I hate dandelions. Well one in particular. It grows in a little alley a block away from my house, ripping the cement in two as it pokes for life. And the worst part? It glows with a color so vibrant yellow I am tempted to go blind every morning I walk by it to school. I have no issues with flowers or other dandelions to be honest, it’s just this one. This tiny useless plant growing in the middle of an alley, infuriates me. It was just as it was now, snug in the middle of cement, happily growing, unaware of present dangers when I had first seen it. It was a distant memory, but still stuck in my head. I had gone to the library with my younger brother when he decided to take a detour home and walk me through an alley. “Hey, wait for me” I remembered shouting at him in frustration, because once again he insisted on taking a long way home. “I promise you the alley is so cool” he shouted in return, and it was. Not in a fancy, well paved type of way, but more in a noir film. The rain that had fallen down the night before made the alley glisten with a sense of purpose, almost as if I were Dorothy walking down the yellow brick road, and it was magical. “See I told you you’d like it” my brother gloats and I want to push him, but he was right. And just as were leaving the alley, he points to something. “Look! It’s so yellow!” he practically yells. “It’s a weed, nothing more” I had said, irritated that he would get so happy over a color. “But it’s just growing here, all alone! Don’t you think it’s lonely? It needs friends. You should be it’s friend.” He runs back over to me in delight. “Why don’t you be his friend then?” I told him. “How about we are both its friend” “Fine” I said because I just wanted to go. And so we left, and headed home. It’s been two weeks now. He’s gone. All he ever was, was happy. Full of life
and wonder, and now he’s in the ground. I want to hate everybody for it, because that was my little brother. I don’t care that it was an accident, all I know is that he is never coming back, and yet I am reminded everyday of him. That alley was the last time I got to see him excited about a flower as stupid as a dandelion, the last time he would speak to me in his authoritative childish voice and the last time he would ever show me something as special as that moment. And that’s why I hate the dandelion. It holds a memory of excitement and pain. Tragedy and wonder all coiled with anger. That stupid plant grows all by itself, lonely as can be, yet it shines brighter than anything I could ever want to imagine. It’s not fair. That hideous plant should not be alive instead of my brother. Sometimes I want to stop it dead, but it’s my last good memory of him, so I let it live. I let it live for the sake of my baby brother

%d bloggers like this: