Young Writers Society

hope you like this. Do your worst :)

The silver bell rang, a sardonic giggle, and Ashley sat bolt up behind the store counter, too straight to convince anyone he hadn’t been sleeping.

The visitor was familiar, a youngish woman, small and sturdy, with bony shoulders and a prickly shaved head like a cactus. She wore a wool blackish dress under a thinner peachy one, huge glasses over huge hazel eyes, and smart, pointy black shoes.

“Hi, Esther,” Ashley said. She was a bit earlier than usual; the sun hadn’t even begun to set yet.

“Ashley,” she said, planting both knobby elbows on the counter. “The roses are going to die this year. I thought that they come up every year, but they’re not coming back this spring. Isn’t that sad?”

Ashley paused. “That’s a shame,” he said. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to plant some more, I suppose,” she said, looking, in her moony way, past the physical. “They’re going to be a bit brash at first, a bit self important… of course they’ll age well, eventually. But the old ones were so classic, I’ll miss them. And the new ones will be chatting up the garden like some tipsy foreign suitor for ages...”

Ashley, meanwhile, had gone into the kitchen off the shop and had put the kettle on for tea, as he did every week. Willow bark and mint.

When he came back he took a brown paper bag and string. “The usual?”

Esther nodded distractedly, and Ashley started shoveling the contents of her grocery list into the bag, which he had memorized by then. Clear sea glass. Crow feathers. catkins. 

“So you’re coming with me to say goodbye with them today,” Esther continued. “We have to break the news to them. ”

Ashley tied the bag with a messy bow and chucked it onto the counter. “That’s eleven dollars and eight cents. I can’t leave the store alone.”

Esther rolled her eyes.“Yes, left to its own devices it will surely go to pot. It might fall in line with the wrong crowd. It might start selling…” her voice dropped to a theatrical whisper. “bibles. Or whatnot.”

Ashley sighed. “I work until eight o'clock on Saturdays.”

“Your sister is visiting today. As a surprise, from school. She’ll take your place for an hour or two. Just write a note.”

Isa was back? Well, in that case… Ashley looked uneasily around at the store. His mother, a midwife, was on a house call, outside of the Posey District, but she’d be back soon enough. She would be angry with him if he left, she would blame his irresponsibility, his impulsiveness. She would be disappointed with him, he could see that fateful wrinkle of her brow already... But the light streaming through the window was so inviting…

The kettle began to scream in the kitchen, and Ashley went to turn turn the stove off.

“What should I do with this?” he called.

“Pour a cup. Orange with spice. Also put out some ginger cookies on that plate with the flowers on it. Leave it all on the counter with the note,” Esther instructed.

He wrote, with purple ink in practiced, painstaking script,

Isa -- Gone to Esther’s. Mother will be back soon. Please look after the store. Ashley.

“Your mother won’t be back until tomorrow,” Esther said, looking over his shoulder. “It isn’t serious, but she wants to keep an eye on the baby overnight. She’ll be back by noon tomorrow.”

Ashley scowled and scribbled the note out, rummaged in a drawer for another scrap of paper. “Why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

Esther shrugged, unconcerned.“It is what it is.”

Isa-- out with Esther. Please mind the store. Enjoy the tea and cookies. Glad you’re back. Ashley.

He turned the sign on the door to Closed, and they walked, finally, outside and into town.