I OPENED THE DOORS TO FLOWERS FOR FLEUR. I took one step inside and instantly knew something was wrong. It wasn’t that Gram’s bicycle was still in her office. I had passed it on my way in, adorned with pink roses that infused the air with a bold, fruity fragrance with hints of fresh lemon and raspberry. It wasn’t that Darcy was late: the smell of coffee and baking cupcakes consumed the store. It was the trail of flowers knocked over and water pooled on the floor. I followed the path of destruction through the store to the door of the powder room.

I paused and closed my eyes before I entered, then took a slow, tentative step, through to the sound of Gram vomiting. Violently. And crying.

It was gut-wrenching, and my heart broke. Nobody should see their grandmother like this. Grandmothers were supposed to be warm and happy and smiling and oozing with love that flowed around you and hugged you tight, squeezing every bit of sadness from you.  

I texted Gramps.

ME: COME AT ONCE. IT’S GRAM.

I didn’t need to add any more details. Gramps would be here, like the knight in shining armour that he was.

I pushed my phone back into my pocket and my muscles tensed. Gram was sprawled on the floor lying in a pool of vomit. Her lips flattened, and she heaved again, screaming as she did.

This was torture. Absolute torture.

‘Gram!’ I cried, a deep sadness rising from within me. At first, I was confused. I didn’t know whether to grab toilet paper to soak up the vomit she was laying in, or to just be present for her.

She let out a soul-destroying sob and held up her hand towards me. She wanted me to hold her hand. I looked at her fingers stretched out to me, and in a mind flash, I saw Mia’s hand, covered in blood. My blood. Mia’s desperate hand that was filled with terror, and hope. Terror from what could happen next, and hope that I could save her.

Anxiety reared its ugly head with its grip of tingles in my chest and fingers and head. I focussed on Gram and while my stomach quivered. I was filled with the most insane feeling of incompetency as time seemed to slow down. I wanted to save Gram from this hideous vertigo that was robbing her of quality of life. I wanted to reach inside her body with a bright white healing light to incinerate the Meniere’s monster that was ravaging her, destroying her very essence.

But I felt empty. Numb ...

I wrapped my fingers around Gram’s hand and she cried. Deeply. Staring at one constant place on the wall. I closed my eyes and knelt behind her, and cried with her. Deep, painful soul cries. Ones that were beyond words and feeling and actions. Ones that tried to reach out to our Creator, pleading and begging for mercy.

I lay down behind Gram and put my arm around her, without moving her, as I knew it would make the spinning worse, and she would vomit, again. I placed my head on the floor behind her, my hair in the vomit. I closed my eyes and sent a silent prayer to our heavenly Father. “He always hears,” Gram had said. He always hears...

I heard the creak of the door opening, followed by Gramps anguished cry.

I sobbed again. Deeply.

‘My darling Fleur.’ Grampapa’s voice broke. I listened as he pulled out his phone and called an ambulance. He sat beside Gram then, and held her hand and started to sing. His tenor voice filled the powder room with a heartbreaking tune and my heart shattered. Could Gram even hear him?

I held on to my beloved grandmother, lying in her vomit with her, even as the paramedics entered the powder room. One of them lifted my arm from her and told me that it would be okay now. I wanted to believe him, but I knew it wouldn’t be true. As they rolled Gram onto her back to move her to the gurney she vomited once again, yelling as she did so. Then she stared at the ceiling.

In my numbness I looked into her eyes. The forever light of life and love that she gave freely to others was gone. My beautiful Gram’s soul light had gone. She was there in body only, breathing to remain alive.

She was the colour of broken. Like me.

Anger flared inside me. I flicked the vomit from my clothes, then stood and ran.

I ran out the back door and along the streets in my work boots, my hair dripping with Gram’s vomit. I ran until I could run no more. Then I collapsed in a field of wild flowers and I didn’t want to get up.

Ever.

I just wanted to stay there. Alone. Sinking into the eternal hate of life that I tried to bury inside of myself since that terrible day of the scars. The day I let go of Mia’s hand ...

I rolled my eyes when I heard the slow, heavy, footsteps crunching the living flowers. Death of beauty. Like what Meniere’s disease was doing to my gram. I could see it was Darcy as I stared up at the clouds. But I didn’t look at him.

He lay beside me but didn’t speak.

Good. I had no words. I lifted my right hand to my hair. Gram’s vomit had dried and hardened, sticking strands of hair together. Vomit hair artistry. It was a real thing ...

