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It's not often that I thought about death, but lately, images of my mother's funeral have been flashing before my eyes. The sight of grieving people around her grave in a clean well-kept cemetery, and fresh flowers put around her tombstone.
My mother's death wasn't a tragedy in a sense. It was almost an acceptable, upcoming fate for us as she was painlessly given her needle at the age of eighty-two sending her into her final sleep with her children and grandchildren surrounding her. She died smiling, knowing that she will be missed yet somehow always present.
That was two years ago. Close to my house, there was heavy traffic. when suddenly I heard a sudden, soft knock on my window. It was the beginning of winter so I had the window closed.
I looked to my side to see a bunch of flowers, I rolled down the window to see a beautiful little girl holding them. Her big brown eyes were complementing the wide smile on her face as she was handing me one of the flowers.
"You look sad", she said with that wide smile "Cheer up!"
"Yeah, actually", I stopped myself from sharing the reason behind my sadness "I am just having a bad time"
"Well,", she said "Bad times blow over, that's why they're called that, they don't"
"That's right", I said with a wide smile on my face, I was amazed at how a little girl could say something so profound. I softly took the flower from her.
"How does this one cost?", I asked.
"Whatever you want to pay is fine", she replied.
"Well, how much did they cost you to get them?", I tried to find the right price.
"Oh", She said with great excitement "I actually grow them myself in the mud area under the bridge".
"Okay, then", I said trying to remember how much I paid to buy the flowers for my mother to match the price. I had bought them from the fanciest place I could find, so fancy they didn't even take Iraqi money but rather dollars, I had paid twenty dollars so I matched that in Iraqi dinars in my head "Here's thirty thousand dinars".
"That's too much", she refused to take the money.
"Well", I explained, "You put a smile on my face during my bad time. And that is priceless".
"Okay", she said and took the money after I insisted "But you better keep that smile so you don't go broke"
"Hahahaha", I laughed hard before driving away "Deal!".
I arrived home only to be visited by my neighbor Kassim, we chatted around for some time before I brought up the subject of Flower Girl.
"Hey, did you know there's a little girl selling flowers by the intersection nearby?", I asked.
"Yes, I did", he answered "She's been there for a long time".
"Doesn't she have the cutest smile?", I pointed.
"She does light up the world with her smile", he continued "I actually get her lunch for free every day from my restaurant and talk to her every day".
"That's very nice of you", I complimented Kassim "Do you know her name by the way?"
"Oh, yes", Kassim thought for a second "It is Biraq".
"Beautiful name", I added. We continued to talk about nothing for few hours before he went home after inspiring me to buy her something nice as well.
The next day I was going home from work and saw her walk away from the traffic in a hurry, the smile on her face and the flowers in her hands were replaced by a terrified look and flinching hands. I couldn't help but notice that she was barefoot. I parked my car in the nearest spot I could find and walked toward her to ask what is wrong.
"Some man screamed at me when I tried to sell him a flower", she said with tears streaming down her face "I don't know what I did that was wrong. He just yelled at me and when I was walking back I had to go in front of his car and he just honked so I fell out of my slippers and dropped my flowers. He drove over them, tearing my slippers and breaking my flowers."
I was staring at her as she was crying and looking at me for answers about why someone would be so cruel. I wonder what I could do to make her feel better.
"Some people are just like that", is all I could utter before looking at her muddied, slightly scarred feet and it suddenly hit me "Hey, how about we go to the market and you can get any shoes or slippers you want instead? Maybe even a dress or two"
She agreed and we went into my car to head to the nearest clothing shop. We spent hours going from store to store as she tried on different, shoes, slippers, dresses and was trying to pick and choose. Following that, I gave her fifty thousand dinars to compensate her for the damaged flowers as she went her way to tend to her flowers under the bridge and I had to go home quickly to pay my rent. I asked her about her name before she left and she replied "Ilham".
When I arrived home I walked two houses over as that is where my landlord lived, I was hours late. I knocked on the door then explained what had happened when he came out and paid the rent.
"So you spent the day with that flower girl, right?", he continued "You know, I actually buy her a sandwich every day on my way to the gym in the morning."
"You're not the first person who tells me they do something nice for her" I pointed out.
"Oh, yeah. You're not either", he smiled "People around tell me all sort of things they do for her as well"
Before walking away, I realized something and turned to ask "Do you know her name by the way?"
"Of course", he thought for a second "It is Narjis"
I didn't think much of the interaction as when I arrived home I got an urgent call from my boss telling me that I need to fly to Dubai that night for work. By eleven at night I had packed my work stuff and some clothes and headed toward the airport in a taxi.
As the taxi was going by the bridge on the way to the airport I noticed the little flowers orchard the girl had made. Colorful all around, almost hiding behind them a big blanket and bed in which I saw the girl was sleeping. I quickly ran out of the taxi and headed toward her, wondering why she is sleeping there before learning that she is homeless. I offered her to stay at my house instead and explained that she has no reason to be afraid as I won't even be there but she refused. She continued to refuse the more I insisted. Between her refusal and the driver rushing to get back into the taxi so he'd take me to the airport, I had to leave her there.
To be honest, that last part is just what I tell myself and others when I share the story. The fact is, I never got out of the taxi on that rainy cold day. I just saw her there, tired, and struggling to sleep as loud music was playing from the theme park next door and cars loudly honking. I just loved carrying that thought that I tried my best and failed, it helped me sleep on so many nights. But that night, I just stayed in the taxi as the hot air beaming from the air condition kept me warm.
My trip to Dubai ended up lasting a year and few months. When I returned home, I had changed my place of stay, I had forgotten about the flower girl until I happened to be driving on the same street I first encountered her. I couldn't help fighting this killing feeling of guilt as I looked upon the dirty street to see torn slippers and broken black, dry flowers. I looked around and I didn't find her, so I quickly went to see if she would still be under the bridge.
I went under the bridge and saw that the flowers orchard were well kept and tens of people were standing by it reminiscing about the flower girl, the little girl who died alone in the cold. The sight of grieving people around her grave in a clean well-kept orchard, and fresh flowers put around her empty bed and blanket. I saw Kassim and my landlord there and we just talked about her.
But that was also just another lie I tell myself and others now and then. I actually parked my car and walked into a cemetery of dead flowers hiding behind them a blanket from under which rats ran away as I stood by it, revealing a disfigured little skeleton. I looked around under the bridge and found no one. So much time has passed by and no one had noticed what happened here, no one really cared.
Maybe that's why the thought of my mother's funeral is occurring to me now. She had lived a long life, surrounded by people who loved her grieving her loss. A funeral with flowers. All things that I don't see now under the bridge. Or maybe the reason I think of it is to give myself an excuse for shouting at a little smiling girl trying to sell make a living, honking with annoyance as she was walking away in front of my car forcing her to fall out of her slippers then running over them along with her slippers as she went to sit on the side, sad, crying, confused, flinching out of fear.
What remains now is stories told and retold countless times that the original source and whether they were true or not remains unknown. Stories told by people who stop by that street for few seconds to look between the cars for a smile no longer there. Wandering, guilty eyes that often find one another before looking away and carry on with their day. That is my story with Biraq, Ilham, Narjis, hmm... Flower Girl.