i welcome the transition of rock underneath my feet as we walk up to the visitors center- where craig says we have to go to check in. the dark asphalt collects heat like no other, and i worried my shoes might melt. if i didn't first.
as soon as you walk inside it smells like dirt, but not in an off putting away- strange enough. the inside of the wooden building is heavily air conditioned. it's like walking into a freezer! when we step the concrete floor beneath us echoes into the tall ceilings, where skylights bring in the bright shining light from the afternoon sun. potted trees decorate the corners of the suprisingly gigantic room.
"how are you kids doing today?" a cheerful woman with a distinctly southern voice calls us forth.
she sits behind a window in the wall, a patterned burgundy rug infront of her station. above her is a large sign that reads 'check-in' in a swirly, cursive font. the snow white letters stand out against the dark, rustic, wooden panels of the rest of the interior. her wide smile is about as captivatingly white as the sign, and i believe if i looked close enough i could spot my reflection in their clean surface.
"good." craig steps closer towards her, and i linger beside him. "that's great. now! are y'all looking for a tour guide, or you gonna explore the gardens on your own? unless you're here for our plant sale, which is through that hallway down there on your right!" she rambles on, speaking quickly to inform us as much as possible in as little of time as needed.
craig briefly turns to look at me for an answer, but i suppose he then remembers he's the one who invited me here and comes to the conclusion on his own. "self-guided." he confirms simply. the loose curls of her blonde hair flail around as she spins in her rotating office chair. she peels two maps off the counter behind her, and sets them on the ledge towards craig. "alrighty! entry is five dollars each, so your total will be ten. is that okay with you guys?" i start to rifle through my purse when craig gently puts his hand over my own that's holding my wallet, "relax."
he slides the woman a ten and she knowingly tilts her head towards me, smiling all the while. her positivity is contagious, and makes me smile back at her. i can tell she assumes that we're a couple, and something within me doesn't necessarily want to correct her. craig grabs the folded maps, handing one to me as she processes our purchase. it doesn't take long- we paid in only one bill after all.
"perfect. have fun! and remember not to venture too far past the paved route." we both thank her and relish in one last moment of the cool air conditioning before walking back out the glass doors. she winks at me as craig holds the door open for me. he doesn't notice, and i hope he also stays oblivious to my blush-stricken cheeks.
two heavy-leafed trees protect us from the heat as we stall near the outside of the building. i let craig skim over the directory and decide where to explore for the both of us, not wanting to be too pushy with his adventure. "let's go this way." he points east, towards the expansive grassy fields.
the straight dirt path scuffs along the sides of my shoes, and leads us past the full blooms of the pink magnolia trees. the flowering shades of pink and white come to a stark transtion as they blend with the beech trees that grow next to them. the smooth grey bark is barely visible under the thick green foliage that largely covers the majority of each tree. as we break through the mass of pointy, dark green leaves, we come to an empty field. the north field; as labeled on the map.
the path continues straight along the long picket fence and around the field, but a more exciting, winding path drives straight through the empty plain. we, of course, take the fun scenic route.
the dirt fades into a thin grass as we walk along the break inbetween the fluffy, wheat-like grass. the soft wind tosses the tall stems around, bouncing against their neighbors in a mesmerizing dance. i reach my left hand out to touch the captivating scene, their collective gentle swaying tickling against my skin as i do so. craig watches my movements with curiosity, then copies them with his right palm. he also smiles at the sensation, then extends his hand to me.
i've finally decided i want our date to officially be considered such; a date.
his smooth, warm, hand grasps mine with a careful strength- not tightening his grip too heavily, but just enough to assure me his actions weren't entirely casual.
he swallows heavily. he reminds me of a friegtened dear with his dilated pupils and his intense eye contact with me, flittering his focus between my features. he tears his anxious eyes from me and looks outward towards the rustic barn in the distance, and then around the surrounding field. "this is cool." he straightens his posture and resets himself, stabilizing his normally confident attitude.
he breaks our mutual lapse in walking first, stepping forward slowly so i get the hint to continue our journey. we both barely speak above whisper, the hushed tones of our voices blending in with the grass and it's own conversations amongst eachother.
