I Love the Flower Girl

Chapter One
The Flower Girl
Tyler Hainsworth stormed toward her bicycle, embarrassed and angry, anxious to get away from the diamond after her ballgame finished. Today her junior girls’ softball team got blown out and she was hitless and added, to her, two unforgivable errors for good measure. Manager Hitch gave Tyler and the rest of the team a good talking to after losing twenty to six; Tyler hated losing, to begin with, and being called out by Mr. Hitch for swinging at wayward pitches and for the errors only added to the pain. She had to get to her friend Ryan Richards’ house needing to tell him about her dreadful experience.
Ryan woke at dawn that morning, roused by a disturbing dream that began with him climbing a spiral staircase in a house he had not been in before. Each floor he passed was elaborately decorated and filled with antique furniture, oil paintings, Victorian style lamps, and unique odds and ends. Floors were carpeted or surfaced by floorboards; area rugs and walls were wallpapered, painted with pastel colors, or cloaked in wood.
Upward he went, wary of being confronted by someone or something angered by being disturbed from their peace. Ryan climbed six levels before reaching the house’s top floor; he passed several rooms before arriving at an elevator. The elevator plummeted after he stepped inside, dropping so fast he seemed on the verge of plunging to death before the elevator finally slowed. Its door opened and revealed a dank basement with

concrete floors and cinderblock walls painted different drab shades of gray.
Desperate to find a way out of the house, Ryan hurried toward a metal door at the end of a narrow corridor, which opened into a dark forbidding room. But there was no turning back. An evil presence pursued him.
Illuminated by daylight pouring through a crack in a wall was a coffin, he realized, upon arriving closer to it. Until opening its lid, he assumed the coffin contained the body of his long-dead grandfather. Instead, it held the corpse of his friend Tyler Hainsworth. Ryan startled awake after Tyler’s corpse opened its eyes and stared at him.
Images of Tyler in a coffin flashed through Ryan’s mind as he sleepily watched cartoons later that Saturday morning. Fourteen and thirteen years old respectively, he and Tyler lived next door to each other and were best friends for as long as either could remember. They could share everything, but Ryan, not wanting to upset her, decided to keep the strange dream to himself for now. The following day marked the first anniversary of her grandfather’s death, so Tyler probably had enough on her mind without being told about a stupid dream.
Tyler, still wearing her softball uniform, knocked at the back door of Ryan’s house a few minutes after twelve. Usually, she showered and changed before stopping by after softball games unless she played well and was anxious to tell him about it. But a glum expression on her face confused Ryan. Looking sullen, Tyler whispered, “Hello,” when she walked into the house. Ryan held the door open for her.
“I’m assuming you must have played a good game,” he remarked, following Tyler to a table in the kitchen.
“What makes ya think that?”
“Because you’re still wearing your softball uniform,” Ryan said as they took chairs opposite each other. “Usually… usually, you go home to shower and change before coming over.” He yawned, gazing into Tyler’s dark brown eyes. “Pardon me… I’m tired because I woke up too friggin early. I got up at six and couldn’t go back to sleep.”
“How come you woke up so early?”
“I don’t know,” he lied, staring at the table, unable to look Tyler in the eye, feeling bad for not being honest with her. “Anyway, typically, you shower and change before coming over unless you played a good game and are pumped up to tell me about it.”
“Yeah, you’re right. But I played like crap today, and my whole team sucked. We lost big time... You know how I hate having a bad game... I’m bummed and just wanted to talk to you.”
“I knew something was bothering you. I know when you’re upset about something.”
“Just like me with you,” Tyler said, removing a yellow baseball cap from her head and placing it flat on the table. Her neck length, dark brown hair was tangled and knotted. “I can tell when you’re upset about something too… So, do I look okay? I bet I look nasty. I know I’m all sweaty and my hair must look pretty messed up.”
“You look a little grungy.” Her uniform consisted of heather gray pinstriped pants and a matching jersey, and the cap was stained by dirt, grass, and sweat. “Your uniform needs a good cleaning. Let’s put it that way.”
