The Boy Called Logan

I was sprinkling water on the peonies, daffodils, and tulips to make them look fresh since they wilted very quickly during summer. Only sunflowers seemed glowing as they appeared to respectfully bow their heads towards the rays of the mighty sun.

I saw through the spotless glass door, a familiar tall figure walking briskly with a loping stride outside the shop. From the past week, we always managed to cross paths. Our eyes met today and suddenly, his pace increased like he was almost running, trying his best to avoid me.

"Hey, flower thief! Wait!" I shouted to catch his attention while hurrying outside, but he didn't pay any heed and continued to jog ahead. I quickly caught up and grabbed his arm. I was panting heavily and breathed, "I-I want to talk to you."

He jerked his arm away from my grasp and grunted, "What?"

"Erm . . . Sorry for what happened the other day. I shouldn't have yelled at you, I'm so very sorry . . . " I trailed off and then confessed in a low voice, "I was kind of worried about you."

His expressions softened and I noticed his dimples disappearing which faintly appeared when he was peeved. I wondered if his dimples deepened when he smiled, but my imagination was very limited considering how he always sulked.

Although he was the one who should have been apologising for stealing flowers, it was my fault. The repentance of my actions was gnawing me in the inside. I should have been sensitive since he clearly was not in his best mental health and what if my words had triggered him? What if he had actually jumped after listening to my venomous rambling? I felt extremely guilty and I would have been responsible if he had actually committed suicide. I had unknowingly enacted a crime- gave the incentive to die.

How much more detestable could I be?

"Can we start fresh?" I tried to put up a saccharine smile, but I knew that he could see right through me and he just nodded. "Alright, er-cool. But before starting new, I want to know why you stole those roses? I want to trust you enough, so please tell me the truth. The real reason."

His nostrils flared in annoyance and he grumbled, "I had lost my job, wanted to take my heinous, little revenge and couldn't waste money on something as petty as flowers. That's the truth."

'But why four roses?' was just at the tip of my tongue, but I chose to remain silent, afraid that I would infuriate him further.

"You lost your job?" I dug in my pocket and he gritted his teeth. I retrieved my shop's pamphlet and waved it in front of him. "See, we're looking for someone to help at the shop. You can take up this job if my grandpa approves of you . . . The pay is good and work is less, mostly while my grandpa's away to bring stocks of flowers from the market or watering and plucking sunflowers from our little farm."

"What makes you think that I'll work at your shop?"

"Because you're desperate," I stated nonchalantly and his lips pursed into a thin line. "You don't have any money and lost your job, probably at the departmental store down the lane which hires mostly teenagers. Having no money even drove you to steal something 'as petty as flowers,' your own words, not mine. So, that makes you desperate."

I could actually feel his pride crumbling within him, but he tried not to show it and snatched the pamphlet from my hands. I smirked inwardly and he quietly scanned the information, ignoring my lingering gaze on him. Then his piercing sea-coloured eyes met mine, he snapped, "Where's your grandpa?"

"He'll come by in some time, you can sit inside the shop till then," I offered smugly and walked towards the shop where he grudgingly followed me.

"Just so you know, I'm not working for you. I'm working for your grandpa," he muttered behind me and I scoffed.

"Whatever. You'll get this job only when you promise me that you won't steal flowers again. Promise?"

He didn't say anything and before I could insist further, he forced the words out, "Yeah that."

"Alrighty," I said feigning cheerfulness and pulled open the door of our shop. He followed close behind me as I entered. I pushed a chair towards him, indicating him to sit down. Half an hour went by quietly without him uttering a single word and drumming his fingers softly on the countertop, while I tended to a few customers and then fed my pet worm with dried leaves and flowers.

"You want to feed him?" I asked, the worm crawling on my finger and I extended my hand. Immediately, the flower thief shrank back and I grinned. "You're afraid of little Fred, aren't you?"

"Fred?"

"Ah, he's called Fred. His full name is Alfred González because I like to think that he's Spanish," I explained briefly and he swallowed.

"He's a worm," he spat out and his nose scrunched up when he saw Fred crawling higher up on my arm. "You sell flowers and breed worms? It'll chew all the fresh flowers."

"I don't breed worms. I just take care of Fred, genius. He's so green that he was camouflaged with the leaves of the sunflower. He's one of a kind, do you want to touch him? Look, how fat, slimy and squishy he is." I took Fred on the tip of my finger and brought him closer to the flower thief who visibly shuddered.

"Seriously, if you put that-that thing on me, I'll kill it," he threatened and swiftly got up from the chair, backing away from Fred.

"You murderer, look at Fred! He looks so sad!"

"You're mad, cancer has gotten in your brain," he stated in a low voice and I knew that he didn't mean it in an offending way. He ran a hand through his dark hair and said, "Where's your grandpa? I've come here for a job interview, not to play with that thing."

I ignored him and cooed quietly to Fred, saying that he would always be important to me when my grandpa barged in through the door. He removed his cap and wiped his sweat with the back of his sleeve. His eyes then darted between the flower thief and me. The flower thief awkwardly tugged at his full sleeves, a habit of his when he was nervous, I assumed.

"Who's this skinny boy?" my grandpa asked tartly and now I knew that I had to deal with two grumpy male species.

"He's come here looking for a job. I thought you might want to hire him."

"He already looks dead to me, will he put all his efforts and work?" he asked in a mocking tone and I rolled my eyes.

"Grandpa, if you keep turning down all the people then nobody will be working for us! You need to believe a little more--- "

"And what has believing given me, eh?" he cut me off, challenging me. "Lost her to cancer and now you, is there a reason to believe?"

Out of the blue, he brought this topic and I knew exactly why. I didn't even blame him, he had lost his wife that was my grandma to cancer and now me. When I was diagnosed with cancer, I tried to feed him lies and make him believe that I would survive just to keep him going and not make him depressed, but the after-effects of my lies . . . Well, it wasn't good.

He stopped believing completely in anything and everything, even God.

The flower thief cleared his throat and introduced himself confidently, "Sir, I'm Logan Kellerman and I have always worked hard, you can't doubt me. Give me a chance and I'll prove it to you. I will give my all to this. I really will."

"Yes, please give the flower thief . . . erm . . . Logan a chance. You don't need to believe in him yet, but you can give him a chance. The boy really needs a job," I pleaded and Logan glared at me, probably furious for making him look so desperate and helpless for a job which he was though. I walked over to my grandpa and clung at his arm. "Please grandpa . . . Can you do this for me? I haven't got much time left and I barely ask for anything, so please . . . "

His charcoal coloured eyes had lost its tinge of deep blue sparkle over the years as he scanned my pleading expression. His face wrinkled into a defeated scowl.

"Alright, alright, but only for you," he murmured and I threw my arms over his shoulders in triumph.

"Thank,s, grandpa, you're the best!" I beamed and turned to Logan. "Congratulations! You better be worth this fuss!"

I could barely contain my excitement as I clasped my hands together and suppressed a squeal. Logan too seemed astonished and elated but tried to cover it up with a stoic façade. I did feel accountable for manipulating my dear grandpa, but at least I helped the poor boy get to his feet. I swore that I wouldn't use my disease as a way of manipulating people from this day onwards. It made me feel guilty and disgusting.

"Fine now, get to work you lazy dimwits!" my grandpa roared and I smiled, scurrying towards the counter and pulling Logan with me.