One Hundred Word Story #34
Mr. Flowers was the janitor.
At six, gardens, floral drawings, or photos brought him to mind, 'Flowers' appearing above them like letters learned on fat broken-lined paper.
He yelled when kids thought of walking on the grass or jumping over the wire fence by the back courtyard where we’d made it sag. But he scowled less in my mother’s presence. After a time, he wouldn’t yell if he saw me.
He seemed sadder when Mom was pregnant with my brother, staring long when she and my father didn’t see. I watched him pine, jealous without knowing why, at six.
Photo by Andreas Surya