lantana_spilling_over_the_stone_wall blueberries "amarilla," the gardener said, as she sat back down, though she didn't hear him. the music was loud and besides his voice was never more than a mumble. he closed his eyes for a moment and remembered an indoor flower that bloomed in the kitchen of his winter house, the amaryllis, how it seemed to take forever, but with continued watering and an unyielding patience, a shy stem with a tight-fisted encapsulated bloom emerged from the lifeless bulb. with child-like wonder, he watched the red petals open, beauty from emptiness. elegance from simplicity. he looked over at her. she seemed relieved, as if her sudden expulsion removed the last traces of her stay in the hospital. yet, he knew the memories were there, the scars, and these were elements of a history that could not be removed. gravity that had a burden of weight. what would she do with them? how would she go on? would she be able to get out from under the pressure? and what was she doing with him in his truck? he had sketched a plan. it was the first thoughts he had the moment he decided to drive to the sea. and so, as amarilla stared out the window, he drove on to where gravel met asphalt, back to the freeway, back to reality. when the cd ended, he let her look through the rest of his small collection. in the lingering silence he asked her the questions that were difficult but necessary and he wasn't sure how she would respond. her answers were full of mystery. but there was enough. the truck turned off at exit 31 and he stopped at a red light. she inserted bjork's vespertine. they rode on through a residential area, children on razor scooters, surfpunks with trifins under their arms. riding barefoot on bikes, the arms of their wetsuits hanging down past the waist. down seaward avenue to where the houses grew thin and the ocean closer. the gardener pulled into a driveway where a purple profusion of lantana scrambled over a stone wall. the truck sputtered to a halt, giving a hiss of relief. "where are we?" she asked, first looking at him, and then at the flowers. "mrs. nereid's," he said, "she's very cool. you're going to love her." 020211 ... unhinged when she got out of the car, she was very conscious of the fact that she was wearing a hospital gown with a gaping hole in the back. people were walking up and down the street. she hid behind the truck door. it wouldn't be the best of things to have witnesses to her institutionalized garb. frAnk walked around the truck to the door and turned around and saw her hiding behind the door of the truck. 'hey frAnk....do you have any extra clothes in here?' she whispered. he walked back to her side of the truck. 'what do you need clothes for?' she stared at him in an admonishing tone. 'it wouldn't be good if someone saw me in a hospital gown.' he heard the 'duh' that she left off the sentence. he was still in his work uniform and forgot that he had jeans and a hoodie in the cab of the truck. he reached around her and the seat and pulled them out. 'i'm sure they won't fit you amarilla, but i guess you are right. it's probably a good idea to cover up that neon sign in case people are looking for you.' she climbed into the truck and pulled the clothes on and as she pulled the hoodie over her head she looked at the people going by. a week in the regular hospital and two weeks in a mental hospital had made her forget the concept of strangers. she looked at a couple walking across the street holding hands and she wanted to throw the first thing she picked up at them. she hopped barefoot out of the truck looking like a overgrown child playing dress up in her older brother's clothes and frAnk grabbed her right hand and led her up the path. all she could stare at was his hand as it tugged on hers, leading her up the walk. she vaguely heard him say 'you really are going to love her rilla.' 020212 what's it to you? who go blather from