Burning Flowers by June Beyoki Page B

tell if he was excited to see her or if he was about to
object to their union.
    But she shook it off and finished the walk,
standing there facing the unknown man. She could feel the perfect
even smile on her face as she looked at the hole where his face
should be. The preacher stepped up and asked who gave her away to
the man. She waited patiently, but no one stood up for her.
    The preacher leaned down and whispered in
her ear. “Where’s your father, dear?” The old man smelled strongly
of earwax, but his voice was sweet. It was what he asked that made
a fear come over her like never before.
    “ I don’t have one,” she admitted, looking
around, feeling the heat of embarrassment on her face. “He left
when I was a baby.” She wasn’t sure why she said that out loud, but
maybe it would make her look less at fault for not having anyone to
give her away.
    “ Surely you have a mother then, dear. I’m
sure she could do the job just fine,” the man said, looking around
as if her mother would just appear and make it all better. But if
Clarke knew anything, she knew her mother would only make things
worse.
    “ No, please, there must be another way,”
Clarke begged, looking apologetically at the crowd. “Can’t I just
give myself away?” And then Clarke saw her and froze. She would
give up anything not to deal with her. Mrs. Bennett was so angry
she had begun morphing into a half dragon, half human creature of
some kind, and fire was spewing from her nostrils. That was the
moment Clarke knew it was dream, but it didn’t make it any less
terrifying as the woman stomped towards her.
    ***
    Clarke woke up in a cold sweat and looked
around to see the one story, brick house she’d worked so hard to
afford surrounding her. She turned to her right and scooped up the
clothes she’d set out for herself the night before and began
pulling them on one piece at a time.
    It wasn’t the first dream she’d had like
that, and she knew if she told anyone they’d probably tell her she
needed to see a therapist. But she knew for sure that a therapist
couldn’t handle her problems. They’d run away screaming. Besides,
Clarke was more than aware of what her flaws were; she didn’t need
someone with a degree in sympathy for crazy people listing them for
her. One day, they’d either work themselves out, or she’d be the
cat lady that all the little kids were scared of.
    She tiptoed into her bedroom and went to the
vanity that bridged the gap between the bathroom and the main part
of the bedroom. She flipped on the switch to her straightener and
went to find some shoes in the closet. After her dream she was
totally over heels, so she just settled for some flats. She didn’t
feel short enough to worry about that kind of thing anyway.
    Clarke looked at herself critically in the
mirror as she tried, with no success, to straighten her large
curls. She had been trying to get rid of them for years, but they
just kept coming back like a family of cockroaches after the
apocalypse. She wanted to stomp around in frustration like she
sometimes did, but she didn’t want to wake her house guest. So, she
just scowled at herself in the mirror. Then, she quickly
straightened her face out, remembering how scowling could give her
wrinkles way earlier than she was ready for them. She spent
hundreds of dollars and several hours in the morning to keep her
33-year-old-self looking ten years younger. There was no reason to
ruin it in one fit of frustration.
    She grabbed her makeup kit and riffled
through it until she found just what she needed; all 12 items. To
some it may have seemed extreme, but Clarke knew the importance of
perfection especially now that she owned her own business. If her
mother had taught her absolutely nothing else, it was that.
    As she drew on her perfect face she caught
her bed in the corner of the mirror and saw a lump in it tossing
and turning. She’d met that one at the grocery store the day before
when she went to pick up