“I hope I don’t smell.”
“Not really,” he said, despite a hint of body odor and a faint, musty smell emanating from her.
“What does not really mean? You can be honest and tell me if I stink or not.”
“You smell kinda funky,” he felt compelled to say.
“Yeah, well, it’s hot out today in case you haven’t noticed,” she curtly replied. “I’m so sorry that I stink.”
“You don’t reek that bad,” Ryan kidded. “You asked me to tell you if you smelled and I told you the truth... I don’t care how you look or smell.”
“I’m sorry for being nasty.” Tyler patted his hand. “I’m just wound up because I’m so frustrated.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he told her.
“We got thrashed,” she huffed, placing her softball glove, propped under an arm, beside her cap. “We got creamed... We got beat so bad it was stupid. My team lost twenty to six.”
“It sucks to lose that bad,” Ryan said. “I would be bummed out too. Don’t you guys have a mercy rule?”
“No, we don’t have a mercy rule, and I’m glad we don’t,” Tyler replied. “But whatever… it is what it is... It’s okay when we kick the crap out of another team, but it’s not as much fun when it’s the other way around.” She frowned, rubbing her eyes. “Our manager, Mr. Hitch, wasn’t happy, but neither were my teammates or me,” she continued. “He yelled at us after the game and said we sucked. Basically, he called us losers. That ain’t right. We’re just girls trying to have fun, but we’re always stressing, thinking he’s gonna yell at us if we do something wrong.”
“He really did all that?” Ryan asked her, struggling to believe the man’s alleged behavior.
“Pretty much,” she maintained.
“That’s bullshit for a grown ass man to talk like that. You’re right — that ain’t right.”
“Well, he didn’t straight out say that we sucked and call us losers, but that’s pretty much what he insinuated.”
“Well, that still ain’t right,” Ryan opined. “What’s his problem?”
“I wish I knew,” Tyler said with a sigh. “He’s different. I never had a manager like him before, which is saying something since I’ve been playing softball since I was six. It’s like he thinks he’s managing the Tigers instead of a girls’ Little League softball team,” she said, referring to her beloved Detroit Tigers. “Managers I’ve had before were easy-going and nice, but this guy gets uptight and intense. Sometimes he gets all wound up and angry when we mess up… He’s nice enough most of the time, but I don’t like it when he gets all upset.” Tyler planted her elbows on the table, pressed her hands into her face, and stared at the hat and glove above webs of spread fingers. “Anyway, I didn’t get a hit when I usually get two and made two bone-headed plays. One time, an easy grounder I should have snagged went through my legs and the other time, the ball bounced off my glove and almost bopped me in the noggin.” She ran a finger along the webbing of her glove, looking at it wearily. “That was pretty embarrassing.”
“It didn’t help that there were lots of people sitting watching, besides players on both teams and managers and coaches. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die because I felt so embarrassed... Some people in the bleachers laughed when the ball almost hit my head.”
“Stuff happens, and people can be ignorant,” Ryan remarked empathetically. “Whoever laughed wasn’t nice. It sucks that you didn’t have a good game and had to put up with morons, but you have to let it go.”
“I know,” Tyler sighed. “But if it were you, you’d have to admit that it would be hard.”
“I would have felt the same way you do,” he acknowledged. “I’m just trying to make you feel better.”
“I know you are, bud,” she replied as she patted his hand again. “You’re my main guy. You’re always there when I need you like I am for you.”
“Did your manager say anything when you made your errors?”
“Not right away, but I knew he wasn’t happy. He gave me an evil eye after the ball bounced off my glove and probably when it went between my legs, but I didn’t notice. He said some of us played quote-unquote carelessly when he basically yelled at us after the game. I wasn’t the only one who messed up... I’m sure I’ll hear about it again though at our next practice.”
“What do your folks think about your manager? They wouldn’t be pleased with the guy yelling at you and making you and your teammates feel like crap. I would kick his ass if I were your dad. Shit, I wish I could do that.”
