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"I'm really worried," I heard her voice echo through the floor vent in my room. "She's just not interested in anything. She sits in her room all the time and only comes out to go to the bathroom or eat."

I snickered, my ear pressed against the grill at the bottom of the wall, annoyed that she was having a secretive conversation about me.

"Well, that's an idea. I'll give it a try. Alright, talk to you later," she said, hanging up the telephone. I quickly got up from the floor and sat on my bed, pretending I had been watching television.

"Hey, honey," she began, opening my bedroom door, "I want to go get some flowers. Would you like to come?"

"Not really," I replied.

"Well . . . ." I could tell she was thinking about what to say next. "We could get some lunch while we're out."

Obviously, she was trying hard, but was that the best she could do? Still, the curiosity of what her plan entailed wrapped itself around my thoughts, and I agreed to go.

-

"So, what kind of flowers should we get," she asked before taking a bite of her sandwich.

"I don't know," I muffled with a mouthful of turkey. "What kinds do they have?"

"Oh, they have a little bit of everything: daisies, chrysanthemums, marigolds, black-eyed susan's."

"Daisies are nice," I said.

"How about you pick out some flowers that you like and you can plant them in your own little corner of the garden."

"I can't take care of flowers," I exclaimed, dabbing my face with a napkin.

"Sure you can. It's just like taking care of a dog."

"How is planting flowers possibly like taking care of a dog?"

"You make sure it has food and water," she stated, matter-of-factly, "and watch it grow."

"Food? Like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"

"No, you add compost to the . . . "

"You mean that bin of rotted food behind the house? I am not touching that! And besides, I don't like dogs," I replied, sternly, as she lowered her eyes and reached for the bill.

-

The car ride was silent, but as soon as the salesman asked, "Can I help you, folks," upon entering the nursery, her aura changed.

"Yes," she responded with a smile. "I'm getting my spring flowers. Now, I know what I want, but my daughter isn't sure what she would like, yet." Placing her hands on my shoulders from behind, she asked, "Could you help her find something?"

"Oh, sure," the man said, looking quite excited to be of assistance. "Follow me, young lady." I gave my mother an annoyed look, and silently followed the salesman.

As we squeezed through the rows of flowering pots, overpowering fragrances

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