The ‘White Flower’ rewrite

Owrong. The grass had grown up where the flowers used to be and the door to the house was open. The lady had a son who could draw anything he wanted to. He had a shop behind the house, but it was empty. He had drawn me a picture of a cowboy on a white horse that I kept until I went into the Army. While I was in the Army it was stolen from my room by a girl who lived next door.

I started back home with a letdown feeling. I couldn’t imagine where I was going to get a flower. I met a boy on the railroad that I went to school with, I asked him what had happened to the lady who lived in the house. He told me that she had passed away. Her son had moved away when his Mother died. I went back home and sat down on the steps to where I could see the beautiful flowers in the lady’s yard across the street. I was called into the house for supper. My mother kept looking at me in a way that was different. “Burt,” she said, “What is wrong with you?” “Nothing is wrong,” I answered. “There is something wrong with you and I want to know what it is.”

I told her about it being Teacher’s Day at school on Monday. We were supposed to bring a flower to the teacher. I had been trying to find a flower but had no luck.

“I am sure the teacher will understand if you don’t have a flower. Now go get ready for bed and don’t worry about it. Things have a way of happening for the best,” my mother told me.

What she had said did not help much, but I got ready and went to bed. I remember it was one of those nights where you go to sleep and wake up with the flower on your mind. I made it through the night but the next day was no better. I must have walked all over West Rome trying to find a flower. No luck, and that night I went to bed tossing and turning.

I was up early the next day ready for school, but with a heavy heart. I carried my books held together with a belt. I slung them over my shoulder and headed to the railroad tracks that ran in front of the Fairbanks Company. There was a bunch of kids there, all carrying a flower. I fell in behind them walking with my eyes on the ground. They were laughing and carrying on like kids will do. I walked, getting farther behind.

“Hey, Lonie, come on or you will be late,” someone in the crowd said.

We walked the track to what was known as Hill Street. Hill Street does not exist today. We would cross Shorter Avenue and go through a field on the corner of Elm and Shorter. A drugstore now sits where the field was. The others were crossing Elm and going on to the school house yard, and I had just entered the field. I was about half way across the field and I stopped for I could not believe my eyes. There in among the weeds was a flower, a big white flower.