“He doesn’t really yell at us, but he talks loud… But, whatever, I don’t talk to my parents about Mr. Hitch. There’s no point. They probably won’t care. You know they don’t bother to come out to watch my games anyway, and that bums me out... But the season’s over in a few weeks unless we somehow make the playoffs, and I’m counting down the days. All I can do is hope to have a normal manager next year.”
“What if you luck out and end up having the same guy?” Ryan joked.
“That’s not funny,” Tyler moaned. “Don’t even say that!” she said, shaking a finger at him. “If that happens, I’ll make a point of saying to whoever is in charge of the league that I don’t want to play for that man again. If the people who run the league won't listen to me, I’ll just quit playing.”
“That would be sad because you love softball. I’m sure they won’t force you to play for him if you don’t want to, though.”
“We’ll see what happens,” she sighed. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed... So, what are you doing this afternoon?”
“I’ve got nothing going on,” Ryan replied.
“Me neither.”
“Let’s do something to get your mind off things,” he suggested.
“You always have a way of making me feel better just by being you!” Tyler exclaimed. She smiled, and her eyes returned to their typical smiling selves, a sign that her mood had lifted. “I’m assuming you’re not grounded still, are you?”
“No. I’m free now!” Ryan cried.
“I can’t believe you got grounded for a week because you missed curfew one measly ole time,” Tyler whispered, to avoid being overheard by others in the house. “You usually get home on time.”
“I know,” he whispered back. “It was bullshit.”
“So, have you gone out anywhere today?”
“I was going to play basketball with Wayne this morning at Oakwood,” Ryan said. He, Tyler, and Wayne graduated from Oakwood, an elementary school, a week earlier. “But Wayne couldn’t play because he had to go to his uncle’s house because one of his cousins turned sixteen today. There’s a big party for him.”
“I hope someone throws me a big sixteen party for me when I turn sixteen.”
“I’m sure your parents will,” he said. “If not, I will.”
“That’s so like you,” Tyler gushed. “So, is Wayne going to car dealing uncle of his? The rich one who owns the car dealership?”
“Yeah, the one Wayne says is going to give him a car when he gets his driver’s license.”
“Man, I hope someone gives me a car when I get my driver’s license! That would be sweet,” Tyler said.
“I wouldn’t mind if someone gave me one too,” Ryan agreed. “My old man is still mad at Wayne’s uncle because of that car he sold us.” The car, a brand-new model, was a lemon. His father managed to exchange it after taking the car back to the dealership a ridiculous number of times for repairs.
“It’s only right that they gave him another car,” Tyler opined, aware of problems his father had with the car.
She turned away and sneezed for the second time.
“Bless you,” Ryan said.
“Thanks,” she gasped. Ryan pushed a Kleenex box in front of her after Tyler sneezed a third time. “Thanks,” she said as she sniffled, pulling a tissue out of the box.
“Your allergies are bugging you, eh?”
“Good guess,” she replied and chuckled after blowing her nose. “What was your first clue, Dr. Obvious?” Tyler smiled. “It’s from pollen, grass, and dust from the infield... The outfield was covered by pollen, and the grass was just cut before our game. Hmm... That’s probably why I played so bad. Maybe my allergies messed me up?”
“Yeah, go with that if it makes you feel better.”
“I think I will,” she said, maintaining a straight face. “And it could be true.”
“It’s that bad time of year again for you.”
“It’s always that time of year for me,” Tyler groaned. “You know all the stuff I’m allergic to... Dogs, dust, grass, leaves, mold, pollen, milk, tomatoes, and probably other things.” She balled the tissue, tossed it into a trash container, and sneezed.
“Bless you again,” Ryan said.
“Thanks again,” she replied while sniffling. “My allergies are so messed up. The allergy shots and antihistamine I take don’t seem to help much.”
“At least you’re not allergic to flowers.”
“Yeah, thank God for that!” Tyler exclaimed. “You know how I love flowers, especially purple daisies. You know I always have a bunch of them in my room.”