"i wish south park had something like this." i tell him. i think i wish every part of south park was like massachusetts at this point though. the weather, while not great, is better than any summer i've ever experienced there. and not just the climate. the things to do around the island are far more interesting. and for some reason, being out here makes the kids i've known for years extremely social. and maybe a little cuter than i've previously noticed.
he thinks for a moment before responding, "we have fields and meadows. you just have to make the path yourself." he's right. and we have mountains! but i still wish that someone would make a public garden even a fraction of how nice this place is. "yes. but i'd rather it'd be an organized thing. i don't think i'd go to a random field alone- you remember mr. denkins?" my parents banned me from exploring for a while after he shot some guy's leg for trespassing. and it wasn't his first offense. "you don't have to be alone."
his simple words make me smile a bit. 'you don't have to be alone.' he says it like an offer almost, a small suggestion towards a future. 'you don't have to be alone.' and he's so, so, so completely right.
we carry on, but i dwell a little longer on his sentence.
the meadow is loosely enclosed by a suggestion of a fence (it only borders some portions), which opens as we reach the end of the northfield, the new path outlined by small patches of wild flowers. are they wild if they're specifically planted there? how would the flowers be domestic?- a houseplant maybe? doesn't matter.
the wavy curve that we previously were led on straightens out as we pass through an uniform aisle of camellia shrubs and dogwood trees. the branches extend upwards towards eachother on each sides, creating a canopy of giant, white flowers above us. and beside us. and below us, as the fragile petals flutter towards the ground with the passing wind.
it's nice to have another break from the sun, but i don't notice the heat until i'm under the shade again. light shines through the gaps in the tops of the trees, highlighting points in the grass through the dogwood tunnel. their blooms are face-level in some points, and underneath here the air smells vaguely of a sweet floral scent at all times.
"this is insane." craig marvels, ducking under a stray branch. "hey, look at that." he points with his free hand towards the base of the mottled bark of a tree, where engraved stones of varying sizes and conditions lay overtop a circle of dark soil.
some of the words are illegible, but the ones with only initials are fairly easy to make out from where we stand. "do you think people bring them here to place, or just carve into a random stone they find?" i ask, thinking aloud. "from looking at them, probably both."
some do look pretty 'homemade' in their engravings. but it's all sweet nonetheless. i kind of wish i brought a rock to contribute now, but i think the tree has enough. we move on.
short cobblestone walls surround the occasional wooden bench as we pass through the long avenue. golden memorial plaques differing between each spot shine in the middle of the backrest, all dedicated to someone loved by somebody at sometime now passed.
i think part of what makes life so beautiful is the impermanence of it all. if everything was immortal, there would never be any joy to derive from the moment you're living in. eventually the flowers stop blooming and the trees die, and when we get older we can't remember if the magnolia blooms were pink or white- or the exact year we were born- but at some point in time, a couple decades before, we had lived and loved in a second never to be repeated.
me and craig will never be here again in this time, but right now we're young and holding hands walking through an alley of white flowers blooming on a deciduous tree; where in a few weeks the last dying petals will have fallen, and in a few months the leaves will be dead too. after that, a whole new birth of leaves and blossoms have overtaken the old, grownout branches, and all we get left with is memories of that summer in the garden.
i wouldn't have it any other way.
the walk to the next marked spot on the map isn't very long. we pass three different species of trees on the way there and at least ten different shades of hydragenda blooms, all at the peak of their season.
"i wish i would have a brought a camera or something with me." i comment. i did bring my phone with, but it died a couple minutes out from shore. the battery ran out quickly during my conversation with nichole. "it's better without one anyways. live in the moment, y/n." he mocks me, drawing back on a handful of times i've told bebe to put her phone down at school. "yeah, but then i can have a photo to draw back on. i don't want to forget."
