Violet. “My daughter works in production.”

Marigold was shaking her head.

“I think,” she said, and paused. “I think it’s an…alien!”

“An alien?” They all gasped and simultaneously glanced at the creature.

“Well, that may be,” said Violet, “but what the hell is it doing in Demetria’s?”

That question was immediately answered when Hessie came back, an ordering pad in her hands. The creature turned the menu towards her and pointed at something. Hessie nodded.

“Do you want the deluxe?” she asked.

The creature nodded.

“How do you want it?”

Another shrug.

“OK, medium.” Hessie walked over to the kitchen window to place the order.

“It’s getting a burger!” shouted Rose. “it’s getting a burger with fries and lettuce and tomato! And probably a Coke! And a side of broccoli, maybe even a chocolate milkshake, and…”

Other customers looked their way, their heads turning as Daisy slapped Rose, not too hard. She was getting hysterical and it was embarrassing. The other customers turned back to their meals as things settled down.

“Sorry,” said Rose, signaling to Hessie for some coffee.

“Do you think it’s a he or a she?” asked Violet.

“What, you want to date it? We should ask if its single,” said Marigold, wiggling her eyebrows. She moved in the creature’s direction as if she was going to go over to it and ask.

“Sit back down,” said Violet. “And you are so judge-y. Yes, I said judge-y. My grandson used that word when I told him he spent too much time playing that video game. And anyway, it would certainly be an improvement over Gus Rosenbaum, or Arthur McKinney. God knows if they can still eat solid food.”

“Ladies,” Daisy said, laughing. “I think the question is, why are we the only people here who notice that this, um, person, is not, um, human?”

It was true. No one else in the diner, including the two kids standing on the booth seats smearing spaghetti sauce on the walls; the guy busing the tables; Evan, Demetria’s husband, making the burger on the grill; and Hessie slowly shuffling from table to table, seemed to notice that there was anything strange about the large customer.

“We are in the Twilight Zone,” said Marigold.

A look of awe spread over the widows’ faces, as they imagined the Twilight Zone theme music playing.

“Outer Limits,” said Rose, who watched a lot of TV.

“E.T.,” said Violet.

“Star Wars,” Daisy opined.

“That’s something completely different,” said Marigold.

“Like Violet said, Marigold, judge-y. They have Chewbacca in Star Wars.”

They all nodded, yes, true. After all, they had each gone, with spouse, to see the showing of the very first Star Wars movie in Brooklyn.

“Yes, but that was in the fantastical future. Or long, long ago. I don’t know. But definitely not here, in Brooklyn, in a diner, ordering lunch.”

They all nodded. True again.

“I want to talk to it,” said Daisy. “Anyone want to join me?”

“Sure,” said Violet.

“Why not?” said Marigold.

“Couldn’t hurt,” said Rose.

“Well, it could, but….” said Marigold. Rose gave her a look. “OK. So what if it does. They can say in my obituary that I was eaten by a large green and blue alien in a diner on Third Ave. It’s better than cancer.”

Marigold and Rose, who were on the outside of the booth, slid out and stood to make room for Daisy and Violet, who squelched the plastic on the seats as they scooted over and out of the booth.

The creature looked up, for the first time, and watched them with red, glowing eyes that, strangely enough, didn’t seem menacing.

What followed was a Marx Brothers routine, with the widows jostling for who would be the first to approach the creature. Finally, Marigold, who everyone acknowledged was the boldest and had the biggest mouth, was gently shoved forward in the creature’s direction.

“Um, hello, uh, wassup, yo, buenos días,…” She was running out of greetings. Rose whispered. “Oh right, Shalom. Salaam.” She bowed and smiled.

She turned to her friends. “Now what? Invite it to a movie? Suggest the best bakeries and pharmacies?”

“Look,” said Violet. They did.

The creature stood. Its blue and green fur swirled on its body like a mild breeze stirring autumn leaves. It gestured toward the seats of the six-person booth. It waited. And waited. The ladies looked at each other.

Hessie was on the move, balancing the creature’s lunch precariously on one arm.

“We should sit,” said Daisy, whose ankles always swelled if she stood for too long.

Reluctantly, the others followed, forming a close semicircle opposite the creature as Hessie placed the burger in front of it. She took a napkin and silverware out of her uniform pocket and placed them next to the plate.

“Water?” she asked. The creature nodded. “You ladies want something else, or should I bring the check?”

“Not yet. We might have something else later,” said Daisy. “Thank you, Hessie.”

With a humph, Hessie walked to another table. No one said anything until she returned with water.

The widows watched while the creature ate its burger and fries. It used the fork and knife to cut the burger into bite-size pieces. It added salt and mustard to the fries. It sipped at the water.

Well, it was obviously not from Brooklyn.

In a stage whisper, Rose asked if they should talk to the creature.

“You know, where is it from, how does it like Brooklyn, what are its plans here, etc.”

“I want to know,” said Violet. “I mean, I’ve heard Sylvia Hirsch’s story about her new hip a million times, and if Maria Cordero talks about her grandson’s soccer team one more time I will scream. And don’t get me started on Sidney Classon’s unfunny jokes about dogs and bars.”

“Good point,” said Marigold. “So ask.”

The creature looked at them. It held out its arms. One by one, each widow reached out and touched its soft fur.

***

To Rose, it felt like pale green leaves on a willow tree:

She wanted to know if the creature had a name.

She wanted to know where it came from.

Her husband, Joshua, had died two years ago from cancer; he believed firmly in a cosmos where you were reborn as another creature – a bug, a person, an owl, a blue-green Sasquatch.

Rose wanted to know if the alien was her husband (who always ordered a medium burger with fries).

