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The boy who she had only known for six months was going through something. She wasn’t blind, but how could she care for a boy who kept to himself? She tried to converse with him. She tried to prepare his favorite meals. She watered his plants when he started to neglect them. Oh, how she tried. She tried and she tried, yet the boy still left. He had gone to his grandmother’s side. People become depressed when they lose someone they love. That’s what she was taught, but she knew that beforehand. The way people destroy themselves when they lose what’s dear to them. The boy she had cared for only had one person from what she could gather. His grandmother. The boy’s parents were never around, paying numerous caretakers over the years for their son. She wanted to think of them kindly, but she found herself unable to. To think, they would come back when their son is dead.
She was invited to the funeral. The boy’s parents rushed home hearing news of his passing. It was bizarre to see them stricken with grief over their own child, who they scarcely interacted with. They didn’t ask her to describe how it happened or what she saw, how could they? The first thing they did was greet her and hand her money. She expected more, but they ignored her and continued to grieve for their lost family members. It was bizarre to see them cry over their son. For once, she could tell that they truly loved him.
“P-Polly?”
“Yes, Basil?”
“ ...Do they miss me?”
“Of course they do. They can’t be here all the time, but they love you. I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t. I’m sure they’ll visit soon, your parents say they might be able to come home next week!”
“O-oh, Okay! That’s… Nice.”
That day she decided to drop the topic, he still wasn’t convinced that they loved him or even cared for him. She may have said that they did, but she wasn’t entirely sure either. You knew, didn’t you? That I was lying. If only he could see it now, the depth of his parent’s love for him. Before she could leave, to allow the grieving parents some privacy they asked her if she could attend the funeral. Without missing a beat, she answered that she would attend the boy’s funeral.
The funeral for the boy was lonely. Most people in her line of work would have scolded her for attending a funeral for a boy she knew scarcely. However, she felt responsible for his death. She wanted to be here to express her sorrow and guilt for not being able to understand him or support him. His parents, especially his father had broken down. She had never seen a man collapse in tears in such a manner. The couple didn’t say anything to her. Why aren’t they blaming me? At the thought, she began to cry. Why are all of you so kind? Before she knew it, the couple embraced her and tried to comfort her. A trio of crying adults. Maybe the boy was laughing at such a sorry sight, along with his grandmother. She wanted to believe that he was laughing at them. Not out of hatred, but out of the foolishness of these adults.
Adults who could not properly convey their feelings. At this inability to convey, they paid the ultimate price. The boy’s very own life.
She couldn’t remember much save for tears and words of comfort exchanged between them. What she did remember was that they thanked her and gave her permission to return to their home.
Only a short time she would be given to be allowed back in this house, she knew that. In this house where the only trace of life outside her own were the plants scattered around the house. How they survived she had no clue, for the home they had grown in was quite cold. Nevertheless, she slowly made her way to the boy’s room. Out of habit, she knocked on the door, but no response came. There is never going to be a response is there? Opening the door, the room was empty. The plants, the books, and the camera could not mask the loneliness within this room. You were lonely, weren’t you? There would be no response, but she knew. Knew back then the boy was all on his own. Even though she was there for him, he never held her hand when she reached out. Then again, she was an adult. The friendship between an adult, a caretaker, and a child was different from two children. In other words, I’m not what he needed. I couldn’t save him.
It hurt. Hurt to admit that she couldn’t be there and support him properly. It was no use to think of hypothetical scenarios when the boy was gone. She could dream that he was happily taking care of his garden, but reality would crush her when she woke. She would just have to accept that the boy was gone, along with his grandmother. Maybe they’re together now. I hope they are. He’s been alone for so long, please let him be with her. If she were to make a wish, she would continue to make the same wish and pray that it comes true somehow. Even though she could never see it come true, she hoped that the boy would find happiness. That never changed, even when she first started taking care of the boy. It was funny, wasn’t it? Even though she had only known him for a few months, he grew on her.
The traces of his existence seeped everywhere within this house. The plants that he loved and once cared for, the tofu in the fridge, the numerous books he kept, and his camera. He was the one who brought life to this cold and unforgiving house. Even now, she held a trace of him. She held a worn book with yellowing pages, mindlessly flipping through the pages.
Then, there was a memory. Back when she was first started her job… The plants were wilting, but she couldn’t make the boy water his plants. He would avoid her and run off to the park. She would read all the books the boy had about plant care. She never had taken care of plants before, so it was quite interesting to read about plant care. It was quite intricate. What she remembered that day was flipping through one of the many books the boy had, stopping when she saw a familiar face. It was of a little boy covered in dirt with a bright smile, trowel in hand. The person beside him was none other than his grandmother, smiling gently at the boy. The pair in the photo were truly happy. I want to help him. That’s how she felt back then. The photo had been on the page about sunflowers. She remembered smiling and tracing the sunflowers on the worn page of the book. A certain fact popped out to her then, and it would continue to pop out to her.
“In the shade, sunflowers won't bloom or produce seeds well.”
And then, there was another memory. The boy in a dark room, all alone, red pouring from him. It was then she broke down. She didn’t care if she was wailing in his room, clutching the worn book. There was no one here, just her. When you lose something you only begin to realize how dear it was.
“S-sunflowers are my favorite. You were in the shade, Basil. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring the sun to you,” she choked out. If I could go back… I would be better. I’m so sorry I was useless. Basil, I’ll never forget you. I don’t think I ever will.