Chapter 18 #2
Moments later, we were walking along the four buildings that lined up perpendicular to The Pueblo.
When I glanced to my side, I caught sight of that lady who rowed herself in the wheelchair—Agnes Broussard?
—through the plate glass window of her shop.
I stopped on the sidewalk next to the building and turned to stare at her as she sat in her chair and worked at a little table inside.
When I glanced up at the sign over our heads, I was reminded of the name of her shop, which Auggie had told me a few days prior.
Blooms.
Auggie came to stand beside me as I checked out the sign, then turned my attention back to the work Agnes was doing inside of her shop.
After a few moments, she noticed me staring in at her.
She stopped her work for a second, gave me a smile and a wave, then went back to whatever she was creating on the table in front of her wheelchair.
“What’s she doing?” I asked.
“She takes old plastic bottles and straws,” Auggie said, “cuts them up, uses a hot pad to soften and mold them, and turns them into flowers.”
He motioned to a basket besides the shop’s front door.
I knelt to look at the contents of the basket as Auggie continued to stare in at Agnes.
Inside the basket, as Auggie had said, were flowers created from recycled soda bottles and plastic straws.
Agnes had cut oval pieces out of bottles and warped them with heat to make petals for the flowers.
She had painted plastic straws green, and then she had delicately glued the petals in beautiful blooming arrangements around their tips.
Obviously, the flowers were artificial—no one would have mistaken them for real flowers, like they might with more realistic artificial flowers made of other materials—but there was a beautiful weirdness to them.
They looked like they were flowers from some alien planet made of colored plastic.
I dug through the basket lazily, checking out the uniqueness of each flower Agnes had created.
A lily. A rose. A daffodil. Agnes was a peculiar—though extraordinary—artist.
“Those are free,” Auggie said. “She always leaves a basket by the door of the flowers she doesn’t think are her best so that people can help themselves to some beauty.”
“If these aren’t her best, I need to see the ones inside.” I chuckled.
My eyes landed on a daisy Agnes had made and placed in the basket.
The stem of the daisy found its way between my fingers, and I plucked it from the basket.
I stood from my crouched position and turned to Auggie.
He pulled his attention away from watching Agnes working on her latest creation, and turned to face me.
My hand came up automatically and I held the daisy out to him.
Auggie looked down at the flower, a blank expression on his face, before his eyes met mine again.
I shrugged. “For saying that we’re friends.”
The corner of Auggie’s mouth turned up slightly and his cheeks seemed to flush, but he slowly raised his hand to gingerly take the plastic flower between his fingers.
“Thank you,” he said. “Friend.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied. “Friend.”
Then we were staring into each other’s eyes and it dawned on me that my fingers were still pinching the flower stem while Auggie held onto the stem as well.
I started to open my mouth to say something, though I wasn’t sure what, but movement further down the sidewalk caught my eye.
I tore my eyes away from Auggie’s to glance over his shoulder at whatever had caught my eye.
The group of boys I had seen with Auggie in the clearing in the woods, and also fist-bumping him on the street, were walking down the sidewalk towards us.
Immediately, my hand fell away from the flower and I stepped back from Auggie.
A frown formed on his face, but he didn’t lose his grip on the plastic daisy that seemed to catch the early afternoon sun perfectly.
Auggie looked confused at my sudden movement away from him, but then the sound of the boys’ laughter and talking caught his ears and a look of recognition washed over his face.
Then his eyes and mouth went blank, and the Auggie I knew disappeared.
Instead of fun, silly, joyful Auggie, I was looking at a blank slate.
“Um,” I said before I could think too much about everything, “I should get back to Jack’s place. It’s probably about lunch time, right?”
“Right.” Auggie’s voice was hollow.
“Right.” I parroted and stepped around him. “Thanks for, uh, taking me to church and stuff.”
“You’re welcome.” Auggie’s hollow voice followed me as I walked quickly down the sidewalk towards the boys.
They all gave me smiles as I passed, which I returned robotically before passing them.
When they were behind me on the sidewalk, I broke into a jog.
I didn’t look back to see if they gave Auggie fist-bumps or high-fives—or if they even had any type of exchange.
I just jogged the rest of the way to Jack’s house.
When I got to the yard, Jack gave me a small wave, but I ignored it.
I continued at the same pace up the back steps, through the house, and upstairs to my room.
I fell backwards onto the bed and threw my arm over my eyes. My stomach churned and I felt hot as I laid there on the bed in the stuffy room.
Did I just throw rotten fruit at God?