Flowers are People Baby?
Whether it was a phase or not, he wasn't sure, but what he did know was that he’d most likely come to realize something about himself that would change his entire outlook on the prospect of sexuality and relationships as he had come to know them. At first he’d kept it to himself, bottling it up just as one would cork an expensive wine bottle to preserve the flavor; however he soon found the immense weight of knowing to be far heavier than any tangible weight that he was able to ideate.
It was a surprisingly disillusioning affair the day he’d decided to tell his mother; devoid of tears, sobbing, and the crushing disappointment he’d been preparing himself for the week prior to the encounter. Instead she’d simply embraced her son with all the love and matronly concern a mother could muster and whispered endless songs of how she would always love him no matter what. That, to him was the ultimate panacea. To him, those words were the most beautiful, dulcet words he’d ever heard, drizzled in the loveliest tenor and topped off with the sweetest most benevolent lilt his ears had ever had the pleasure of hearing.
His father on the other hand had not taken the news as gracefully as his mother had. He was by no means angry or upset, but if the slight sluggishness in his step or the way he’d shut the Shoji behind him on his way out were any indication, Meow would have to guess that he wasn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect either.
The old metal worker shuffled his way toward an old time worn couch that seemed to sit almost regally under the shade of the rooftop. The wizened cat took a seat on the far end and motioned for his son to join him with a pat on the tattered leather beside himself. And so he did, albiet timidly at first as though he were afraid his own father would leap up and attack him for so egregiously disgracing their family name, but he stayed where he was until he was certain his son was indeed there beside him.
However even when he’d gotten his wish and they were left to sit with each other with nothing but the chirping of the birds and the buzzing of the bees to distract them, he would still not make eye contact with the boy. He instead took to gazing out into the garden as if he would find some sort of spark of guidance or divine wisdom hidden amongst the flowers that grew there. Eventually after an uncomfortable amount of time, he seemed to retreat back to the sanctity of his bottle, its contents seeming to give him the wisdom and guidance he so badly needed as he struggled to understand something he could not fully conceive.
“So you don’t like girls?”
The question was so simple, so to the point, and posed in such a way that the younger of the two immediately recognized the bluntness’ as an action typical of his father.
“I guess not.” Meow breathed in a rueful chuckle.
Not a word was shared between the two after that and the silence become so thick and full of tension that Meow felt as though he was literally choking on it. His father’s eyes remained on the flowers; Meow’s on his slippers.
“I gotta say I’m surprised. Outta all you kids I would've expected to bat for the other team, I honestly thought it woulda been your sister. To tell you the truth, I don’t really know how to deal with this.”
It seemed the hours of arduous mental preparation Meow had done to prepare for this moment hadn’t done him a shred of good in the long run.
“Woah, hey what’d I say?” Meow wiped his eyes with the back of his paw.
“I’m sorry dad…”
“Don’t apologize, you ain’t got nuthin’ to be sorry for kid.”
“I just feel like I let you down.” Meow’s father scoffed and shoved a paw into the pocket on his trousers. After a bit of digging his paw resurfaced, clutching a tiny, misshapen screw between two digits.
“Not at all son, you make me damn proud.” The resplendent grin Meow’s father shot his way made it feel as though hope was being siphoned directly into his bruised, depleted heart.
“You really mean that dad?”
“You bet your boot strings I do! I never met a beetlegesuin yet with the balls to become an alien hunter.” Meow moved to embrace his father.
“Thanks.”
“No problem kiddo.” After a well-deserved embrace the two separated, an awkward silence blanketing the two like snow would a statue.
“Your mother planted those flowers over there y’know.” He gestured toward the flowers he’d been neglecting his son for with the tip of his bottle. Meow’s tear pricked eyes were somehow immediately drawn to the almost translucent shimmer of the purple Azalea’s that sat stoically in their modest little garden.
“They say every living thing that grows is much like a plant.” A swig from his bottle interrupts his philosophizing. “Never really finding its roots until it is fully grown and realized.”
“No offense dad but I don’t think you can exactly compare this to photosynthesis.”
“And rightly so; living things are a touch more complicated than flowers.” Another swig is had, Meow turns back to look at his father. “And in a way they aren't.”
Meow began to chuckle, a slow bubbling mirth that grew stronger the harder he tried to hold it in.
“What’s so funny?”
“Man dad you really do suck at this.” Meow’s father gave him a playful punch in the shoulder.
“At least I tried didn’t I?” The mirth Meow had been feeling began to peel away, replaced with a distant sort of contemplation.
“Thanks again dad, y’know, for understanding?”
“No problem kid.”
Not wanting to let the patch of silence he felt settling over them fester, Meow’s father got up from his side of the couch and moved to head inside.
“You coming?” Meow nodded curtly and rose from his side of the couch, smiling to himself as he followed his father inside.