To Marigold, it felt like kneading a Friday challah:

She wanted to know if the alien had any family or friends. She had friends but no family, and was often alone, partly by choice, on the holidays.

She wanted to know what kind of work it did.

She wanted to know if the alien needed a place to stay, and if it needed them to pay for its lunch.

She wanted to know if she was going to die from the illness creeping around her stomach.

To Violet, it felt like a snowstorm in March.

She wanted to know what gender the creature was.

She wanted to know if she could go with it wherever it went after lunch.

She wanted to know why she had to go to bed alone at night while her husband was still alive in an assisted facility and couldn’t remember who she was.

She wondered if the creature had special super-futuristic medicine she could give her husband to bring him back to her.

To Daisy. it felt like her first puppy back in Virginia.

She wanted to know if the creature had companion animals and if it would care for some of the abandoned animals she fed in her backyard.

She wanted to know if it had children and if they gave it headaches and agita all the time.

She wanted to know what kind of books it read, and could it recommend a few.

She wondered what baby creatures looked like.

***

Not one of these questions was asked out loud.

Instead:

“You should try the apple pie with vanilla ice cream. It’s pretty good here.”

“Do you speak?”

“What is your name?”

“You’re beautiful.”

That last comment, by Daisy, surprised all the women. But it was true; the creature was beautiful, and it smelled like peppermint tea with a hint of cumin.

Other customers came and went. Harold the busser took their dishes; Hessie took their money, brought more coffee, refilled their water glasses.

After fourteen more hamburger deluxe platters, six servings of pie, a collective eight trips to the bathroom (by the widows), and a strawberry milkshake, the creature wiped its mouth area and stood up. Dollar bills appeared on the table.

The creature reached into its fur and removed four small square packages, each wrapped in a different color tissue paper that matched the names of the widows. Daisy’s present was wrapped in white and yellow, Marigold’s yellow with purple dappling, Rose’s various shades of pink, Violet’s a startling purple. Each was tied by a golden string that looped, at the top, into a bow, a tiny silver bell attached in one of its loops. The creature placed the packages on the table in front of the four friends, one by one, bowing as it did, standing on its toes, then bowing again. Then it sat down.

The widows were not surprised or shocked. They had lived through so many doctor visits, family losses, sparkling surprises, and childish wonders, that tiny gifts from a large furry alien were only the latest oddity.

The creature waited.

Finally Marigold pulled herself together, blowing her nose with a Kleenex. “I guess we should open these. Feels like a baby shower, ha ha.” She waved at the small pretty packages.

The women looked at each other, smiled at the creature, then carefully unwrapped their presents. The tiny bells tinkled sweetly. They saved the golden string.

Daisy gasped and the frown lines between her eyes disappeared.

Marigold sighed and leaned against Rose.

Violet giggled and wiped her eyes.

Rose blushed, of course, but for once didn’t feel embarrassed.

The gifts were all perfect. Each woman rewrapped hers with delicacy and affection. The tiny bells tinkled.

They looked at the creature. “Thank you,” they whispered. Then they looked at each other. Each knew what they had to do.

Rose opened her bag and put a small bottle of perfume on the table. Marigold produced a key chain with a small ceramic turtle. Violet found a pair of lace gloves she had saved from her granddaughter’s wedding. Daisy found an old hair clip with a pink flower on it.

They placed the cherished items on the table in front of the creature, who carefully picked them up with two long blue fingers and put them in a pocket in its fur. It patted the table, the center of its chest, and did something with its face that may or may not have been a smile.

The bright light appeared again outside the diner door, and again the door opened very slowly, making a slight creaking sound. The creature got up, bowed, and walked to the open door. As the ladies watched, it turned and glanced back at them. It waved. They waved back in a vague but friendly fashion.

The creature left, and the door closed behind him.

It was no surprise to any of them that they were sniffling, silent tears running down their cheeks. The emptiness that the creature left in its wake was terrifying.

But they had lived through worse.

“I hope it comes back,” said Daisy.

“Maybe it would like to visit the gardens?” said Marigold.

“No,” said Violet. “I don’t think it’s coming back. It was just stopping for lunch on its way to…” She didn’t finish the sentence because she had no idea where it was going.

“But it was nice,” said Rose. “Really, really nice. Just what I needed today.”

The others sighed and nodded. They sat at the table for a few more minutes, before, one by one, standing and walking outside.

“Time to go home to feed the cats.”

“My daughter promised to call at seven.”

“My mystery novel is due back tomorrow. I want to find out who did it.”

“I’d love a nap.”

“See you tomorrow at the Center,” each said.

They went their separate ways, a bit lighter of heart.

Dancing Between the Raindrops: A Daughter’s Reflections on Love and Loss

by Lisa Braxton

Dancing Between the Raindrops: A Daughter’s Reflections on Love and Loss, is a powerful meditation on grief, a deeply personal mosaic of a daughter’s remembrances of beautiful, challenging and heartbreaking moments of life with her family. It speaks to anyone who has lost a loved one and is trying to navigate the world without them while coming to terms with complicated emotions. Lisa Braxton’s parents died within two years of each other—her mother from ovarian cancer, her father from prostate cancer. While caring for her mother she was stunned to find out that she, herself, had a life-threatening illness—breast cancer. In this intimate, lyrical memoir-in-essays, Lisa Braxton takes us to the core of her loss and extends a lifeline of comfort to anyone who needs to be reminded that in their grief they are not alone. Dancing Between the Raindrops is a heartfelt homage to Braxton’s parents in the wake of their passing. She touches the soul of every adult child’s mourning in ways poignant, nostalgic, aching, and funny with a clever patchwork of writing styles. A must read!

— E. Dolores Johnson, author of Say I’m Dead, A Family Memoir of Race, Secrets and Love