N: A New Leaf
It's September 2001, and I've just turned 25. On the morning of the 11th, I watch from my computer at work as the twin towers collapse into a pile of dust and debris in downtown New York. During lunch, I stand on the street outside my office with my co-workers listening to the church bells ringing down the block against a city in shock, wondering how things will change now.
In November I quit my job and take a fulltime position at a flower shop downtown called A New Leaf. This is my third job in less than two years and the first one I've ever had that I genuinely enjoy. I like working with my hands, I like the people, I like the smells and colors of the flowers, and much to my surprise, I even like dealing with the public most of the time. The shop is in the middle of Michigan Avenue and between the filfthy rich housewives and plucky tourists, our customers are real characters. They never cease to amuse me with the ridiculous things they say. I start writing down all their crazy quotes on a long sheet of brown paper we use to wrap bunches of flowers in, and I keep it tacked on a wall behind the counter. It helps pass the time.
At work, I learn how to water plants the right way and how to strip roses and pull pollen and make the perfect $75 arrangement for a brand new baby boy and his family. I learn the names of flowers: Delphinium, Cockscomb, Protea, Lisianthus, Sweat Pea, Amarylis. I repeat them to myself for memorization.
One afternoon as we're prepping a new delivery of flowers, I tell my co-worker, Laura, that I might like to be a writer one day. Her brother's a writer and he has a short story published in the latest edition of Glimmer Train, so she brings it in the next day to show me. "You could be a writer, too" Laura says after I finish reading it, "You just have to sit down and do it." She wants to marry her rich boyfriend and cook gourmet meals all day and make a pretty house, she tells me. Another co-worker wants to be a professional sculptor, one wants to be a photographer, another one wants to be a fashion designer, and another wants to own her own flower shop one day. We all like our job fine, but none of us plans to stay here forever. Just long enough to figure out the next step.
My second spring at work, a terrible thing happens. A 19-year-old girl jumps from the railing on the 8th floor in our building and lands on the watch kiosk just ten feet from our store on the first floor. That morning I'm called to another location to help out and so I'm not there when it happens. I get a call from Laura and she says evenly: "I think we need to close up. They took the body away, but there's still blood, there's still all this blood everywhere."
The next day I get the full report: Laura was on the fourth floor when it happened, peering over the railing, talking with Lori about how to re-organize the merchandise on the first floor. They both say they saw the body fall right past them. "For a second, I thought someone dropped a jacket," Laura says. Stacy, Erin, Kathleen and Alexis were on the first floor. They saw the body hit the watch kiosk. They were close enough to see the expression on her face. "She didn't look 19," Stacy says. "How old did she look?" I ask. "I don't know," she replies, "Like she didn't have an age, I guess."
A few weeks later I take down my quote sheet from behind the counter. I stop wearing a jacket to work, summer comes. Then Fall. These days, when people ask me the names of flowers, I can tell them without even thinking: Delphinium, Cockscomb, Protea, Amarylis. These days, I can make a $100 funeral arrangement with my eyes closed.
None of us plans to be here forever, I remind myself one afternoon as I prep a new delivery. We're just here til we figure out the next step.
How long did you stay at the flowershop? Lots of things happen in life while we are waiting for life to start.
I am in a teaching career that I really do enjoy but I feel the same as you did at the flower shop. After 25 years I am still trying to figure out my next step.
You are now a professional writer..and married..are you still planning your next step?
http://canadianmothermusings.blogspot.com/
Posted by: Sue | October 07, 2009 at 05:41 PM
i live in chicago now and i love a new leaf. i once stumbled upon the store on n. wells in the dead of winter. it was such a breath of fresh air, seeing all that green in the middle of january.
i can also relate to your "jumper" story. the second weekend after i moved into my new apartment in downtown chicago, a woman jumped off the 12th floor. she obviously died and from my balcony i could see the white sheet the police put over her body. the feeling i had the next morning, seeing the spot where she landed, was so sickening. it's hard to put it into words.
i'm currently trying to figure out my next step. i'm hopeful that it will be an exciting one, whatever it may be.
Posted by: Stephanie | October 07, 2009 at 08:12 PM
Thanks for painting such a vivid picture of this slice of your life, Wendy! I feel like I can smell the earthy scent of the flowers, the stems, the leaves. And that's very sad about the person who died. Did you ever find out her story?
Posted by: teahouseblossom | October 08, 2009 at 06:25 AM
Sue, I stayed at the flower shop two years. And then when I started grad school fulltime, I'd fill in at the store on Valentine's Day and Mother's Day and such. I still say that was one of the best jobs I've had.
Stephanie, A New Leaf definitely is uplifting on a cold, january day. That's when I liked it best.
THB, No, we never found out the story of the jumper — only that she was 19 and in college. So sad.
Posted by: citywendy | October 08, 2009 at 06:51 AM
I feel like we are all always waiting for the next step. I could be wrong though.
Posted by: natalie | October 08, 2009 at 07:58 AM
That's a beautiful text. You express that feeling of waiting, of staying in a place that is, actually, quite nice, but still with that need to move on, really well.
Posted by: Lounalune | October 11, 2009 at 11:05 AM