“That’s exactly why I got it. I like to consider myself a person who survives whatever shit pile I step in or get thrown into. I’m not some fragile thing which wilts and dies. Like you said, I’m stubborn. When I decided to get a tattoo to remind myself it’s okay to be a headstrong girl who not everyone is going to like, those popular flowers wouldn’t work. They all need to be taken care of; if their environment isn’t ideal they can’t survive.” As I continue to explain I feel my throat tighten and tears begin to flood my eyes. I rarely cry. I take that back, I don’t cry, but I never talk about my past either, so I guess this attack of the emotions can be expected, but I hold it together. “No, I wanted the weed,” I choke out. “I wanted the plant which people try and kill year after year, yet it continues to return. Its beauty isn’t in the petal. The beauty lies in its will to survive. There was never any indecision, I’m a dandelion.”
I feel a tear get past my defenses and roll down my temple and into my hair. I try to pretend it didn’t happen so Casen won’t notice. No such luck, though. Instead of using his hands to wipe my sadness away, he turns my head toward him and kisses the path of my tear.
“You got part of your description wrong, sparky. You aren’t a weed. You absolutely are a flower. You are the strongest fucking flower I’ve ever met.” His words provoke a few more tears to fall.
Casen then shifts on top of me, and brushes my hair away from my face. “Beautiful inside and out,” he whispers before kissing me and grinding his hips against mine.
When he deepens the kiss, I pull away. “I thought we needed to get ready to leave?” I ask.
“The world can wait. There is nothing outside this camper more important than who is in my arms right now.”
I push him off me, straddling his waist and pinning him to the bed. I lean down as though I’m going to kiss him, but I stall just before reaching him. “Don’t you forget it,” I tell him with a sly smile. Casen chuckles and lifts his head to meet me in the middle. Our bodies meld together and once again passion overtakes us. He was right. The world and everything in it can wait.
Casen
“Thank you for dinner,” she says, placing the key in the lock to her apartment.
I wrap my arms around her tiny waist and smell the coconut scent of her hair. “You are very welcome.” I playfully tickle her sides. “Are you inviting me in for coffee or ‘coffee’?”
She laughs and opens the door. “Why don’t you come on in and we’ll play it by ear,” she says, walking through the doorway.
I follow her into the apartment and take my boots off on the rug in the entry. Collages of black and white photography adorn every wall in her apartment. I was expecting vibrant colors, but instead the cozy one-bedroom is subtle, comfortable, and decorated in shades of light green and lavender. The flowers in the vases are fake, which is not surprising after hearing about Jen’s inability to keep plants alive.
“So now that you have me here, what do you plan to do with me?” I joke as I move into the living room and take a seat on the lush cream-colored sofa. Photography books, fashion magazines, and a few pieces of mail are scattered across the dark brown coffee table, but that is the extent of the clutter in the apartment. Campbell told me about an incident in college when she and Vivian hid her favorite designer heels as a way to teach her a lesson in cleaning up after herself. I guess the girls got their message across, because her place is neat and tidy.
“I haven’t figured that much out yet, I figured a movie or maybe a game. I have a closet full of board games.” She throws her purse on the kitchen counter and disappears into the hallway.
“Playing cards for drinking games are kind of a given hanging out with guys, but other than poker, I haven’t ever played any board games. We really didn’t have those when I was a kid,” I explain.
She returns to the living room with a stack of games in her hand and drops them on the floor in front of me. “Well, you have no choice now, we’re playing a game. I can’t let you continue on without having participated in games like Uno or Yahtzee. That’s just wrong.”
“Hey now, you had never been fishing or camping. I think we are pretty even,” I defend myself, sorting through the game possibilities.
“Whatever. You pick something out while I get us some snacks and drinks.” She stands and takes off toward the kitchen. I hear the fridge open, followed by a great deal of crashing and banging from her direction. I’m interested to see what she comes up with because I know her culinary skills are limited. Unless one counts her ability to order takeout, then she’s a pro.
She returns with big bags of candy, a bowl of popcorn and cans of soda. “I have found us a feast,” she says, obviously fond of her kitchen bounty. “What are we playing?”
I hold up the Yahtzee box and shake the dice inside. “It’s on, woman.”
Taking the red box from me, she instantly starts setting up the game on the floor and explaining the objective. By the time she’s done, I’m convinced this is a game designed by elementary teachers to trick kids into learning addition. Nevertheless, the game seems pretty kickass.
“You want to go first?” I ask, shoving a handful of popcorn in my mouth. Immediately I’m thankful for her selection of extra butter as it helps to mask the burnt taste caused by her leaving the bag in the microwave a little too long. Choking down the final bite, I open my Dr. Pepper and wash down the leftover charcoal. I take a mental note to stick with the numerous bags of candy for the remainder of the evening.
“No, you go ahead,” she says opening her own can, which explodes all over her. “Dammit,” she shouts, attempting to shield herself from the spray of the soda. She stands up and rushes to the kitchen for a towel and I quickly move the game away from the sticky mess. Thankfully, nothing is ruined except maybe Jen’s outfit.
She returns sopping wet with a tea towel and an expression, which clearly says, proceed with caution. “Time out for now, I’m going to take a shower and change into some clean clothes.”
I bite back a laugh at the state of her disarray. “No problem, sparkplug, I’ll catch up on my Cosmo and review my Yahtzee strategies.”
She nods and storms down the hall to her bathroom. It’s not until the water pipes rattle to life that I remember the length of Jen’s typical showers. I may be asleep on the couch before I see her again as I’m looking at a forty-five minute to hour-long wait. To waste some time, and keep myself awake, I find tasks around the apartment to accomplish. I finish cleaning up the soda mess, throw away the ruined popcorn, making sure to make a new bowl so she won’t notice my little switch, and stack the board games up. Those tasks took a total of ten minutes, only ten minutes, and the water is still going strong.
Grabbing the large photography book off the coffee table and plopping onto the couch, I hope the pictures are enough to keep me occupied for the next who knows how long. I flip through the first few pages of buildings and pasture pictures, nothing that speaks to me. I think that’s the inspirational phrase used by artsy types. When I notice a bookmark holding the place of a particular picture in the middle of the book, I find myself hoping Jen has marked something spectacular which will help me justify her purchase of this ungodly expensive, and less than impressive, picture book.
Turning to the marked page, I’m immediately struck by the image on the page. The personal meaning of the photo pulls me in and I feel as though I shouldn’t even be looking at the picture. The picture is meant to be a field of healthy, beautiful roses. What stands out is not the sea of red, though, it’s the lone yellow dandelion which stands against the fray. A weed amongst the flowers…a dandelion amongst the roses. This picture symbolizes Jen and for a split second I contemplate ripping it from the book so I can have it all to myself.