FERNS TOO ARE FLOWERS

As to whether he was still under the influence of the mescaline that had accidentally been administered to him was at that moment immaterial. For sure they had overindulged the whole in sportings that to an alien party would not otherwise suggest a former feeble relation but rather a firmly knotting one.

Ridiculous were the thoughts of both Vallary and Nicanor about how oblivious they both were of their presence, until the time that they first bumped into each other on their way home and the struck conversation did marvels.

She had known him as a proud, skinny and deeply religious young man, who would never even nod his head as a salutation to a passing-by stranger. It is like they never existed to him. On the contrary, he knew her quite well. On several occasions had he met her; given her a stern dry and wild look and walked on without a word. He had inwardly judged her as a young naïve girl, overcome by her pubertal cravings; and such he hated with a passion.

The past was now long gone with its highly misinformed prejudices. These two young adults were now standing in a lonely path to a hotel hut, somewhere in the outskirts of their hometown. His father, a local church Bishop would not mind since he was weary of the unyielding patience that carried along no grandchild nor daughter-in-law and so was the old lady.

Vallary now stood a little closer, letting her breath interweave with Nicanor’s exhalations and together with the scent of the rose flower she held against her nose; creating an aura that would forever build formidable memories. “Why do you carry a fern instead of a rose flower; is that supposed to be romantic too?” She asked firmly gripping her slightly older lover unto herself.

Nicanor stood silent for a while. He observed the young girl now turned into a graceful woman. Her averagely built body, beautiful face and calm sunken eyes were not the only charming things about her. She possessed a sweet spirit, a heart innocent as a child’s and a disarming humility. Though not gullible by all means, she now portrayed an unusual dimension of wisdom that would render any level headed male twice gullible.

Slowly he disentangled himself from her now firm romantic grip. He limped across the dimly lit path onto an elevated balcony and summoned her to come. “You will pay for this,” he said jokingly and winking his left eye as he pointed his foot. She was the one who during the day had given him a mescaline jab instead of the prescribed insulin shot.

“Look,” he urged her pointing at a flower garden blow. “There are rows and rows of beautiful daisies, tulips and roses down there. Do you see?” He asked her looking at her face from the side. “Yes I do. What about them?” She asked in turn. “Between each breed of the flower is a stream of ferns that artistically and outstandingly embosses the beauty of the real flowers. Without the fern it would be a boring obvious flower garden. Right?” He asked again, this time smiling.

“Oh! Yes, I see. That is a brilliant observation, she commented. “You see Vallary your presence in my life has made me learn a lot about love. It has nothing to do with materiality. Rather love has inner traits, rare inward ability pegged to it. Just as a fern amidst flowers; should the sun shine harder, it survives while the daisies, tulips and roses wilt so fast.” He paused and looked at her in the eye and continued.

“And even if the fern withers, its seed would still lie low patiently awaiting its next season to sprout and show its splendor as a flower. Love too has seasons and ferns too are flowers. So Vallary, will you be my wife?” He concluded and looked at her eagerly.