Naming Flowers

A story written for BCD to Where Have all the Flowers Gone. A story based a time a little earlier than ours about war, death, and live with a little bit of lesbian in-between.

This story was written to Peter, Paul & Mary's Where Have All the Flowers Gone (that's the version I have and listen to).  A sad story meant to parallel some of our experiences nowadays.

 

Picture credit to LaCoppola-Meier.

 

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Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing?
Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago?
Where have all the flowers gone?
Young girls have picked them everyone.
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

 

The girl sat alone upon the blanket and let the grass tickle her soft palm as she brushed her hand over the short greens. A tear glistened in her eye and she let it fall gently onto her index finger before pressing it to the light cloth of her flowing floral skirt. The sky was high and blue with the scent of wild flowers lingering in the air. She sighed and allowed herself to fall to her side, not caring that the grass irritated her petite ear.

 

“Catherine? Catherine, is that you?” came a feminine voice from the other side of the large maple tree. The girl resting on the blanket looked up.

 

“Yes, Ellen, it is I.”

 

“Oh, good,” the voice replied. A tall girl stepped out from behind the tree wearing men’s center-creased pants in an earthy brown and a loose button down shirt in a very fawn color, as if the fabric hadn’t been dyed. “I was hoping it would be you.”

 

“Who else would it be, darling?” Catherine ventured with her quiet, light voice. She smiled, but it was melancholy.

 

“I’m not sure,” the other admitted as she sat down behind the resting female. Ellen reached and plucked a nearby buttercup, intertwining it with Catherine’s long, dark hair. The tall girl picked a few more and continued the cycle.

 

“If you continue at that rate this meadow will be barren of flowers,” the dark-haired female chided playfully. She rolled onto her back, sure to stretch her hair out behind her before resting again on the grass. Only her lower half made it onto the blanket. Though she wasn’t in the sun, she seemed in the position to bask. She smiled up at the other female, who smiled back.

 

“I have something I have to talk to you about…” Ellen began. Her eyes drifted towards Catherine’s feet and her smile lessened. Catherine felt her smile become weighted and, slowly, disappear. The moment no longer seemed enchanted.

 

Where have all the young girls gone, long time passing?
Where have all the young girls gone, long time ago?
Where have all the young girls gone?
Gone for husbands everyone.
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

 

“What is it, my love?” Catherine asked carefully. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to know, but knew it had to be brought up.

 

“As you know, mother wants me to marry…” the girl started slowly and paused to place a gentle hand on Catherine’s stomach. “She has decided that I am to marry Robert.”

 

The news ate at Catherine and caused her to chew delicately on her plump lower lip. The news didn’t surprise her, but…

 

“How soon?”

 

“In one month,” Ellen replied solemnly. Tears clung to her lashes as she began to rub the hand she had on Catherine’s stomach slowly. “How will I manage? You know me…”

 

Catherine nodded. If there was one thing she knew, it was Ellen. The girl was not made for being married to a man. She was not created to be kept, carry children, raise what came from her womb… Catherine knew because that was what she was meant to do; only she wished for a few changes in the plans.

 

But what could she do? It was what expected of her. Wanted of her. There were no choices in the matter. She would soon be a grown woman, and a beautiful one at that. She would be expected to step out of her “picky” stage and find a dashing young man to become her groom. There she would stay, with him. Love him. Create life with him, and rear the handsome children to be moral, presentable additions to the family and society.

 

Tears overwhelmed her and a shake took over her shoulders. Quickly she sat and embraced Ellen, kissing her forehead where the skin met her light hair, tied back in a loose bun.

 

“You will do it, my darling. You will find a way. I know you will. I’ll be nearby,” Catherine reassured in a whisper, stroking Ellen’s neck with her thumb. But how long would she be nearby? Soon a husband would come for her as well. How would she manage?

 

Where have all the husbands gone, long time passing?
Where have all the husbands gone, long time ago?
Where have all the husbands gone?
Gone for soldiers everyone
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

 

“Catherine, you know how much I adore Robert. What if he has to leave with the others? To those terrible places, with the guns and the death. I may not love him properly but I wish that upon no one,” the light-haired female murmured as she pressed her forehead to Catherine’s tall shoulder.

