#assignment 1e

//Write a piece about a childhood memory.

//An assignment for my writing class. Names changed for privacy.

A patch of dandelions idles in front of me. I look down into their golden faces and listen to my classmates as they play in the sand. Their feet bang against the twisted metal of the jungle gym. I brush a finger across a flower. When I let go, my finger comes away yellow.

I reach for the roundest flower I can find. The stem breaks with a tiny snap. It feels rubbery and hollow. I lift the flower towards my face and examine it. Millions of small, yellow petals overlap around the face of the plant. It reminds me of lizard scales. I put it down next to me and continue to comb through the grass. Dirt settles between my fingers.

Satisfied with the amount, I bundle the flowers between my palms. The sun becomes hidden behind a cloud and I shiver. I want to put my coat on. I meander over to where I left it on a bench.

As I move across the park, Mark comes up to me. A pink flush stains his cheeks.

“You should get rid of those dandelions.” His soft blue eyes scrunch together.

I look at the flowers in my hands. I stare up at him, “Why?”

“They’re poisonous.”

I don’t believe him. “I always pick dandelions. I’m not putting them down.”

His soft blue eyes scrunch together. “I want you to get rid of them. They’re poisonous.”

“Well, I won’t.” I want him to leave me alone. The other kids start migrating to us. They stand behind Mark and talk amongst themselves

“What’s happening?” A few of them ask.

“She’s has dandelions!” Mark says.

I pause. I contemplate. I bolt.

My feet mash into the sand as I run. This is the fastest I have ever moved. They run after me, shrieking and yelling. I make it to a lone piece of equipment. There is a white ladder on one side and a firepole on the other. I shove the flowers into one hand and start climbing. The metal rungs feel frigid against my skin. The other kids crowd around the bottom of the firepole.

I look down into their faces. They squint against the sun and shout at me, concerned. Maybe I have it wrong.

I stare into the bundle and realize my fingers had clamped around the flowers, crushing their stems. I loosen my grip to prevent further damage.

“I’m not doing it!” I shout down, without conviction.  

I hear footsteps against the ladder. I see the sandy blond top of Mark’s head. Without thinking, I take a small step back.

“Drop the flowers.” He starts to come closer. I cast a glance behind me, I might have to jump.

“You can’t jump. Just put them down.”

“I told you, they’re not poisonous. I always pick dandelions.” I tilt the yellow faces towards him, to prove my point. I want him to see how pretty they are. “Look, they’re harmless.”

The shouting bubbles from bellow.

“But they’re weeds! Look at your hands!”

I stare down into my fingers. They are covered in small spots of what looks like milk. I quickly recall every other time I’ve picked dandelions. I have never seen this before. I start to panic, I don’t know what to do. I want to keep the flowers. I want the other kids to stop bothering me.

I am startled as Mark knocks the flowers out of my hands. I make a noise of surprise. The dandelions fall over the side of the ledge and hit the sand. My stomach drops with them.

“Why’d you do that?” Why couldn’t he just leave me alone?

He shrugs, “It wasn’t really that hard. All you had to do was drop them.”

I turn away from him and swallow down the lump in my throat.

The other kids as they start to walk away. Their voices sound relieved, like they have saved me. When I turn to look at Mark, he’s already climbing back down the ladder.

My hands stick to the ladder as I climb down a few moments after him. My palms are lightly stained green. Dirt outlines the cracks between my fingers. I walk over to my fallen bouquet.

Carefully, I unearth as many flowers as I can. Sand hides between the petals. It removes the luster from their golden complexion. It sticks to their stems and gets under my fingernails.