“Oh, I know you do, Flower Girl,” Ryan said. Flower Girl was a nickname he bestowed on her after Tyler wore a flower in her hair in a giddy mood one day. Her doing that made him think of the Cowsills song about a flower girl. “That time you walked around with a daisy over your ear all day was funny… You get so silly at times.”
“I was in a crazy happy mood, and I want to feel that way again!” she yelped. “I need to do something to get my mind off things.”
“I knew, I knew, I knew, I knew she had made me happy,” Ryan sang, not doing a good job of singing the song. “Flowers in her hair, flowers everywhere... I love the Flower Girl… Oh, I don’t know why she simply caught my eye. I love the Flower Girl. Was she reality, or just a dream to me?”
“You can stop, Ryan,” Tyler muttered.
“What do you want to do to help you get your mind off things?” he asked her.
“Let’s go to the fort and organize our card collection,” Tyler proposed. The fort she was referring to was a five-foot-high room on top of a shed in her backyard replete with a door and windows. Her father built the room for Tyler when she was eight, and she and Ryan often whiled away time there. They kept a collection of hockey and baseball player cards in the room.
“I don’t feel like sitting around and doing that right now,” Ryan said. “I’ve been stuck in my house for a week. Let’s go outside. I feel like going for a long bike ride somewhere.”
“Can we do that on Monday? Let’s go over our collection.”
“But you’re upset about your softball game. How is going over our baseball and hockey cards going to make you feel better? If it were me, I would want to do something else.”
“I know, but I just found out that there’s a sports card show coming up next week at the Cleary Auditorium… We have duplicate cards we might be able to trade for ones we don’t have. You know I always wanted to get a rookie Reggie Jackson card, and you always wanted to land a Bobby Orr card. Maybe we can trade for them or buy them? We’ll probably find a lot of other cards there too that we don’t have, which we might want.”
“You’re such a guy,” Ryan said. “You’re more into collecting trading cards than my guy friends are.” Tyler scowled at him playfully as her eyes continued to smile. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m just a girl who’s into hockey and baseball cards,” Tyler asserted. “We haven’t gone over our collection forever. Would you be okay doing that?”
“Okay,” Ryan said, reluctantly acquiescing to her request.
“Cool,” she said. “And when we’re done, we can go swimming in my pool if my mom goes out somewhere. She probably will.”
“Why do we have to wait until your mom leaves?”
“Because my dad chlorinated the pool before he went to work this morning. My parents don’t want people in the pool for at least eight hours after they chlorinate it,” Tyler said. “You know their eight-hour rule when they chlorinate the pool,” she sang.
“They must have a good reason for their rule because they’ve had it forever,” he suggested, yawning yet again. “The water’s probably toxic. Chlorine is pretty much like bleach. It can soak into your pores, which can’t be good.”
“My dad shocked it at seven-thirty, Mister Sleepy-head, and it’s now...” Tyler looked at her watch. “It’s getting near twelve-thirty, so that’s like close to five hours ago. The chlorine level should be okay by now. Anyway, we’ll kill another hour easy, sorting through our cards.”
“Their eight-hour rule does seem a bit much,” Ryan opined.
“They think chlorine is like Agent Orange,” she said. Agent Orange was a cancer-causing herbicide the United States military used in the Vietnam War to kill jungle foliage. “I’ve snuck into the pool right after my dad chlorinated it and never ended up losing skin or getting rashes or anything nasty. I don’t have cancer as far as I know.”
“Well, I got a nasty sore last summer after we went swimming too soon after it was chlorinated,” Ryan claimed. That did not happen. He was kidding.
“No way!” Tyler exclaimed. “You're not serious, are you? You would have told me about that.” She slapped his hand as Ryan chuckled. “You’re lying,” she yelped, rising from her chair. “Anyway, let’s go.” Tyler grabbed her hat and glove and began toward the back door. Ryan started after her. She slammed the door closed to impede his progress after stepping outside.