 

“My dearest Ellen, your heart has always been so very big,” Catherine cooed and stroked her friend’s hair. “I don’t know, I just don’t know. It’s all so horrible to think about.”

 

Catherine looked up to the sky, beyond the maple leaves, and watched the puffy clouds skate through the air. It was hard to imagine, sitting there with the light breeze ruffling her lengthy hair and the sun shining all around her, that in far away places there were people she knew falling to the bloodied ground. Such terrible thoughts scared the young woman but she knew she could not avoid them.

 

Where have all the soldiers gone, long time passing?
Where have all the soldiers gone, long time ago?
Where have all the soldiers gone?
Gone to graveyards, everyone.
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

 

“Peter left yesterday,” she informed. Her voice took on a nostalgic tone. “Do you remember, a month ago, when he followed us here and gave us piggy-back-rides all through the flowers? Oh, how he panted and laughed when it was through. Such wonderful times! Why do they have to end?”

 

Ellen remained silent and sat up straight behind Catherine, pressing the girl’s back to her own taller front. The dark-haired female rested her chin gently at the crook of Catherine’s neck.

 

“I don’t know, my love. It seems like yesterday. I miss our boys.”

 

Catherine felt the boyish female behind her stiffen.

 

Where have all the graveyards gone, long time passing?
Where have all the graveyards gone, long time ago?
Where have all the graveyards gone?
Gone to flowers, everyone.
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

 

“Timothy’s paper came today. We will never see him again,” Ellen moaned as the memory struck her. Catherine froze for a moment. She then cried out as well.

 

“No, not little Timmy! He barely left us two months ago! No, no, say it wasn’t him…” the girl rambled as she leaned heavily against the taller girl. Not Timothy. Not her friend, not so young… He couldn’t have left her. Not for the world, not for a bullet, not for a war. He would come back. He would come back, offering his childishly charming grin and those lovely white teeth. She would laugh to see him flip a cartwheel and whistle with a strand of grass…

 

“Yes.”

 

It was a simple answer. It was a simple, serious answer. Catherine’s heart lurched. Her stomach twisted. Her cheeks grew wet. So many wrongs in such little, valuable time…

 

“Ellen, when have we ever been so alone? Can’t all of this end? Why won’t our boys come home?”

 

Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing?
Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago?
Where have all the flowers gone?
Young girls have picked them everyone.
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

 

Ellen reached out and plucked two wildflowers from the sun next to the blanket and rested them next to her leg.

 

“These are for Peter and Timothy,” she announced in a low voice. A tear fell from her cheek and landed on the back of her pale hand. She let the tear continue down her skin to land delicately on the pedals of one of the flowers.

 

Catherine watched through her own tears and reached out to grab another flower.

 

“This is for Charles.”

 

The two continued to pick flowers and dedicate them. The pile grew much larger than what they were comfortable with.

 

“Catherine?”

 

“Yes, my love?”

 

“We shouldn’t even have been able to think of one name.”

 

“I know, my love, I know.”

Reviews

[lark]

Hm... I'm wondering how much earlier this is supposed to be? I was thinking the 70s, maybe (Vietnam was what I had in mind), but... your language makes me think it's much much earlier than that. It's so very formal. Like.... A lot. So now I'm thinking WWI or the Civil War. It's a little confusing, and it doesn't sound very natural. Maybe that's how you really talk... But it doesn't seem to be how the vast population speaks. Dunno...

It's sad and sweet at the same time. But it's left me wondering maybe if these two are actually lesbians, or just best friends. And they are so resigned to just getting married off... it doesn't seem super real to me (and also makes me think it's much earlier than the 70s). But the one is wearing pants--so it can't be too old...

Anyway, nice job. I like the scene with the flowers, and how there's music woven into this... Can't say I know what BCD is, though, so... Anyway. Thanks :)