"you won't forget." he rolls his eyes at me, swinging our conjoined hands slightly. i suppose i won't. i might forget all the colours of the flowers- the purple, pink, and blue shades slipping my memory; but i highly doubt i'll forget craig's presence here today.
i slightly tilt my head up to look at him in the eyes, "if you say so." i shrug. extremely short painted white signs are hammered at some points in the path to direct us to the must-see locations. the closest one now points eastward towards the most famous collection of polly's plants in the entire garden. at least that's what the footnotes on the map say.
craig slows his pace as we enter 'polly's play pen', a long rectangular sector where hundreds of the advertised different species of plants make home.
it feels more exclusive then the other areas of the garden, and more orchestrated. there are multiple designated spots for resting along the path we walk. small, red-hatted, gnomes hide behind short shrubs and benches. fairy communities and bird baths are visible in some portions if you look for them through the brush.
the placement of the bushes, shrubs, trees, and flowers make everything feel intimate, and everyone we've ran into also keeps a calm, quiet presence amongst the nature. various colours decorate the petals and leaves of the garden, ranging from vivid oranges to a deep purples. the growth of the garden is astounding, and it's hard to imagine that at some point, sixty years ago, this was little more than a cow-grazing pasture like the rest of the surrounding land.
craig hushes me randomly, "..don't tell anyone." his quiet voice pulls me out of my thoughts and into him. he reaches out and gently plucks a thinly-stemmed pale pink flower with a single blossom at the top of it, it's tall stature reaching out above the other surrounding plants. "craig!" i whisper-yell in surprise. i highly doubt ms. polly hill would want us stealing her flowers. "you wanted a keepsake, correct?"
he hands it to me, watching me smile despite my less than amused attitude previously. "i guess so." i say. what else could i do now besides cherish- replant it? it's still a sweet gesture. even if it might be against the rules of the arboretum. but i don't know that for sure anyways.
he begins to talk again; but we both pause as we see an elderly couple infront of us. they lull infront of a particular patch of soft white roses, the older man wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulders as they lean into eachother. their white hair just about matches the shade of the flower that keeps them so captivated, and before they leave they share a sweet kiss infront of the blooms. and us.
they carry on slowly, using eachother as a guide, but we linger in our same spot. i look over at craig to see his reaction, but he's already looking at me. we both smile, and eventually move on too.
i wonder what significance the white roses hold for them, if any. maybe they just like that particular flower. but i'd prefer to imagine that perhaps it was their wedding flower, long ago before the aches in their bones appeared and their dark brown locks turned to silver.
it's hard to imagine any of my friends as seniors. or even my parents. what will craig look like when his signature jet black hair starts to turn white? when his constant unimpressed expression burns frown lines into his smooth skin. will i be there to see the transtion? or will his youthful appearance be the only one i'll ever know with no replacement to correct me?
will red continue to dye her hair as she ages? one day, if i run into a woman with long, brown hair, will i recognise her as the teenager i once knew with the vibrant strands of unnatural shades?
i hope, at least, when i get older i can still remember myself and how i used to be. and i hope to recall back on this summer- and the ones before and after- where i felt the warm sun beaming down on me, the love all around me, and all the joy i experienced.
we both talk the rest of the way through the garden, invigorated through watching the older couple's sweet interaction. i look at a couple flowers, study a couple more trees, but my mind mostly focuses on craig's unwavering hold on my palm. and how happy i am.
finally, after we're both satisfied with seeing all there is to see in a garden, we sit down at a picnic table near our original entry place to rest before heading back home.