After a while, Darcy held onto my left hand. I wanted to yank my hand away from his. I was sick to death of hand holding and all its connotations: of saving, of comfort, of love, of support, of safety, of friendship.

But I left it there. Not for me. For him.

He pulled out his phone and texted, then put his phone away and stared up at the clouds, like me.

‘Gramps said Gram is sedated. She’s sleeping and not suffering at the moment. He was worried about you. I told him you were safe, and I was with you.’

I swallowed. ‘Thanks.’

‘I put Gram’s bicycle back into her office.’

‘Thanks.’

We said no more. Even while Darcy walked me home and left once I entered the house.

*~*~*~*~*

The closed sign hung at the front of Flowers for Fleur when I arrived at 6pm. For the first time since its opening, fifty years ago, it was closed all day on a week day. I sat on the steps of the store and waited for Xander, for our ninth dance session, my heart completely devastated for Gram.

I stood as soon as I heard his car approaching, I moved towards the car. I didn’t want him to open the door for me today. It didn’t feel right.

I slumped into the passenger seat and stared out the windscreen. ‘What do we get if we win this comp?’ I asked.

‘Money.’

‘I’m donating my half to medical research.’

‘You can have it all. I don’t need it,’ he said.

I looked at Xander. How can someone not need money? Then I remembered that he came from a wealthy family.

‘I’m sorry about your Gram,’ he said.

‘What? You know?’ Anger bubbled inside me.

‘Everyone knows, Andi.’ He winced.

‘So, everyone in this whole freaking town knows everything about everyone?’ I was furious.

‘No. It’s not like that. Your grandmother is dearly loved. When an ambulance arrives, and the store is closed for an entire day, people need to know that your gram is okay.’

‘Well she’s not okay!’

‘I can drive you home if you don’t want to practise tonight.’

I let out a breath and closed my eyes. ‘I want to dance for my gram. I invited her to watch the competition. If she derives some sort of pleasure out of the evening, then it’s worth it.’ I opened my eyes and looked at Xander. ‘I’m sorry for being angry.’

‘No need to apologise.’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Apology accepted.’

Xander turned on the car engine and we drove in silence to the hall. We put our gear on the church pew. I changed my shoes and warmed and stretched in silence oblivious to everything around me.

When I looked up and became aware of where I was and what I was doing, Xander was waiting for me in the centre of the hall.

I walked over to him and we took the foxtrot pose. I focused on his Adam’s apple, then traced my eyes over his chin, his lips, his nose and to his eyes. I wanted to tell him how much I hated the song we were dancing do, but I decided to hold my tongue in case my words came out with added venom.

When the music started, we took our first step, but Xander pulled away, taking steps back from me, his feet in first position. It must have been his default foot placing after many years of ballet.

He dragged his hands down his face. ‘I need to change the beginning of our dance, and add other changes.’

I didn’t say anything. I just worried. The competition was too close for changes now.

‘I want you to be facing away from me, head lowered with your hand over your scar for the start.’ Xander raced over to his bag and pulled out the dance notation. He sat on the floor, and I sat next to him. He scribbled the new steps onto the paper, then he added a lot of spinning moves to the rest of our dance. He gazed up at me. ‘For your gram.’

I looked at him with wide burning eyes. I covered my face and burst into tears, and turned away from him. I picked up the hem of my t-shirt and pressed it to my right eye to stop the tears from washing away my make-up. As I tried to control my tears, Xander wrapped his arms around me. ‘And for you, Yolande.’ His words made me cry more.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered once I had settled my sadness. ‘Just give me a moment and then we will start again.’

‘Take your time.’ He kissed the back of my head and stood. I watched through my splayed fingers as he practised the new dance steps by himself with an invisible me.

I grabbed a tissue and dabbed at my tears, then checked my face. My make-up covered what it needed to cover. I returned to the dance notation and visualised the new steps, then went and stood where I needed to be for the start of the dance—head lowered, hand over my scar. But I hated it there, so I put my hand over my heart. For Gram.

Our song started. Perfect was perfect as he said it would be, only because I changed the words to be about a guy instead of a girl. It made the song easier for me to dance to. With Xander. Because ... he was perfect.

We danced past midnight, ensuring our foxtrot was powerful. When the song ended for the last time, Xander pulled me close and held me. I needed it more than he knew. Or perhaps he did know, that’s why he did it.

I breathed in his citrusy scent with a hint of liquorice, vanilla, lavender, amber and sandalwood, plus a good lavishing of Xander body sweat, putting it to memory.

After the competition was said and done, we would part ways, and he would become just a beautiful, perfect memory to me, once upon a dream ...