The flowers vibrated with the ringing of the phone. From the back room comes a voice, screaming, “Sylph, for fuck’s sake, would you pick up the g-damn phone already?” Through the silence of no response, the leaves rustle slightly in the wind, continuing their slow turning, in time with the sunlight streaming through the windows. Hurrying out of the ultraviolet lights of the back room, Jack heads towards the phone, shedding the trappings of his gardening uniform.
With his left glove draped over his shoulder, he puts the phone to his ear.
“49th St. Flower Shop. Jack speaking.”
Jack’s head bobs up and down, the cadence of responses come from pure muscle memory.
“Oh yes, it sure is a beautiful day out today.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“Great, lovely there too? That’s wonderful.”
“So, how can I help you today?”
“Oh, sure, we can deliver to anywhere in the Bay Area.”
“Yes, that includes Emeryville.”
“Yes, ma’am, we do have a Summer Bouquet in stock.”
“That’ll be twenty-one fifty-five with tax. What type of card would you like to use?”
“I’ll have that delivered on Thursday of this week, by noon.”
“Thanks so much. You have a wonderful afternoon too, and hope to hear from you again real soon.”
To the observant viewer, Jack’s eyes would look like they were rolling into the back of his head, slowly lolling his head in a slow turn. To the casual observer, he might just be stretching his neck out, which is exactly what Sylph thought he was doing as she walked back in, the strong scent of patchouli following her like a lap dog.
She grabbed the glove from his shoulder and put it on the table, then leaned over his shoulder to read what he’d written on the pad.
“Love, Sarah. Bullshit.”
“What do you think, dude? She really love who she’s sending some twenty buck flowers to? Fuck, I hate how everyone’s throwing love around. Love is the new ‘thank you’ or ‘see you next summer.’ Bitches.”
November 15th, 2006 | tiny stories | No comments