"hey." he catches my attention, "you wanna get lunch?" he asks me. he spins the braclet on his hand, not looking up at me as he speaks.
i don't exactly see where we could get lunch, but i also don't understand his plan for getting us home either. so, might as well get lunch and trust him all the same. "sure. you have to pick the place, though." i tell him.
he scrolls through his phone for a bit searching for a restaurant. his clear phone case shows off two polaroids that lay beneath it, one is of stripe #6, and the other of tweek and himself. i wonder why he doesn't have a polaroid of patches, but i suppose she already takes up his homescreen.
"i found a place." he states, standing up from the picnic bench. "what's it called?" i ask. i thought it would be an easy question to answer, but he just shrugs in response and waits for me to catch up with him. whatever.
we walk through the parking lot and end up back at the same place we started. an empty street with an empty pasture beyond it. craig stands against a fence post while we wait for an uber to take us to wherever he's decided.
"among the flowers cafe." he says randomly, looking out into the street. ".. and that's?" sometimes he makes very little sense to me. "the place we're going? it's back in tisbury." he squints his eyes at me in confusion, acting like he didn't just abruptly answer a question i asked five minutes earlier. "i just thought you would want to know."
"and what gave you that idea? was it from me asking you earlier, maybe?" he just rolls his eyes at me. we make short conversation before a bright teal car pulls up infront of us. "uber for twelve-thirty?" he rolls down the passenger window and shouts at us, his long brown hair tucked behind his ears.
as we file into the car i immediately notice two things- the first being the lack of air conditioning. it's not suffocatingly hot, but the black leather seats burn into my already warm skin. the second is the gentle fragrance of pineapple that hangs in the air, which is appreciated.
the man turns to smile strangely at us, awkwardly maneuvering his full lips to show his rather small teeth, before putting the car in drive (far too late in my opinion). craig just looks at me, raising his eyebrows in shared acknowledgment of our.. interesting driver.
craig keeps his navigation system open on his phone making sure the man doesn't sway from the planned route in any way. "let me guess. you guys aren't from here?" he catches my eyes through the rear view mirror, drawing them in until i believe i could recite every exact position of each freckle on his short face.
they're mostly along his nose.
craig hesitates to respond, but eventually deems him a minimal threat. "yeah." his tone is straight and doesn't give any hint as to what he is feeling. "neither am i! my boyfriend and i moved from vegas to the cape about a year ago now, and we're loving it!" he shakes his shoulders in emphasis at 'boyfriend', the golden paper clip earrings dangling from his ears moving along with each movement.
"great." craig says genuinely, but with a lack of emotion. he sounds sarcastic, and the man sulks down into his seat at craig's uninterested reply. he stays quiet for the rest of the ride, occasionally glancing back at me and displaying his clumsy smile again. i look out the window to avert his gaze. and teeth.
it's interesting to see the transtion from the empty fields to the bustling streets of the town as we get closer to the cafe, the lines of fences swapped for impatient bodies of people as they wait outside buildings and bus stops. equally impatient cars stop along the street, honking at the slightest pause at a green light.
you'd think a teal car would stand out amongst the sea of others, but it seems the residents here prefer to have every vibrant shade of the rainbow decorate their vehicles. convertibles with their hoods down coast by us, their bright red, blue, and pink exteriors reflecting the debatably brighter sun. maybe there's a car show being hosted near us.
it'd be a nice place to hold one, i bet they never have to worry about a popped tire here. the roads of massachusetts are significantly smoother than the ones back home. rarely is there ever a bump in the car as we drive. no pot holes, no deep cracks, no piles of garbage. a perfect slate of asphalt.
we arrive outside the building ten minutes from our pick-up, a substantially shorter trip than the bus ride we took earlier. craig holds the door open for me when we file out the car, looking around at the area around us all the while. he turns back once to look at the driver as we walk towards the front door of the establishment.
soft jazz songs from the sixties play through hidden speakers on the outside of the colonial-style cafe. the romantic melodies compliment the scenery of the exterior, with the majority of the seating outdoor, among flowers; and filled by older, retired, couples. the striped blue awning above the lower floor of the white paneled building matches the blue chairs and
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